Chapter 6: They Were Already Watching
The countdown froze everyone in place.
47:42... 47:41... 47:40...
No one spoke.
The only sound was the steady beeping of the forensic laptop as the red numbers continued falling.
The technician looked at me, his face drained of color.
"I never connected this device to the internet."
Another specialist quickly stepped forward.
"It's running on an isolated battery."
"No wireless."
"No cellular signal."
"No external connection."
He swallowed hard.
"That message shouldn't even be possible."
I stared at the screen.
"Can you stop the countdown?"
He shook his head.
"I've already tried."
"The system rejects every command."
"It's as if someone else still controls it."
Across the parking lot, Elena slowly stood from the ambulance.
She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders and looked at the laptop.
"I've seen that timer before."
Every head turned toward her.
"When?"
"The night Victor met the man with the phoenix ring."
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to remember.
"They argued for nearly an hour."
"Victor kept saying the shipment had been delayed."
"The other man didn't care."
"He pointed at a laptop just like this one."
"And then..."
She hesitated.
"The timer reached zero."
"What happened?" I asked quietly.
"The screen went black."
"Five minutes later Victor received a phone call."
"He looked terrified."
"He kept saying..."
Her voice trembled.
"'Yes, Director... it won't happen again.'"
Director.
Not boss.
Not client.
Director.
The word settled heavily in my mind.
Victor had never been giving orders.
He had been taking them.
A federal agent came running from inside the warehouse.
"Commander!"
"We've finished questioning Hale."
"What did he say?"
The agent's expression was grim.
"Almost nothing."
"He refuses to answer questions."
"But..."
"He keeps asking for protective custody."
I frowned.
"Protective custody?"
"He says if we leave him in a normal prison..."
The agent paused.
"...he won't survive the week."
I walked toward the armored vehicle where Victor sat handcuffed behind reinforced glass.
He looked nothing like the arrogant man who had laughed while Elena hung from the ceiling.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His hands shook uncontrollably.
When he saw me, he leaned forward.
"You have to listen."
"I've heard enough."
"No."
His voice cracked.
"You don't understand."
"They're watching."
I glanced around the secured crime scene.
"Federal agents are everywhere."
"I'm not talking about them."
Victor's breathing became frantic.
"You think I'm the monster."
"I was just useful."
"Useful to who?"
He stared at me for several seconds before answering.
"People whose names never appear on paper."
"People who own judges."
"Senators."
"Police chiefs."
"Entire corporations."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"People who don't forgive failure."
I remained silent.
Victor laughed bitterly.
"You think tonight is over."
"It isn't."
"This is only the beginning."
Before I could question him further, one of the tactical officers touched his earpiece.
"Commander."
"We've got movement."
"Where?"
"Rooftop."
Every weapon in the parking lot instantly pointed upward.
A lone figure dressed entirely in black stood on the edge of a neighboring warehouse nearly three hundred yards away.
No panic.
No attempt to hide.
He simply stood there watching us through binoculars.
The wind pulled at his long coat.
Even from that distance, one detail was unmistakable.
A crimson phoenix was embroidered across the back.
One of my snipers spoke through the radio.
"I have a clean shot."
I raised my hand.
"Hold."
The mysterious figure slowly lowered the binoculars.
Then, with deliberate calm, he raised one gloved hand toward me.
Not a wave.
A salute.
As if he already knew exactly who I was.
The next second, a smoke charge detonated around him.
By the time the cloud dispersed, the rooftop was empty.
No body.
No footprints.
Nothing.
Only a small black case remained where he had been standing.
A bomb technician carefully approached it while the rest of us established a perimeter.
"There are no explosives," he called after opening the case.
"Then what's inside?"
He lifted out a single envelope made from thick black paper.
Across the front, written in silver ink, were just six words.
For Commander Adrian Moretti. Open Alone.
No address.
No fingerprints.
No return seal.
Only the crimson phoenix stamped in wax across the flap.
I broke the seal.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
There was no threat.
No ransom demand.
No signature.
May you like
Only one sentence.
Welcome home, Commander. We've been waiting for you for twenty years.
