Chapter 4

Liam stared at the small red flag emblem on the grille of my car. For a moment, he looked uncertain, but his arrogance quickly won out.

"A protected government asset?" he sneered, his confidence returning. "What are you, a mail carrier? Did you dent the new post office jeep? Don't try to scare me with some fake government nonsense. I know people, real people in Washington. My father is Senator Vance. A single phone call from him would have your 'superiors' apologizing to me."

Tiff, taking her cue from him, chimed in. "Yeah! You're probably just some low-level clerk who stole a company car. We should call the police and report you for grand theft auto!"

They were doubling down on their disbelief. It was a common mistake for people who had never faced a power greater than their own money.

I ignored them and took out my encrypted phone again. I dialed a number from memory, a direct line to my handler, a man we only ever called 'Control'.

He answered instantly. "Ava. Report."

His voice was clipped, professional, all business. There was no greeting, no small talk.

"Control, I have a situation," I said, keeping my own voice low and calm. "Project Red Flag has been compromised. A minor collision. However, the civilian parties involved are... uncooperative."

"Define uncooperative," Control' s voice commanded from the phone.

"They are attempting to extort me for three hundred thousand dollars for damages to their vehicle," I explained. "And they are refusing to acknowledge liability for the damage to the prototype."

Before Control could respond, Liam lunged forward. He snatched the phone from my hand with surprising speed.

"Who is this?" he demanded into the phone, his voice filled with arrogant authority. "This is Liam Vance. Your employee here is causing a public disturbance and making wild accusations. I don't know what little government agency you think you work for, but I am the CEO of Vance Industries, and my father is Senator Vance. I suggest you tell your little clerk to pay for the damages she caused and crawl back to whatever hole she came from, or I will personally see to it that your department' s funding is cut to zero in the next budget hearing."

There was a dead silence from the other end of the line. For a full five seconds, nothing. I could almost feel the cold fury building on the other side of the planet.

Then, Control spoke. His voice was no longer clipped and professional. It was dangerously soft, a low, resonant sound that seemed to make the air grow colder.

"Mr. Vance," he said, the name dripping with ice. "You have made a grave error. First, you threatened a protected field agent. Second, you threatened a matter of national security. And third, you did it using a classified, encrypted communication device that you had no authorization to touch."

Liam's face paled slightly. This was not the reaction he had expected.

Control continued, his voice rising in volume and intensity with each word. "You want three hundred thousand dollars? Fine. Consider it paid. In fact, let's make it a billion. A billion dollars for the trouble you have caused Agent Chen. A billion dollars for the damage to a piece of technology that is vital to the security of this nation. My people will be there in five minutes to deliver the initial payment. I suggest you don't move."

The line went dead.

Liam stared at the phone in his hand, his mouth hanging slightly open. "A billion? Is he insane?"

Tiff scoffed, though she looked a little shaken. "He's bluffing, Liam. It's just some scare tactic."

"He sounded serious," Liam muttered, handing the phone back to me as if it were contaminated.

I took it and slipped it back into my pocket. "He is," I said simply. "You wanted money. You're going to get it."

Liam shook his head, trying to regain his composure. "Fine! Let him try! I want it in cash! Stacks of cash, right here! I want to see this billion dollars he's talking about!" He was shouting now, trying to project a confidence he no longer felt. His demand for cash was a desperate attempt to call a bluff he was starting to fear was real.

"Cash it is," I said with a slight smile.

I didn't have to wait long. Less than four minutes later, a low rumble filled the air. It grew louder and louder, a deep, mechanical growl that vibrated through the pavement.

Around the corner came a convoy.

Not town cars or police cruisers.

Three massive, matte-black armored trucks, the kind used for transporting millions in currency, rolled down the street and screeched to a halt, surrounding the scene. They were flanked by four black SUVs with tinted windows. Doors opened in unison, and a dozen men in sharp black suits and earpieces emerged, their movements precise and coordinated. They formed a secure perimeter around us, their impassive faces scanning the stunned crowd.

The onlookers, who had been enjoying the drama, were now silent, their phones lowered, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

The rear doors of the lead armored truck swung open.

The show was about to begin.