Chapter 9 Jagger
Chapter Nine: Jagger
The call comes early.
I'm in the kitchen making coffee, watching Jonah argue with a stack of documents at the counter.
He's got ink on his fingers and a pen tucked behind his ear, muttering to himself about transaction dates.
His hair is sticking up on one side, and there's a crease on his cheek from the pillow.
He looks ridiculous. He looks like a boy I want to keep.
My work phone buzzes. The number on the screen makes my blood cool by several degrees.
Edmund Holloway. The uncle. Not the Custodian seat holder, but the one who wants to be. The one who's been whispering in dark corners for years, building alliances, waiting for his brother to show weakness.
I've never liked him. That's the norm for me.
I don't like most people. But Edmund has a particular kind of ambition that makes him dangerous.
He's the type who smiles while calculating how to step over your corpse.
The type who attends his nephew's birthday parties while plotting to steal his inheritance.
"Harrison," I answer.
"Jagger." His voice is smooth, cultured, the product of expensive schools and careful breeding. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"What do you need?"
"Direct as always. I appreciate that about you." A pause that's meant to unsettle. "I've been reviewing some irregularities in the detention facility records. Asset transfers that don't quite add up."
Jonah looks up from his documents, catching the tone of voice through the phone. I turn away, keeping my face neutral.
"What kind of irregularities?"
"A guard mentioned something interesting. Apparently a processed asset was removed from the facility under personal remand. Your personal remand, specifically." Another pause. "The Doe asset. The journalist."
"The guard was mistaken."
"Was he? Because I pulled the facility logs, Jagger. The asset isn't there. Hasn't been for a good while." Edmund's voice drops, conspiratorial. "Now, I'm not suggesting anything untoward. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. But you understand why I'm curious."
I understand exactly why he's curious. Edmund has been looking for leverage against every major player in The Silent for years. A Harrison brother hiding an asset off the books would be exactly the kind of ammunition he needs.
"The asset was transferred for specialized evaluation," I say. "Memory resurgence protocols. It's documented through the proper channels."
"Funny. I couldn't find any documentation."
"Then you're looking in the wrong places."
Silence on the line. I can hear him recalculating, adjusting his approach.
"Perhaps we should discuss this in person," he says finally. "I have some concerns about asset management that I think would benefit from your expertise. Say, this afternoon? My residence."
It's not a request.
"I'll be there at three."
"Excellent. I look forward to it."
The line goes dead.
Jonah is watching me when I turn around. His eyes are sharp, that journalist instinct reading every micro expression. He's learned to read me, far too well for my liking. Learned my tells, my patterns, the small cracks in my composure that I didn't know I had until he started looking for them.
"Problem?"
"Possibly." I set down the phone. "One of the Custodians is asking questions about you."
"Which one?"
"Edmund Holloway. He's not the seat holder, but he's connected. And he's ambitious."
"Ambitious how?"
"The kind of ambitious that gets people killed." I pour my coffee, using the motion to think. "A guard at the detention facility talked. Edmund knows I took you under personal remand. He's fishing for leverage."
Jonah sets down his pen. "What are you going to do?"
"Handle it."
"Handle it how?"
I don't answer. I don't have to. Jonah is smart enough to understand what "handling" means in my world.
"Jagger." He stands, crosses to me. His bare feet are silent on the tile. "If this is about protecting me—"
"It's about protecting the investigation. You're the only person who can identify the Phase Two facilities. If Edmund exposes you, you'll be reprocessed. Fully erased this time. No resurgence."
"So it's strategic."
"Yes."
He studies my face. I keep it blank, controlled, the mask I've worn for thirty years. But he sees through it. He always sees through it.
"Bullshit," he says quietly. "You're going to kill someone to keep me safe. That's not nothing. That can get you in big shit."
"It doesn’t matter."
"Jagger—"
"I have to go." I drain my coffee and set the mug in the sink. "Stay here. Don't answer the door. Don't contact anyone."
"The usual."
"The usual." I pause at the doorway, looking back at him. He's backlit by the morning sun, beautiful, God-like, with those dark eyes, and my chest twists at the sight. "I'll be back in a few hours."
"And if you're not?"
"Then run. Get to Jace. He'll know what to do. He will keep you safe."
I leave before he can respond.
Edmund’s place is an unsuspecting townhouse in the old city, brick and ivy and money that predates the revolution. Edmund's brother, the Holloway Custodian, lives in the main family estate uptown. This place is Edmund's consolation prize, the home of a second son who was never quite good enough.
It shows in the decor. Everything is slightly too expensive, slightly too polished, the desperate performance of a man trying to prove he belongs.
The butler shows me to the study. Edmund is waiting by the fireplace, whiskey in hand, that practiced smile already in place.
"Jagger. Thank you for coming."
"You didn't give me much choice."
"No, I suppose I didn't." He gestures to a chair. "Please, sit. Drink?"
"I'm fine."
"Suit yourself." He settles into the chair across from me, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate casualness. "Let's dispense with pretense, shall we? I know you have the Doe asset. I know you've been hiding him from the Ministry. What I don't know is why."
"I told you. Specialized evaluation."
"And I told you I couldn't find documentation. Which means either you're running an unauthorized operation, or you're lying to me." He sips his whiskey. "Neither option reflects well on you."
I let the silence stretch. Edmund is the type who can't stand empty air. He'll fill it eventually.
"Here's what I think," he continues after a moment. "I think you've discovered something in Moore's archive. Something connected to the Doe asset. And I think you're protecting him because whatever he knows is valuable enough to risk your position."
"That's quite a theory."
"It's more than a theory. I've been watching you, Jagger. You've been distracted for weeks. Missing meetings. Delegating tasks you'd normally handle yourself. Something has changed." He leans forward, eyes bright with interest. "I want to know what."
"Why?"
"Because knowledge is power. And I'm very interested in power.
" He sets down his glass. "I'm also interested in survival.
My brother thinks he's untouchable, but the world is changing.
Webb is gone. The Harrison seat is in flux.
Alliances are shifting. I intend to be on the winning side when the dust settles. "
"And you think I can help with that."
"I think you know things. Things about Project Omega. Things about what really happened at Westpoint." His smile turns cold. "Things I could use."
Ahhh, so he knows.
Edmund doesn't care about Jonah specifically. He cares about what Jonah represents: information he can use against his brother, against the other Custodians, against anyone standing between him and power.
He's also, I realize, too connected to be allowed to live.
Edmund knows about the asset. He suspects the Omega connection. If he starts pulling at those threads, he'll unravel everything. Even if I could neutralize his immediate threat, he'd keep digging. Keep scheming. Keep looking for angles to exploit.
There's only one way to guarantee his silence.
"You're right," I say.
Edmund blinks, surprised. "I'm sorry?"
"About all of it. The asset. The archive. The things I've discovered." I lean back in my chair, letting my body language shift from defensive to open. "Project Omega was larger than anyone realized. The implications are staggering."
"I knew it." His eyes are greedy now, hungry. "Tell me everything."
"It's not that simple. The documentation is extensive. It would take hours to explain." I pause, as if considering. "But I could show you. I have copies at my residence. If you're willing to come there, I can walk you through the evidence."
"Tonight?"
"Now, if you prefer. The sooner you understand the scope, the better positioned you'll be to act."
He's already standing. Men like Edmund can never resist the promise of an advantage. They'll follow any bait if they think it leads to power.
"Give me a moment to inform my staff."
"Of course."
He leaves the study. I remain seated, counting seconds, running scenarios.
Edmund will have security. At least one bodyguard, possibly two. They'll need to be handled first.
Edmund returns with his coat, a flush of excitement on his cheeks.
"Shall we?"
"After you."
We take his car. Town car, tinted windows, no privacy partition. Edmund insisted on bringing one bodyguard. He's in the front seat, thick-necked and watchful. Professional, but not Foundry-trained. I can tell by the way he checks the mirrors. Too regular. Too predictable.
Edmund talks during the drive. About the political landscape. About his brother's weaknesses. About the opportunities he sees emerging from the chaos of the past year. I let him talk, making appropriate sounds of interest while I memorize whatever I find important from the rambling.
The driver will be the first complication. He's not a threat, but he's a witness. The bodyguard is the real problem. He's armed, alert, and ready to throw down.