Chapter 4 #3
Drew’s knees almost buckle.
“She sent Sergei.”
Kane’s mouth opens.
Then he starts laughing.
I don’t.
Not even slightly.
I close the distance.
“Who are you?”
The old man taps his cane lightly against the stone.
“I have told you. Sergei.”
“Full name.”
“No.”
My security chief shifts.
I keep walking until I’m directly in front of him.
“Who sent you?”
Sergei’s gold teeth flash again.
“She said you would be angry.”
My pulse goes from elevated to lethal.
“Who?”
His eyes twinkle.
“Vesper.”
Drew makes a helpless sound behind me.
“I love this girl.”
“Not helping.”
“It was not meant to.”
Sergei reaches into his jacket.
Three security officers move simultaneously.
He freezes.
“Easy. I am old man.”
“You are sixty-three,” Drew calls.
Sergei turns.
“How do you know?”
Drew looks delighted.
“Lucky guess.”
The old man pulls out a black envelope.
My envelope.
Inside is the physical token attached to Vesper’s encrypted invitation credential. Untampered. I had left it in a gym locker in LA and told her in NULL where I left the key. I knew she’d find a way to get it without being caught.
Real.
I take it.
“When did she give this to you?”
Sergei’s expression becomes apologetic.
“I was paid not to answer questions.”
“How much?”
“No.”
“I’ll double it.”
“No.”
“Triple.”
His smile returns.
“She said you would do this also.”
Heat moves through my chest.
I grab his lapels.
Not violently.
Not yet.
But enough to make the security team tense.
“Where is she?”
Sergei blinks down at my hands.
“I do not know.”
“Wrong answer.”
Drew is suddenly beside me.
“Whoa. Hey.”
“Stay out of it.”
“Dude, he’s an old man.”
“I am sixty-three,” Sergei repeats.
“Yes, we established that,” Drew says. “And we are not roughing up senior citizens at Haverhill’s wedding.”
“I am not senior citizen.”
“Fantastic. Still not helping.”
“Travers.”
He grips my forearm.
“Let him go.”
“She sent a decoy through my security.”
“Which is objectively hilarious.”
I turn my head.
He corrects himself.
“Later. It will be hilarious later.”
I loosen my grip.
Sergei immediately smooths his lapels.
“Very expensive suit.”
“So is his,” Drew says. “Everybody’s fine.”
I step back.
My head is already working.
Credential transferred physically.
Authentication phrase correct.
No digital communication inside the perimeter.
Vesper planned the entire thing outside my network.
Drew snaps his fingers.
“Scotch.”
I stare at him.
“What?”
“You need Scotch.”
“I do not need Scotch.”
A waiter several yards away hesitates.
Drew points toward me.
“Look at his face.”
The waiter leaves quickly.
Vale laughs.
“You’re handling this surprisingly well.”
“I’ve seen Blackwell fix half our disasters,” Drew says. “Let me get him for once.”
I look at him.
Something unexpectedly sincere sits beneath the joke.
Then the waiter returns with a bottle, glasses, and ice.
Drew personally pours.
Badly.
Two fingers.
One cube.
He hands it to me.
“Drink.”
“No.”
“Xavier.”
I stare.
He pushes the glass into my hand.
“Drink the fucking Scotch before you invade something.”
I take a swallow.
Mostly so he stops talking.
“Better?” he asks.
“No.”
“Lie to me.”
“Marginally.”
“There we go.”
He holds out his hand.
“Device.”
“No.”
“I’m handling Vesper.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“You?”
“Bro code.”
“You don’t know what that means.”
“I absolutely do.”
“No.”
“Give me NULL.”
“Not happening.”
Drew takes off his sunglasses.
That means, somehow, he believes he is serious now.
“Look. You’ve cleaned up our shit for years. Leo. Vale. Me. Haverhill. Every time one of us does something stupid, creepy Blackwell appears with a laptop and makes it go away.”
“Creepy?”
“Complimentary creepy.”
“Nothing you say improves.”
He holds out his hand again.
“Let me get you once.”
I should refuse.
Instead I look at Sergei.
Then at Kane, who is thirty-something minutes away from getting married and standing at his own security gate.
This entire situation is my fault.
I unlock the device.
Open NULL.
Hand it to Drew.
“If you touch anything except the conversation—”
“You’ll ruin my life.”
“Yes.”
“Got it.”
He looks at the screen.
Vesper is offline.
Then he types.
GHOST: Friend here.
I reach for it.
He pivots away.
“Let me cook.”
“I hate that phrase.”
“Last chance, Miss London Bridge.”
His thumbs move.
GHOST: Friend here. You don’t screw with my boy. You want to play games, play them with me. Keep messing with him and I’m having him delete this whole creepy encrypted love nest.
“Travers.”
“One more.”
GHOST: He actually likes you, which is disturbing enough for all of us. Stop making him look like he wants to murder elderly Russian men at weddings.
Sergei lifts a finger.
“Ukrainian mother.”
Drew points at him without looking up.
“Noted.”
Vale is openly laughing.
Kane rubs both hands down his face.
“This is my wedding.”
“We know,” Jalen says.
“I’m getting married in less than an hour.”
Vale checks his watch. “Closer to forty minutes.”
“Not helping.”
NULL flashes.
Drew stops.
A file appears.
Image.
He opens it.
His entire expression changes.
“Holy shit.”
The humor disappears.
He turns the device toward me.
The wedding arch fills the screen.
White roses.
Green vines.
The Pacific behind it.
Rows of chairs.
One florist still adjusting the left side.
I saw her walk there less than fifteen minutes ago.
This photograph was taken now.
My entire body goes cold.
I take the device.
Zoom.
No metadata.
No reflection.
No identifying shadow.
Angle from the west side.
Low.
Thirty yards, maybe less.
Vale moves beside me.
“Current?”
“Yes.”
Drew whistles.
“She’s here.”
I look toward the estate.
“She’s inside.”
Jalen peers over my shoulder.
“Maybe she’s the harpist.”
Drew nods. “Florist”
“Not the florist. I already checked.” Kane says.
“Caterer.”
Vale shakes his head. “Vetted.”
Leo’s eyes move across the property.
“She could be a guest.”
My jaw locks.
“She could be anybody.”
Drew looks at me.
Then grins slowly.
“She out-Blackwelled Blackwell.”
“Don’t.”
“She out-security-ed you.”
“That isn’t a word.”
“It is now.”
My attention sweeps the grounds.