Chapter Fifteen Jagger #2
"We don't need to." I pull up another file. "We photograph everything. High-resolution digital capture attached to each of our vests. The originals stay where they are, Kreiss never knows we were there, and we have copies of everything."
"Until he opens the vault and notices his filing system has been disturbed."
"Which is why we're careful. Gloves at all times. Nothing moved unless it’s needed. We leave the vault exactly as we found it."
"And if he has security measures we don't know about? Hidden cameras, pressure sensors, something Vasquez isn't aware of?"
"Then we adapt. But we don't panic. The worst thing we can do is rush and make mistakes. Listen, we are the only ones who can do this. The trifecta. Made for operations harder than this."
The silence stretches. Then Jinx grins, that sharp, dangerous smile that means he's made up his mind.
"I'm in.”
Jace nods slowly. "We're in. But we do this smart. Contingencies for every scenario."
"Already built." I pull up a new file. "Exit routes, rally points, communication protocols. If we get separated, we meet here." I point to a location on the map. "A safehouse thirty kilometers south. It's stocked and secure. One of the Silent’s but it’s unused at the moment.”
I send the coordinates to their phones. "Memorize them. Then delete the file."
They glance at the screen, Jace frowns as he memorizes the number and then with a press on his phone, the file disappears. Jinx's memory is eidetic. One look is all he needs.
"Weapons?" Jace asks.
"Suppressed sidearms. Knives as backup. Nothing that makes noise unless absolutely necessary. If we have to shoot, we've already failed."
"Rules of engagement?"
"Non-lethal unless lethal becomes unavoidable. We're here to gather intelligence." I pause. "But if someone threatens Jonah or Elliot, the rules change. Protect the non-combatants at all costs."
"I'm not exactly a non-combatant," Jonah says dryly.
"You're not Foundry-trained. In a firefight, that makes you a liability. No offense."
"Some taken, but I understand."
"We leave at 2100," I say. "That gives us time to prep, eat, rest. If you run into Kreiss, knock him out and bring him with. He will make for a good interrogation."
Everyone nods. The meeting breaks up, people scattering to their various tasks. Jonah stays behind, watching me with those dark, knowing eyes.
"You're nervous," he says.
"I'm cautious."
"Same thing, coming from you." He crosses to me, slides his arms around my waist. "We're going to be okay."
"You don't know that."
"No. But I believe it. And sometimes that's enough." He tilts his head up, kisses me softly. "Whatever happens tonight, I'm glad I'm doing this with you."
"Even though I'm the reason you're in this mess?"
"You're the reason I'm alive. The mess is just context."
I hold him for a moment, letting myself have this. The warmth of him. The steadiness. The impossible fact that someone loves me, despite everything.
Then I let go. We have work to do.
The next six hours pass in a blur of preparation. Weapons checked and rechecked. Communication devices tested. Routes memorized, contingencies drilled, timing synchronized to the second.
By 2100, we're ready.
The drive to Geneva takes two hours. Jinx is behind the wheel, navigating the mountain roads with casual expertise. Jace sits beside him, reviewing the security layouts one last time. In the back seat, Jonah is pressed against my side, his hand in mine.
No one speaks.
There's nothing left to say.
We park a kilometer from the property, in a turnout hidden from the road by dense alpine trees. The night is cold and clear, stars scattered across a dark sky. Our breath clouds in the air as we gather around the hood of the car.
Elliot stays in the driver's seat, engine off but ready. His face is tense in the darkness, unhappy about being left behind but understanding the necessity.
"Keep the channel open," I tell him. "If you hear anything go wrong, you start the car and be ready to move."
"And if you don't come back?"
"Then you drive to the safehouse and wait for contact. If no contact in twenty-four hours, you get yourself somewhere safe and stay there."
"I'm not leaving Jace."
"If it comes to that, leaving is the only option. Dead martyrs don't save anyone."
He doesn't like it. I can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his hands grip the steering wheel. But he nods.
"Comms check," I say quietly.
Everyone confirms. The earpieces are working, the channels clear. We're connected, for whatever that's worth once we're inside.
"Remember. In and out. Ninety seconds to breach, thirty minutes inside, extraction before the system resets." I look at each of them in turn. "No heroics. No improvisation. We stick to the plan."
Nods all around. This is it. The moment we stop being passive and start being a threat. The moment we commit to something that can't be uncommitted.
"Move out."
We split into pairs. Jace and Jinx take the eastern approach, moving through the trees toward the perimeter fence. Their dark clothing blends with the shadows, and within seconds, I've lost sight of them. That's good. If I can't see them, neither can the guards.
Jonah and I go west, circling toward the blind spot in the camera coverage that Vasquez promised would exist. The ground is soft with pine needles, muffling our footsteps. The air smells like snow and evergreen and tension. The electricity of imminent action.
The fence appears through the trees, ten feet of chain link topped with razor wire. Beyond it, the main house glows with soft light. I can see movement in one of the windows. Someone's home.
That's not unexpected. The plan accounts for occupied spaces. But it adds a layer of complexity we could do without.
My earpiece crackles. "East team in position."
"West team in position," I respond. "Waiting for the gap."
We crouch in the darkness, watching the guards make their rounds.
There are two of them, both in dark uniforms, both carrying sidearms. They're professional but not exceptional.
Private security. They don't check their corners, don't vary their patterns, don't look up into the trees where two killers are waiting.
The clock in my head counts down. Ninety seconds. That's all we have.
"Gap in thirty seconds," Jinx reports.
I squeeze Jonah's hand once, then release it. His eyes meet mine in the darkness. He's scared. I can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the quick rhythm of his breathing. But he's here anyway. Committed.
I love him for that. For all of it.
"Twenty seconds."
I pull the wire cutters from my pack. The fence is the first obstacle. After that, fifty meters of open ground to the house. Then the real work begins.
"Ten seconds."
My muscles tense. Everything narrows to this moment. The cold air. The distant guards. The soft glow of the house ahead.
"Go."
I cut the fence. We move.
Fifty meters across the lawn, crouching low, moving fast. The house looms ahead, and I can see the side door. Ten meters. Five.
Jonah reaches the door first, tests the handle. It opens.
We slip inside, and the door closes behind us with a soft click.
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
"East team, status."
Nothing.
"East team, report."
Static.
I grab Jonah's arm, pulling him against the wall. Something's wrong. The plan accounted for guards, for cameras, for locked doors. It didn't account for silence.
Then I hear it. Footsteps. Multiple sets. Coming from deeper in the house.
And a voice I recognize.
"Mr. Harrison. We've been expecting you."
The lights snap on, blinding after the darkness. I blink, raising my weapon, and find myself staring at six Ministry operatives in full tactical gear.
Standing in front of them, smiling like a cat with a cornered mouse, is Alfred Webb.
"Did you really think," he says, "that we wouldn't be watching?"