Chapter 2
LEX
Lord Blackmoor’s helicopter sliced through the morning sky, the sleek black machine as arrogant as its owner. Below us, the Scottish countryside unfurled like a patchwork quilt, mist still clinging to the glens and valleys as the sun crept higher.
I studied Con Carnegie from the corner of my eye, noting the tight line of his jaw and the focused intensity of his gaze as he stared out the window.
The rays filtered by clouds caught the angles of his face, highlighting cheekbones that could cut glass and the dark stubble that only enhanced his rugged charm.
Not that I was paying attention to his appeal. I was professionally assessing a colleague. Nothing more.
“You’re staring, Dr. Sterling,” he said without turning his head.
“I was wondering if you’d yet realized your system’s second vulnerability,” I replied smoothly.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Point to me.
“Three, in fact. None of which you could have exploited in the manner you did,” Con growled.
“Perhaps you’re not looking in the right places.”
He turned then, his blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that sent an unwelcome warmth up my spine. “Or perhaps you had inside help.”
I laughed, genuinely amused. “Your ego won’t allow for the possibility that someone might simply be better than you?”
He didn’t smile, but something akin to respect flashed in his expression. “Few people are.”
“Well,” I said, crossing my legs and brushing an imaginary piece of lint from my trousers. “I’m not most people.”
A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “That much is painfully obvious.”
The pilot’s voice came through our headsets, announcing our descent into Glasgow, interrupting our banter. Con looked away, the brief moment of connection severed as he returned to business mode.
It was an important reminder for me to do the same.
With the unexpected retirement of my boss and mentor, Dr. McLaren, just weeks ago, the pressure to prove myself as MI6’s foremost AI expert fell squarely on my shoulders.
I wouldn’t let anyone—especially not the infamous Infidel—see any hint of insecurity.
My parents had raised me to stand on my own before their untimely deaths, and I’d honor their memory by being unshakable now, when it mattered most.
“Tell me more about the situation with Nightingale,” I said.
“As you’re aware, the rebel forces in Syria took control of the government in a coup that resulted in the country’s president fleeing to Russia.”
“Go on.”
“According to the secure message she sent Tag, Nightingale has reason to believe her cover was blown and, thus, sent an agent-in-peril alert to both Unit 23 and her team on the ground. Her extraction was successful, and she’s being debriefed at our field office in Glasgow.”
“You said there’s reason to believe she has evidence relevant to Project Labyrinth. Relating specifically to Chimera?”
“According to Tag, yes. Nightingale has been embedded in Damascus for nearly two years. Her most recent op was tracking Fallon Wallace’s contacts.”
The network of dangerous connections the deceased woman was believed to have were critical threads for us to follow.
“If she’s been able to identify who’s continuing Wallace’s work, that could be a significant lead. Although I doubt it would be that simple.”
Con inclined his head in agreement.
The helicopter touched down on a landing pad near the river.
A nondescript, gray building loomed before us, its windows tinted to opacity.
As the rotors slowed, Niall MacTaggert strode toward us, his features set in grim lines.
The Earl of Glenshadow—code name Obsidian, though I knew his friends called him Tag—moved with the deadly grace I remembered from our first meeting.
“About bloody time,” he said, his accent heavier than I’d previously noticed. He turned to me. “Apologies. Good to see you again, Lex. We can certainly use your expertise.”
“Good to see you again too,” I replied. “However, the consensus appears to be that I’m second best,” I added with a pointed look at Con. “But I’ll do.”
Tag let out a short bark of laughter. “Oh, she’ll fit right in.” He sobered quickly.
“Brief us on the way,” Con said as we followed Tag toward an unmarked side entrance.
“As she’s a Unit-23 asset, only Typhon has full clearance for what Nightingale is reporting,” said Tag as we walked.
Once inside, he took us into an observation room with one-way glass, where Leviticus “Typhon” Marras waited.
“Thank you for coming,” said Typhon, nodding at Con and me, then motioning to the adjacent room, where Nightingale was being interviewed. “They’re currently discussing what she describes as ‘integration systems.’”
“The holy grail of autonomous AI weaponry,” Con commented.
“Armaments that can’t be turned against its makers,” I added. “I’d like to speak with her.”
All three men turned to look at me.
“With respect,” Tag began, “I don’t think that’s an appropriate ask.”
“Given this is my area of expertise, there might be technical details she was privy to that could easily be misunderstood.”
“Do it,” Typhon said, alerting the interview team to take a break.
When I entered the room, Nightingale looked up at me, her dark eyes assessing.
“I don’t know you,” she said.
“Dr. Margot Sterling. I’m an MI6 AI specialist.” I showed her my credentials, and when she gestured to the chair, I sat across from her. “I need to understand exactly what you heard about the integration process.”
For ten minutes, I led the woman through technical questions. As she reiterated the various conversations she’d been privy to, a chilling picture emerged of exactly what I’d feared.
After signaling we were finished, I thanked her and returned to the room where the three men waited.
“There’s someone I know who I believe can help. I’d like to schedule a consult,” I began. “Dr. Evelyn McLaren.”
“Absolutely not,” Con said before the other man even opened his mouth.
I bristled. “Why not?”
“The fewer people involved in this investigation, the better.”
“I completely disagree,” I said, folding my arms. “As the person responsible for creating the Artificial Intelligence Ethics division for SIS fifteen years ago, she knows more about the technology than most anyone in the world.”
“She’s no longer with SIS,” Con stated.
“That’s irrelevant. Dr. McLaren mentored me. Regardless of what you’re insinuating, she’s beyond reproach.”
“People are rarely what they seem,” Con replied coolly.
My temper flared. “If you’re accusing—”
“I’m saying we need to pick and choose who from MI6 is vetted and who isn’t.”
I was incredulous. “Vetted? Wait. You said MI6.”
“That’s right,” Con responded, raising his chin.
I looked between him and Typhon. When I glanced over at Tag, his attention was fixated on the woman on the opposite side of the glass.
“So what you’re saying is, anyone affiliated with Unit 23 is automatically vetted and those of us with MI6 need additional clearance?”
“I never said anyone would be read in automatically. What I said is we need to be mindful of how many people we trust enough to join the mission—”
“This from the man who missed all the signs that his girlfriend was developing weapons of mass destruction?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
The room went silent, and Con’s face hardened.
“Enough.” Typhon’s voice was quiet but commanding.
“This is precisely why I had reservations when Viper suggested this arrangement.” He looked from Con to me.
“Your personal feelings are irrelevant. Dr. Sterling, your expertise in AI-weapons systems is unparalleled. Infidel, your cybersecurity knowledge is equally valuable. You will work together professionally, or I will find replacements who can.”
Two hours into our agreed-upon truce, Tag stayed behind with Nightingale, who we were told would continue the debrief in the morning. Typhon had returned to London, leaving Con and me to fly back to Blackmoor.
The helicopter ride was silent for fifteen minutes. I stared out the window, reviewing everything we’d learned.
“I apologize,” Con said over the headset.
I turned. “For?”
“Jumping down your throat about McLaren.”
“And I apologize for the comment about Fallon Wallace. It was uncalled for.”
When he looked away, I studied him like I had earlier. The man was more complex than any I’d ever known, and in my professional circles, that was saying something.
As if he felt my eyes on him, he turned abruptly and caught me staring.
“Why did you really hack my system last night?” he asked quietly.
I considered deflecting, but decided on honesty. “I needed to know if you were as good as your reputation. If we’re going to put a stop to Labyrinth’s AI advances, I need a partner I can rely on. Not just another aristocrat playing at espionage.”
Something like respect flickered in his eyes. “And your conclusion?”
I allowed myself a small smile. “You passed.”
As Blackmoor Castle came into view, I felt an unexpected sense of anticipation. Working with Conrad Carnegie would be challenging, frustrating, and possibly dangerous.
It might also be the most intellectually stimulating partnership of my career.
If we didn’t kill each other first.