Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Archer walked into the boardroom and took his seat at the head of the table.
The others were already assembled. Austin Davis had planted himself at the opposite end, which told Archer everything he needed to know about how the morning was going to go.
No words necessary. The man was declaring war in the language of furniture arrangement.
As expected, Eli Fisher had taken the seat directly to Davis's right. The pair of them together in solidarity at one end of the table had the look of something rehearsed.
"Archer." Jason Sakstra nodded from his seat. "It's been a while."
Archer acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod. "How are you, Jason?"
"Fine." But he didn't look fine. He looked exhausted and hollowed out; like a man carrying something he hadn't put down in weeks.
There was something else in his expression, too, something that landed just short of pleading.
Archer filed it away. Jason wanted a private conversation and didn't know how to ask for one.
"I'm glad you're here, actually. I wanted to discuss a few things. Will you be staying in Paris after the meeting?"
Relief moved across Jason's face so plainly it was almost painful to watch. "Yes. Dinner this evening?"
He was about to say more, but Archer cut him off. "Let me check my calendar. I'll get back to you." He let his gaze move casually around the room as he said it.
Jason appeared to catch on immediately, and he glanced around and straightened. "Of course." He pulled out his phone and said nothing further.
Good man.
"Armand." Archer turned to his left. "Comment ca va?"
"?a va bien, mon ami." Armand Fontaine's dark eyes moved over Archer's face with the unhurried casualness of a man who had spent decades reading rooms far more dangerous than this one. "Et toi?"
Archer kept his expression pleasant and said nothing beyond a small nod.
Armand would understand. Armand always understood.
Since joining the society’s board, he had become something Archer rarely allowed himself, a genuine ally, possibly even a friend.
The man had sold arms on three continents and survived to retire comfortably, which meant he could smell trouble with the same instinct most people reserved for weather.
Right now, he was smelling it clearly, and Archer could see in his eyes that he didn't like what he was picking up.
"Can we begin?" Davis asked, tapping his watch with the theatrical impatience of a man who had somewhere more important to be. He didn't, of course. This was exactly where Davis wanted to be.
"In a moment, Austin." Remy Tanger didn't look up from the pastry she was selecting from the spread along the back wall. "This is Paris. I refuse to rush through a meeting without proper croissants." She glanced up at Archer with a smile. "I hope you know I'm never leaving this city."
"Hear, hear," Jason said, already moving toward the coffee.
"Is true," Armand agreed, pushing himself to his feet and heading for the coffee station with the deliberate pace of a man who answered to no one.
Archer watched him bypass the pastries without a second glance and felt a small measure of relief.
Diabetic and disciplined about it. Good.
He had no interest in explaining to Lacy Carmichael how her father had been felled by a pain au chocolat at a board meeting in Paris.
Fisher hadn't moved. He sat with his arms folded and his eyes on Archer with the flat, patient attention of a man who enjoyed watching other people's discomfort. He hadn't bothered with pleasantries when Archer walked in, and Archer hadn't offered any. Some understandings didn't require words.
Archer let his gaze drift to the far end of the table. Everyone had gotten up except Tatum Wellington. She sat perfectly still, staring at nothing, her long blond hair pinned loosely at the back of her neck, her expression somewhere far from Paris.
Archer walked down to her. "Tatum."
Nothing.
He stopped beside her and touched her shoulder. "Tatum."
She startled and looked up, blinking herself back into the room. "Sorry, I was somewhere else entirely." She rose. "How are you?"
"I'm well. You?"
"Jet lagged." Her smile didn't reach her sharp blue eyes. "Japan. I'll catch up on sleep eventually." She moved toward the pastry table before he could press it.
He let her go. She was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth, and she knew he knew it.
He would deal with that later. He needed her focused on committee oversight, the unglamorous work that kept the Society's machinery running cleanly and Davis's fingers out of places they didn't belong. Fisher's, too, for that matter.
"Now." Davis spread his hands across the table as everyone settled. "Shall we?"
Archer called the meeting to order.
For the most part, it was like every other board meeting happening across the world at that precise moment.
Reports, amendments, budget line items, the comfortable tedium of institutional governance.
If it weren't for the weapons concealed on three of the people in the room and the particular quality of silence Davis and Fisher maintained while watching Archer, it could have been a quarterly review at any multinational corporation.
Archer almost smiled. With the weapons and the silence, it still could be.
Fisher contributed nothing during the substantive portions of the meeting.
He didn't need to. He was there as a body, as a vote, as a signal.
Davis had installed him on the board the way someone props a door open, not because the door does anything useful, but because you want to make sure it can't be closed.
Archer was reaching for his pen to close when Davis opened his mouth.
"Before we adjourn." Davis shook his head slowly, arranging his face into something approximating grave concern. "I need to raise something that I pray you're going to tell me is untrue, Archer."
Archer set aside his pen and waited.
As if realizing he wasn't going to get a reaction, Davis pressed on. "I have it on good authority that there are hidden cameras inside Society locations."
Sharon Edgerstone inhaled sharply. "That can't be right."
Alan Forgerty looked like a man who had just discovered a scorpion in his shoe, which Archer supposed, given the congressman's recreational habits on Society property, was essentially accurate.
Fisher leaned back in his chair with the slow ease of someone watching a performance he had already seen and enjoyed. "I have to say, I find that very troubling, Archer. Very troubling indeed. Our members trust us completely with their privacy."
The hypocrisy was so dense Archer could almost feel the weight of it from across the table. Eli Fisher, champion of member privacy. There was not enough composure in Paris to make that sentence sit right.
"Archer? Is there truth to that rumor?" Davis prompted. His concern was immaculate. It was almost impressive.
"Define hidden cameras," Archer said. "Hidden where, and installed by whom?"
His tone was mild. His heart rate had ticked up precisely once and was now back where it belonged.
"Are you denying it?" Davis asked.
"No, Austin, I'm asking for specifics. Hidden cameras can mean a great many things. Without details, this is just noise, and I have enough of that already."
"Noise?" Fisher straightened. "Archer, if there's even a suggestion that members are being filmed without their knowledge, I don't see how that can be characterized as noise.
The implications for people's reputations, their families, their careers...
" He trailed off and shook his head with what appeared to be genuine distress.
Archer looked at him for exactly one second. Then he looked away, eased out a breath, and allowed his gaze to move back to Davis.
Who’d recalibrated his expression toward wounded dignity. "This is a serious breach of member privacy. I don't see how you can dismiss it so easily."
"I'm not dismissing it. I'm asking you to be precise.
I receive rumors every day of this magnitude or worse.
Aliens have infiltrated the Society. The Chinese are listening through the kitchen appliances.
Without a source and a location, I can't act on any of it, and neither can anyone else at this table.
" Archer let the patience in his voice carry just enough of an edge to make his point. "So… Do you have details or don't you?"
The temperature in the room shifted. People who had been alarmed a moment ago were now watching Davis with a different kind of attention.
Fisher opened his mouth, but Davis got there first. "Our Maine location. Possibly Venice. Likely others."
"And your source?"
A beat too long. "Mike Lipinski."
There it was.
Archer allowed himself one quiet breath.
"Mikhail Lipinski." He looked around the table and let his gaze settle briefly on each face.
"Mike is a Society security guard at the junior level.
He has been counseled repeatedly about his performance and is currently being relieved of his position following separate incidents involving theft and conduct toward female staff members.
" He paused. "I'm sorry, Austin. I know you sponsored him for the role. He simply wasn't up to it."
Davis’s face went the color of an old brick.
Fisher's expression didn't change, which was interesting. He had known. Or he had suspected. He'd pushed the point anyway, which meant he was either confident there was more to find or he was simply happy to have caused turbulence regardless of the outcome. With Fisher, either was plausible.
Archer stood. "I want to be clear with everyone here.
The Society's visible security cameras exist to protect our members and their privacy, not to compromise it.
Any member is welcome to request a full accounting of camera placement at any of our properties at any time.
My team has always been transparent on this and will continue to be.
" He looked at Davis one final time. "Without a credible source, this matter is closed. "
Davis resembled a fish gasping for air.
He picked up his pen. "If there's nothing further, we're adjourned."
Fisher leaned forward. "I'd like to formally request that an independent audit of all camera installations be added to the agenda for the next meeting."
The room went quiet.
Archer looked at him. Fisher met his gaze with the bland pleasantness of a man who believed he'd just scored a point.
"Seconded," Davis said immediately.
Archer let the silence stretch just long enough.
"Noted. Any such audit would, of course, be conducted by Society security personnel, as is standard for all internal reviews.
" He looked at Fisher. "I'm sure you'll want to familiarize yourself with the protocols.
They're quite thorough." He glanced around the table. "We're adjourned."
He left the room without hurrying.
Back in his office, he locked the door, activated the signal jammer, and pulled out his phone. He typed a message to Ryker. We need to talk. Five minutes.
He poured a coffee, sat down, and waited exactly five minutes.
Ryker's face appeared on the screen. "Boss."
"Mike Lipinski went to Davis." Archer kept his voice even. "He told him we have hidden cameras in Maine and Venice. I need to know how he found out, and I need to know today."
Ryker swore.
"How does a junior security guard know the locations of unauthorized surveillance equipment, Ryker? That is not a rhetorical question."
"I'll find out."
"You will. And then you'll have every unauthorized camera removed before Davis can put someone in the field to verify Lipinski's story. If he finds one intact, we lose this entirely."
Ryker was quiet for a beat. "That's a significant operation. I'll need the whole team."
"Then use the whole team." Archer set down his coffee. "Fisher just called for an independent audit at the next meeting. Davis seconded it before I finished my sentence."
Ryker said nothing. He didn't need to.
"I don't need to explain to you what happens if Austin Davis gets his hands on what's on those cameras."
He ended the call and sat back.
The cameras had served their purpose for years.
He knew things about the Society's members that they would burn cities to keep quiet, and none of them had ever been used for anything other than keeping the peace.
That was the truth. He was also clear-eyed enough to know it was not a truth anyone would believe, and that Davis would not use it to keep any peace at all.
And Fisher. God help any female member whose private moments ended up in Fisher's possession.
He stood and walked to the window.
Over his dead body.
He had heard that phrase his entire life and always considered it somewhat melodramatic. These days, it felt less like an expression and more like a forecast.