2. The Math
Marcus
Marin Safe House, California. 1120 hours.
I’ve been in worse hiding places.
But not many.
Victor and Nikolai stand outside the chimney cavity looking at me as though finding a fifty-one-year-old man wedged inside Victorian architecture is merely another item on Victor’s morning schedule.
“Coming out?”
I look past him.
Nikolai stands beside him, one hand still on the panel they’ve just pulled away. The woman who came in with Victor is farther back in the room.
No weapons raised. No strangers. No Meridian.
I climb out.
Dust coats my clothes and hands. My right leg went numb somewhere around the twenty-minute mark, and when I put weight on it, pins and needles shoot from my foot to my hip.
Victor doesn’t offer assistance.
I wouldn’t take it.
“Where’s Rothman?”
“You already know.”
I do. I heard him.
The first gagging sound was violent enough to carry through the basement. Then something hit the floor.
After that came choking, strangled gasps and a horrible wet sound I couldn’t identify.
Footsteps thundered overhead.
Doors.
Nikolai shouting Rothman’s name.
Crew calling for equipment.
Then the unmistakable rhythm of CPR.
I’d been at the chimney panel before they reached the basement.
Because I didn’t know who was coming down those stairs.
HAVEN.
Meridian.
Someone sent to make sure Alexander Rothman never spoke again.
I wasn’t interested in waiting to find out.
Victor watches me.
“How long were you in there?”
“Long enough.”
“Why?”
“Because Rothman didn’t die quietly.”
Janice’s expression sharpens. I wipe grime from my fingers onto my pants.
“I heard him choking. I heard your men trying to save him. What I didn’t hear was a gunshot, a struggle or anyone breaking into this house.”
Victor says nothing.
I look toward Rothman’s room.
Alexander knew more about the Twelve than I ever did.
And somebody just killed him without coming through the door.
The arithmetic is unpleasantly simple.
If Legacy can reach Alexander Rothman in a locked basement, I have absolutely no reason to believe they can’t reach me.
Marin Safe House, California. 1130 hours.
Victor waits until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed again.
Nikolai remains near the chimney panel. Janice leans against the wall, watching me closely.
Victor stays standing.
“What do you know about Rothman’s death?”
“Nothing.”
His expression doesn’t change.
I give him a tired look. “If I knew how Legacy killed people through locked doors, I wouldn’t have climbed into a chimney.”
“Legacy?”
Damn. He caught the word. I should’ve known he would.
“I said I didn’t know who killed him.”
“You also said Meridian might be coming down the stairs.”
I look at him.
Victor folds his arms. “Now you’re calling it Legacy.”
Janice says nothing, but she’s listening to every word.
I’ve spent months deciding how much these people know. More importantly, how much they don’t.
Rothman’s death changes the calculation.
“There are procedures,” I say.
Victor’s gaze sharpens.
“What procedures?”
“Contingencies.”
“For prisoners?”
“For problems.”
Nikolai shifts beside him.
I almost smile. Legacy loves language that makes murder sound administrative.
Victor doesn’t bite.
“What happens when someone becomes a problem?”
“That depends on who they are and what they know.”
“Alexander Rothman.”
“He knew enough to destroy families.”
“And you?”
I look toward the hallway.
“Enough to inconvenience them.”
“That why you hid?”
“No. I hid because inconvenience has a very short life expectancy.”
Janice pushes away from the wall.
“You think Rothman’s death was planned in advance?”
“I think Legacy plans for everything.”
Victor studies me.
I can see him deciding whether I’m useful or merely frightened.
At the moment, I’m both, to be honest.
“There’s a continuity protocol,” I say.
His attention fixes on me.
Finally.
“If exposure reaches a certain threshold, Legacy doesn’t wait to see what happens next. Money moves. Records disappear. Personnel relocate. Liabilities are dealt with.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
Victor’s face gives me nothing.
I lean back against the wall.
“But I’m not proving anything else until we discuss what happens to me.”
Marin Safe House, California. 1138 hours.
Victor pulls the only chair away from the desk and sits opposite me.
“What happens to you?”
“That depends on whether you’re smarter than the people you’re fighting.”
Nikolai gives a quiet snort.
Victor doesn’t react. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”
“Alexander Rothman was in exactly the same position I’m in ten minutes ago.”
That gets his attention.
Janice steps closer. “What are you offering?”
I look at her, then Victor.
“Proof the continuity protocol is active.”
“Start talking.”
I give him the name of a Meridian holding company in Nevada, one of dozens designed to exist unnoticed until needed.
“Check the account activity from this morning.”
Victor takes out his phone and makes a call.
“G. I need you to check something.”
He gives him the company name.
I wait.
It takes less than two minutes.
Victor’s phone rings.
He listens, asks one question, then disconnects.
“How much?”
“Enough to tell you they’re moving.”
I knew they would be.
“What else?” Victor asks.
“Records tied to exposed operations will be destroyed. Personnel who can still be useful will disappear into new identities. Companies will close and reopen under different ownership.”
“And liabilities?”
I meet his eyes.
“You heard one die this morning.”
Silence settles over the room.
Janice studies me more carefully now.
“What aren’t you telling us?”
She’s sharp.
I look at Victor.
“I want protection.”
“You already have it.”
“No. I have a locked room.”
“You’re alive.”
“So was Rothman at nine o’clock.”
Victor’s expression hardens.
I take a slow breath.
Here’s the part I’ve been trying not to calculate since I crawled into that chimney.
“Rothman wasn’t sick. Nobody came through that door before he went down.”
Janice’s eyes narrow.
“What are you thinking?”
“I know Legacy.”
Enough.
“They don’t trust loyalty. They trust leverage, surveillance and contingencies.”
I hold her gaze.
“If they put something in Rothman that allowed them to kill him remotely, there’s a reasonable chance they did the same thing to me.”
Victor rises. The woman is already moving toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get Riley.”
I look at Victor.
“Who’s Riley?”
“The doctor who’s going to find out whether your math is right.”
Marin Safe House, California. 1148 hours.
The doctor walks in carrying a black medical bag.
Victor follows her.
“This is Riley.”
That’s all the introduction I get.
She’s stunning. Long red hair, green eyes, the kind of face that would normally hold my attention considerably longer than is sensible.
She puts the bag on the desk and looks at me. “Shirt off.”
I stare at her.
“If there’s something implanted in you, I need access to look for it.”
Fair enough.
I pull my shirt over my head.
Riley starts with my arms, turning each one beneath the light. She examines my shoulders, sides and abdomen, fingertips moving over the skin.
“What are you looking for?”
“Scars. Anything you don’t remember acquiring.”
“I have plenty of scars.”
“I noticed.”
Janice moves behind me.
Riley checks beneath my arms, then runs her fingers carefully along my collarbone and ribs.
Nothing.
Victor watches from beside the door.
“How small could it be?”
“Small enough that he might never have noticed it.”
Janice suddenly stops.
“Riley.”
Everybody looks at her. She parts the hair at the back of my neck.
“There’s a scar here.”
My hand starts to rise.
“Don’t touch it,” Riley says.
I freeze.
She comes around, examines the spot, then reaches into her bag and takes out a small ultrasound probe attached to a tablet.
Gel. Cold against my skin.
She moves the probe slowly across the base of my neck.
Her eyes stay on the screen. Then stop.
Victor sees her expression.
“What?”
Riley turns the tablet toward him. A tiny bright shape sits beneath the skin.
My mouth goes dry.
“How long has that been there?”
Riley looks at me.
“That was going to be my question.”
I stare at the image.
I know exactly when someone had access to the back of my neck.
Six years ago. Meridian medical clearance.
My pulse kicks hard. I reach for the edge of the bed because suddenly sitting upright feels like work.
“Can they activate it now?”
Riley’s eyes lift to mine.
“I don’t know.”
Not the answer I wanted.
I look at Victor.
“Get it out.”
“Marcus...”
“Now.”
My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to.
Riley doesn’t move. She looks at Victor, who gives a slight nod.
Then she reaches for her surgical kit.
“I can remove it. I need you to stay still.”
Panic punches through whatever composure I had left.
“I’ll tell you everything.”
Victor’s eyes stay on mine.
“Everything,” I say again. “Names. Accounts. Routes. Companies. Safe locations. Whatever you want.”
My hands are shaking now, and I hate that they can see it.
“Just get this fucking thing out of me!”
Victor says nothing.
“Please.”
The word scrapes on the way out.
I look from him to Riley.
“Don’t let them kill me.”
My voice drops.
“Please.”