“Satellite phone,” Hastings says.

  Terrance only nods, afraid that he’ll somehow miss an important beat.

  The CEO doesn’t disappoint. He mutters the number as he dials it. Presses send.

  While the call connects, Terrance scribbles the number in his notepad. The software is recording everything, but computers crash. Software can make rounding errors. This isn’t the time to lose track of Jen’s hard work. And that work bears the ripest of fruits.

  “Gerard, an attack has taken place at Verdantis,” Francois says before launching into a detailed explanation of the situation.

  Francois pauses. Listens to Gerard LeMatt’s response. Terrance and Hastings can’t hear it, but that’s okay—they need a second to catch their breaths.

  “Understood. I just wanted to keep you informed,” Francois replies.

  Another pause.

  “I’ll do that,” Francois says. “How are things going at Grand Inga?”

  More notes. Hastings pinches his headset between his head and his shoulder as he punches the phrase into a search engine.

  “Your progress is excellent. I’m looking forward to a tour,” Francois says. “I won’t keep you a minute longer than I must. We’ll talk again soon.”

  The call ends.

  Terrance uses Gerard LeMatt’s satellite phone number to find his location via a geotracking tool in his hacking kit. It’s still on, which means now is his chance. The software doesn’t disappoint, and he spins to Hastings.

  “He’s at the Grand Inga Dam⁠—”

  “In the Congo,” Terrance says, completing Hastings’s update.

  “It’s also called the ‘Seven Rivers Dam Project.’ It’s a hydroelectric power station on the Congo River, which is the world’s biggest,” Hastings says, continuing to read about the project. “Apparently, half-a-dozen companies have tried and failed to get the project going.”

  “Gombe Wireless has a corporate headquarters in the Democratic Republic of Congo,” Terrance says. “It proves the Founders have serious ties to the country.”

  “The Dark Continent,” Hastings says. “They’re building the world’s biggest dam, and the world didn’t even notice.”

  Terrance nods, his features turning grim. “Are you ready?”

  “I think it’s time.”

  Terrance breathes through another rush of adrenaline. What he’s about to do next could send a team of federal agents careening through his front door. But his anonymity is already fading fast. Over the past twelve hours, more users have entered Jen’s Deadlock setup. He knows who is waiting and watching behind one of the user IDs.

  He opens a chat and types: Hey Andrew. It’s Terrance. I’ve got something for you.

  Langley

  Andrew is in the Group’s Compartmentalized Operations suite as Terrance’s message flashes on the screen. He’s about to learn what his good friends have been doing over the last week, but he’s got a more pressing matter to contend with.

  Deadlock is a powerful tool, and with Anne’s help, it’s an absolute monster. The quantum computer is picking up where Jen left off. Anne now has a full map of Verdantis, and he’s studying it while the power is down. Jen created the opportunity, and the agency won’t let it go to waste.

  “I haven’t been able to detect any anomalies at Verdantis, Andrew,” Anne says.

  “No power diversions?” Andrew asks. “No unregistered equipment?”

  “It seems the data set is healthy,” Anne replies.

  “Show me Void. What’s happening there?”

  The center screen shifts. Void’s user interface replaces Deadlock and its map of Verdantis. Anne conducts a test of Void’s functionality. As Andrew watches, his stomach sinks.

  “Void is fully functional,” Anne says. “The service isn’t offline or degraded.”

  If Jen’s attack had cut power to the Founders’ quantum computer, Void would have gone offline. But it’s still supporting the dark web marketplace. Encrypting data. Facilitating financial transactions. These two tests confirm that the Founders’ quantum computer isn’t in the Netherlands.

  “Our tests are complete, Anne. Notify Sloane. Tell her to turn Groningen’s power back on,” Andrew says. “Show me Terrance’s message too.”

  Anne complies. Dozens of files appear on the screen. Audio recordings. A satellite phone number associated with Gerard LeMatt, along with a GPS coordinate that corresponds to the Grand Inga Dam.

  “Another power project …” Andrew leaps out of his seat and throws his fists in the air. Jen discovered a quantum computer after all. A revelation like that will have consequences, good and bad. But he is banking on good news for Terrance and Hastings as he types his next message: Can you guys come in? I could use some help.

  Ninety

  The waiter delivers a glass of water to Jen’s table.

  “Tender mercy.” Her voice is distant, exploring the outer reaches of consciousness. She shoots him a glance as she grabs the glass. He’s in a state of complete terror, but his eyes are fierce, probing. They belong to a man who’s capable of overpowering his instincts to do what he feels is right.

  The waiter gestures toward Jen’s weapon on the table. “Pistool?”

  Jen hears the sirens approaching. The police are close. The entire square is clear of pedestrians, including the restaurant. He’s trying to defuse the situation before it worsens. She nods. “Danke.”

  The waiter grabs the machine pistol with both hands, unsure of how to handle the weapon. He points the muzzle in the air and looks at her in search of direction.

  “Get someplace safe.” Jen gives him another nod, making sure her gratitude is clear. “Danke.”

  The waiter runs away cradling the machine pistol, leaving her to her glass of water. She hasn’t had a drink since the boat. Between the alcohol and the pills, her mouth is drier than West Texas in the summer. Part of the reason she’s about to pass out, along with her level of pain and overexertion. She puts the glass to her lips, and by the time she rests it on her knee, it’s almost empty.

  But it’s too little, too late.

  Jen’s eyelids relax. Her pain levels are astronomic, and if her neck would allow it, she’d let her chin drop to her chest. But she sinks into the chair and eases her head against the back. She forgets about the glass in her hand. It falls onto the ground and shatters.

  “Politie! Handen omhoog!”

  The shout startles Jen, but it’s not enough to dampen her stupor. She looks up and finds two Dutch police officers pointing pistols at her. They’re certain they have their suspect; they just don’t know how dangerous the encounter is going to be.

  Jen recognizes the waiter’s voice as he shouts from inside the restaurant: “Ze heeft het pistool niet!”

  Jen would thank him for telling the police that she’s unarmed, but she’s afraid to crane her neck. The nearest cop holsters his pistol and pulls out a set of handcuffs. Before he can fasten them around her wrists, a flurry of activity takes place.

  A police cruiser speeds into the square from the north, but it stops fifty yards away from the restaurant. It’s odd, and Jen wonders if they’re establishing a perimeter—until Anastasia Orlov steps out of the cruiser. Anastasia raises a radio, and suddenly, her voice is close, echoing from the radios on the officers’ hips.

  Jen’s adrenaline spikes. These two men, plus the woman controlling them, are here to kill her. But she’s powerless to stop them as they draw closer. Her weapon is gone, and she can’t seem to take her eyes off Anastasia, who is striking.

  And the look she’s giving Jen is like the waiter’s. Intense coupled with … worry? She wonders if she looks that bad, or if there’s something she’s missing.

  A column of black BMW X5s careens into the square a split second later and screeches to a stop in front of the cafe.

  Heavily armed men clad in black leap out of the X5s. “Dienst Speciale Interventies!” they shout.

  The two uniformed police officers back away, cautiously, allowing their superior counterparts to take charge of the scene. Anastasia remains visible through a gap in the X5s, but her face remains unchanged.

  “Jen Yates!” A woman jumps out of an X5 with a pistol pointed in her direction. “Show us your hands! You’re under arrest!”

  “My right arm,” Jen stammers as she raises her healthy hand. “I can’t move it!”

  The woman frowns and holsters her weapon after examining Jen. She nods to an officer and kneels next to Jen. “My name is Sabine Veenstra, Ms. Yates. I’m a member of the General Intelligence and Security Service. You’re under arrest for violations of the Crimes and Terrorism Act. Do you understand me?”

  The weight of Sabine Veenstra’s words hit Jen hard. They chase the pain out of her mind and replace it with thoughts of a lifetime in a Dutch prison. She gulps. Swallows down whatever emotional turmoil that was threatening to break through. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

  A sharp metallic pop echoes near Jen. She recognizes the sound and looks at one of the federal police officers. He lowers his right hand and flicks the beavertail safety of his 2011. She recognizes the gesture from her time in Mexico City. A black balaclava covers his face, but his eyes are familiar. It’s Trey Bingham.

  Light blooms in her chest, filling her with pride. They’re here. Her Group, the people she considers family, is here to help. Martinez must have found the drive. She succeeded, but it’s too soon to celebrate.

  Jen examines the other team members. She finds a giant standing next to Trey. He’s got an unnatural level of concern for a person he was seconds away from shooting. Animal. Coco is standing by the hood of an SUV. He shoots a concerned look in her direction as he maintains their perimeter. One of the men kneeling next to her is Gray. As a leader, Jen couldn’t be more relieved. Her team made it out of Ukraine, despite her.

  She also notices Gray’s intensity. It’s like he wants to yank her out of the chair and whisk her to safety. But he remains silent, like the others. They’re aware of the danger, and just like Anastasia, they’re not exposing themselves.

  This isn’t over.

  But she can’t keep the pain inside any longer. Her breath hitches as the medic assisting Gray finishes cutting off her jacket. She struggles to turn her neck and check her shoulder as tears spill down her face. “I know it’s really serious.”

  “It’s not your arm I’m worried about, ma’am,” the second medic replies. He has a thick accent, but he gets his message across. He looks at Gray. “We can’t put a neck brace on her. Not with a broken clavicle.”

  Gray doesn’t reply, but his face looks like it could burst.

  “She needs a hospital now—right now. It can’t wait,” the medic says to Sabine. “We can medevac her to University Medical Center Utrecht. They have the best spinal trauma surgeons in the country.”

  Sabine glances at Jen and makes a split-second decision. “Let’s get her to the airport.”

  The medic stows his trauma shears and prepares to help her. “Ms. Yates, we’re going to help you stand up.”

  Gray takes a position on her opposite side, supporting her neck as she stands.

  Jen screams as she moves. Her body is stiff. The pain is searing. And her neck … it’s tight and numb and burning, all at once. Her shoulder was the obvious problem—the impediment that drew her focus. But the symptoms in her neck are a sign of massive trauma. She realizes she’s in a serious health crisis—with Anastasia Orlov hovering close.

  “Put her in first,” the medic says. “I’ll go in after.”

  Gray steps aside and helps Jen onto the seat. She catches him running to the lead X5, and she wants to scream. Beg him to stay. But Animal and Bingham climb into the front seats. Sabine enters on the far side, sandwiching her between the medic, who supports her neck as they speed toward the airport.

  Ninety-One

  Sabine works quickly to facilitate an emergency medical flight from Groningen Airport. Jen’s condition is critical. Bruises cover her entire neck, which is swollen, just like the tissue under her eyes and the right side of her jaw. They’re signs that her trauma isn’t limited to her shoulder.

  The flight is an urgent matter, but Sabine knows Jen Yates could be late—if she makes it at all. The woman who killed Victor Orlov is in custody. Anastasia is close, and she won’t be able to resist the bait.

  “Trauma teams are on the tarmac. They’ll be ready for takeoff in five. What’s our ETA to the airport?” Sabine asks.

  Neither man up front replies. Understandable. The pair of vehicles is moving fast through downtown Groningen. Their heads are on swivels, and she doubts they even heard her.

  Sabine needs this call to end, so she guesstimates her response. “We’re ten minutes out.”

  Sven echoes the update in English. To comfort Jen Yates, Sabine assumes, but she doesn’t care. Her phone is in her palm, the screen angled away from the other passengers. She stays sharp, making sure the tinted windows aren’t reflecting her message to Anastasia.

  We’re picking up the A28 south. Ten minutes from Groningen Airport Eelde.

  I’ll be with you soon. Authorize the handover.

  Sabine busies herself as the confrontation with Anastasia looms. She looks through the windshield as the convoy enters the southbound lanes of the A28 motorway. The lead vehicle is only feet away from Sabine’s. Traffic is sparse in her current direction. Commuters are leaving the suburbs for their jobs in the city, but the northbound lanes are flowing.

  She checks the back window but doesn’t see any signs of Anastasia. She considers ordering the lead vehicle to reduce its speed, but that would be suspicious. Instead, she searches Jen’s backpack. She pulls it from between her legs and rests it on her lap. She unzips the main compartment but finds only an orange case.

  Sabine opens it. There’s a Rolex watch. A .40-caliber Glock 35 pistol with a Spetsnaz insignia laser engraved on the slide. Several pieces of printer paper are also inside a watertight sleeve. Her stomach drops as she realizes the items belonged to Victor Orlov. Like her, Jen Yates is also expecting Anastasia to appear.

  Sabine snaps the box shut and returns it to the pack. She has questions for Jen Yates, but she doesn’t get the chance to ask them.

  “Three police cruisers are approaching fast,” Sven says in English.

  The men up front don’t reply. The lead vehicle activates its blinker. A moment later, the driver in front of Sabine does the same. Both vehicles slow as they enter the emergency lane.

  Sabine would have ordered them to stop. Facilitate the handover. But her senses are flaring. The orange case belongs to Anastasia, and Sven is using English to update the other team members, who are ignoring her authority. “What are you doing? I didn’t tell you to pull over!” she shouts in Dutch.

  The giant in the passenger seat turns to her. His eyes are furious. “Keep your fucking voice down and stick with English from now on.”

  Americans. Hardened warfighters who are worlds apart from their counterparts in the Dutch military. The revelation paralyzes Sabine. She’s not in control. She never was.

  “Jen, I have to let go,” Sven says.

  Sabine looks over as the medic releases Jen’s neck and draws his pistol. But he doesn’t point it toward the police cruisers; he points it at her.

  “Keep your weapon holstered, Ms. Veenstra,” Sven says. “Remain still.”

  “TOC, this is Sierra Two,” the giant says. “We’re stopped at kilometer marker five on the A28. Three marked police vehicles are interdicting our convoy.”

  Sabine’s radio does not echo the update. Nor does she hear the response. They’re working on a different channel. Her vision dissolves into a series of flashes. It’s like a slideshow. Each image is its own thought, crystallized in a bright light.

  This is a setup.

  Frederick and the Americans planned it.

  They know I’m a traitor.

  The last thought lingers the longest. Frederick knows what she’s done. It’s certain now, just like her fate. My life is over. But she realizes that’s not true. There’s still a decision to make.

  “Trey,” Jen says, panic in her voice. “The cops are with Anastasia. I overheard their radio chatter.”

  “I know, Jen. It’s okay,” the man replies from the driver’s seat. “We’ve got this.”

  “I’m really sorry, Animal,” Jen says, voice trembling. “Make sure you tell the others if I don’t get the chance. It was the only way.”

  The giant turns, pulls down his balaclava, and exposes his face. “You did great, Jen. We’re with you. Remember that.”

  “Just stay strong, Jen. We’re all here for you,” the driver says. “Good to see you, by the way.”

  Jen’s laugh is tense, and she manages a smile. “You too, Trey.”

  The giant grabs his radio and updates the team. “We’re no longer anonymous. Clear for English communications.”

  “Copy that, Sierra Two. I have one cop packing a long gun exiting the vehicle ahead of us.”

  “Don’t let them box us in, Sierra Four,” the giant replies.

  “Positive ID on Anastasia Orlov,” Sven says.

  Sabine snaps out of her trance. Twists in time to catch Anastasia step out of the cruiser directly behind the SUV. She’s wearing a complete police uniform. Navy blue, with a fluorescent yellow stripe across the chest. She’s wearing a police hat, her long auburn hair in a ponytail through the back loop. She is walking toward the X5s with three other armed officers when two of them break off and take cover between the cruisers.

  “Time for a fireside chat,” the driver says.

  “Yeah, Major. Let’s get personal,” the giant replies.

  Both men draw their pistols, keeping them low. The driver checks his side mirror. Rolls down his window as the phony officer approaches.