September 9th, 2027

John Walker sat directly across from Miss Amelia Evans, never taking his gaze off the twenty-six-year-old public relations specialist. According to her file, Amelia had been the perfect candidate for Frank’s personal secretary. She’d majored in Communications in college and went on to do a brief stint at CNN, mostly as an intern, but she’d gotten her share of airtime.

As a people person and a professional at breaking news, suppressing it, and acting as a leeway, she had been Frank’s first choice for his secretary. Naturally, he’d only reviewed the files that his Chief of Staff had given him, but out of all those, he’d selected Amelia because she’d been practically groomed for this job.

Groomed to be a mole.

And she played the part perfectly. First, when she’d been found out, outrage. Then came the “This is all a mistake” bit that they all pulled. Now she was brooding. Trying to play angry at being falsely accused.

The thing was, she’d been rightly accused, and John sat across the table staring at her, wondering if she was ever going to cave in. She’d been trained for this. She’d performed without peer.

Would she also stand up to pressure flawlessly?

John had unique methods of applying pressure.

“Miss Evans,” he said flatly. He was by no means an interrogator and he’d never worked with the criminal justice system. Instead his skills were more practical, intended for everyday use. When you use your skills every day, they tend to get rather strong.

Strong enough to break someone like Amelia Evans.

She regarded him, barely. Didn’t look at him directly, merely glanced in John’s direction. She was still pretending to be offended at this whole insult. John had seen the look a dozen times before; not on interrogation victims, but on cheating husbands or habitual liars. It was the kind of trouble that John solved all the time, and was paid quite handsomely to do so.

The first time John had seen Miss Evans, it seemed unnecessary to observe her because she was merely a conduit to John’s real interest: Frank. Now that he was actively analyzing her, he realized he should have caught her much earlier. Though she was a superb young actress, there was the scent of deception about her. Something false hiding behind those deep brown eyes and matching shoulder-length hair.

The room was a classic interrogation room. About twelve feet by sixteen feet. A single wrought iron desk that spanned about eight feet. Two chairs on either side of the desk. A single mirror on one wall. John couldn’t have asked for anything better.

“You planted that bug in the president’s conference room,” John stated. “Don’t try to argue, because it doesn’t really matter and I know the truth. You can’t convince me otherwise. And don’t play the damsel in distress, either. There are three people on the other side of that mirror. All women.”

It was a lie, naturally. There was no one behind the mirror. It really was a two-by-six chunk of reflective glass. Frank, Arthur, and Frank’s favored Four-Star General Peter Wolcroft sat in a Pentagon conference room watching everything that happened through a small camera on John’s shirt. The camera was hidden in a pen he stuck out of his breast pocket. Technology.

Amelia was keeping quiet. Classic guilt admission. If she were innocent, she would have asked why he thought she was guilty or what proof he had. She didn’t, however, because she knew what his proof was and she knew that he already knew, no matter how little tangible evidence he had. John had everything he needed locked away in her mind.

“I only want to know one thing. I won’t lie; you’re in trouble. Spying on the President of the United States of America is one of the most serious felonies you can be convicted of.”

Amelia humphed, her first genuine reaction. “And let me guess. You’re here to make all those big bad charges go away. You, the magic man who can convince the president I’m guilty just because you found a pager hidden in his computer speaker, are now offering to be my savior?”

John liked her, he decided. She would be harder to crack than he’d initially thought.

“No,” he replied candidly. “I can’t offer you anything, really.”

“Then you just lost your bargaining chip.”

“I never had one to begin with. This isn’t a poker game, I’m just trying to get to know you as a person.”

The idea surprised her, but it wasn’t the good kind of surprise. “You’re a little old for me, buddy.”

“You misunderstand. If I can figure out who you are, I can figure out how to get you on my side. Give me a few hours and I’ll have you crying about how your mother left you alone while she went out and sold her body to strangers. Men who would kill her just as easily as they’d look at her.”

Amelia’s face went white. She’d expected some kind of ploy, she had to. But this? She’d never told anyone, no doubt. She was the kind of woman who didn’t have many friends because her job—her real job as Darrow’s informant—demanded it. There weren’t many people alive who knew a thing about her.

“You could have a database on her,” was her explanation. It was a weak one.

“Sure we could. But unless she got arrested, it wouldn’t be in the database. Did she ever get arrested?”

Amelia’s lack of an answer was an answer in itself.

“Now I suppose you’ll want to know how I know that. I’ll spare you having to ask it yourself. The thing is, Amelia, I know people. It’s my job. I figured out that your mother was a prostitute in these last five minutes because when I mentioned the women standing behind that mirror, your eyes shifted. They went place to place, which obviously says you don’t like women. But why not?”

John stood and began pacing the room, really wanting to show off on this one. “You are a woman yourself, after all. The most logical choice is that you had a female figure who you looked up to at some point and she let you down. How did I know it was your mother? It had to be someone in a position to nurture you, then shatter that relationship, and your file says you never lived with anyone aside from your mother. Now, the best question. How did I know she was a prostitute? Well that’s where it really gets tricky. She could have simply been an old witch who failed to give you the love and affection you needed, but no. It was more than that because you were uncomfortable when I mentioned women. You don’t trust them, and the greatest cause for not trusting a woman is unfaithfulness. She could have just been cheating, but I assumed prostitute because you don’t have many friends. You were ashamed by your mother’s work at an early age and treated badly by other kids your age because of it. So you see, there’s really nothing you can hide from me.”

John retreated to his side of the room and watched Amelia’s cold face stare at him. Anger was there, but so were curiosity, concern, and a half-dozen other emotions he didn’t care about at the moment. What he did care about was the fact that she was starting to realize exactly what he’d said: there was no point in hiding anything.

“You a psychic or something?” she asked.

John laughed at that. He’d received the question many times, and each one he laughed because there was no such thing.

“No,” he replied, settling the laugh. “No, it’s like I said. I know people.”

She stared at him for a long time, face drawn. Trying to be expressionless, but a truly expressionless face is an expression in itself: the fact that a person is trying not to express something. Deception.

Amelia was trying to trick John into thinking he hadn’t fazed her in the least. Fortunately, she wasn’t as good at this type of mind game as he was.

“And you expect me to tell you everything I know just because you can tell me about my whore of a mother?”

Now they were getting somewhere. She’d just admitted that she was a mole, even though that admission was now inconsequential. As John had said, he already knew the truth.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said, pressing the fact. Miss Evans shrugged. “But now I need to know a few things.”

She didn’t reply. John was digging deeper toward a nerve.

“How did Darrow recruit you?”

Silence followed the question. John may have gained Amelia’s trust from his knowledge about her mother, but he obviously didn’t have enough of a rapport for her to bare out all her biggest secrets.

“Let’s start with something simpler, then.” Maybe he could break the ice with more of a toothpick and less of a jackhammer. “Your file says that you worked for CNN for a while. Communications in college. It would seem that you worked toward your job almost all your life.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere?”

“Sure there is. Why would you turn your back on your own people and involve yourself in a small-time operation like this? Especially with your intelligence and personality, you could have made a pretty decent life for yourself.”

Amelia scoffed. “I have made a good life for myself. When this is all over I’ll take my place among the elite of the new world.”

The statement shocked John somewhat, though he was beyond that now. A scientist was proving to be a greater threat to America than China’s nuclear weapons; Amelia’s delusions of a new world could hardly compare.

“You’re goal is to take over the world,” John said, voice wringing with sarcasm. “That’s a pretty ambitious task to take on, even with others to help you. How exactly did you intend to go about it? Kill the president? Establish yourself as the head of the United States and then repeat the process with the rest of the world?”

“Please, enough with the pretenses. We both know neither of us are that stupid. You caught me on the fact that I’m involved in a so-called terrorist plot, I’ll be professional enough to admit that. But you’re not going to get me to unconsciously tell you our plans by spewing out ridiculous ideas to take over the world.”

John got what he’d wanted. “There are others. How many?”

“Enough to cause a great deal of trouble. And before you take joy in finding out this insignificant detail, let me tell you that there’s plenty of info I can give you on my employer that would describe ten million people just like him. Or her, for all you know.”

John knew it was a lie—that Amelia’s employer was a woman, anyway—but he smiled nonetheless because he was enjoying this little chess game. It would take longer than he’d expected, of course, because Amelia had far more pawns than John had anticipated.

He would still put her in checkmate.

“I don’t need you for the insignificant details,” John said, taking his seat once more. “I can find those out on my own. I need you because you’re going to tell me all the significant details that you’ve been allowed to be part of.”

“Allowed?” Amelia asked, slightly offended.

“You don’t really believe that they trust you implicitly, do you?”

No answer, just a raised brow that had persisted since she’d asked.

John chuckled. “The innocence of youth. They’re using you, Amelia. As soon as they get what they need from you they’ll spit you up and hang you out to dry. Which, unless I’m mistaken, they’ve done already.”

“They’ll come for me.”

“To the Pentagon?” John asked, letting the full extent of that question sink in. “Because this is where you’re staying until this situation is resolved. You actually expect them to come crashing through those walls and lift you out of here in a chopper? Face it, Miss Evans. You’re on your own now.”

He’d broken through something. John couldn’t tell what he’d broken or how large the hole he’d just made was, but he’d definitely slapped a sore spot and Amelia had felt it.

“Unless,” John continued, “you’ll work with us.”

Juliet Adams drove down Interstate 55 in the dead of night, three o’clock in the morning. She’d expected a bit of traffic being in a city as large as Saint Louis, but nowhere near this much at such an early hour. The number of cars on the road was about the same as it was during any non-rush hour time of the day. It was almost sad that there were this many people who didn’t have families they needed to be home with at this time of night.

Juliet didn’t have a family to go home to either, so she decided she fit in just fine with this nighttime crowd. Her car stood out among the others—a brand new 2027 pink Mustang surrounded generally boring and forgettable vehicles—and she somewhat liked the fact. Never had enjoyed blending into the crowd, even if she was able to pull it off splendidly.

The car was the real reason behind Juliet’s driving to Saint Louis at three in the morning. She’d like to think it was her rather unique skill set, and it may well have been. But the leader of her band of misfits had said that Juliet was the only one he trusted to get to the city in time. A trip from D.C. to Saint Louis generally took fourteen or fifteen hours. Juliet and her trusty steed had made it in twelve and a half. Granted, it didn’t sound like much of an improvement, but in her line of work, every second counted.

She didn’t know much about the assignment, other than that she was to meet up with two allies in the field who would fill her in on the rest. The safe zone was a single-room apartment above a restaurant the state department had bought out when they first employed the Right Hand. Juliet had only been there once or twice, and she remembered each time vividly. The first was when she’d been shot for her first time—just a flesh wound in the arm—and the second had been when she’d had to hide from two dozen police after a government-approved assassination of a Chinese ambassador. Officially the blame was cast on a lunatic from an insane asylum.

That had been Juliet’s idea.

The reputation she’d received from it had made her worth her weight in gold. And yet she’d been assigned this job because of her car rather than her ability. It was a bit of an insult.

Nevertheless, Juliet took each job seriously, and she’d treat this one no differently.

She took a left when the opportunity presented itself. The temptation to go sightseeing presented itself and Juliet nearly took it, but she’d been driving for twelve hours straight and needed to find the safehouse if for no other reason than to use the bathroom. A good nap might help, too.

The car in front of Juliet banked right onto Jefferson and Juliet followed it until the intersection at Chouteau. She slowed her car to a halt along the sidewalk and slammed the stick into park. Yanked the keys, opened the door, and stepped out onto the pavement.

The ground clicked from contact with Juliet’s high-heels. She was employed by the federal government as a problem solver, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be feminine. Form-fitting jeans and a modest red top that accentuated her notorious figure was considered quite normal for Juliet, even on the job, whereas most of the other women wore business or more practical attire.

She clicked her way to the door of The Big Mississippi, flipped out her key ring, and found the brass slab of metal that fit in the door. She twisted, untwisted, then shoved the door wide.

No one inside the diner, which was good. The apartment was on the second floor; that was where her partners would be.

Juliet closed the door and thought better of it once she’d been surrounded by the darkness. She rummaged through her purse and found the cell phone. Thank God she’d remembered to charge it during the trip.

The light from the screen illuminated a classic dining establishment: a room filled with tables and chairs and booths, separated from the kitchen to the left by a swinging door. The staircase to the second floor was situated immediately to Juliet’s right. It went up, then looped around and continued upward in the opposite direction.

Juliet flipped through her key ring and found the one she hoped would open the door to the safe room, then angled for the stairs. When she reached the top she continued down the dimly-lit hallway until the wooden door stood right in front of her.

Should I knock? she wondered. If anyone was inside there could be no telling what they were doing. Then again, it was a safe house, not a bathroom or personal bedroom.

Juliet plunged the key into the lock and twisted for a second time.

The door swung wide to reveal the same safe house Juliet remembered. Two mattresses lay on the floor directly underneath the only window in the entire establishment. The bathroom, consisting of only a toilet and sink in barely more than six cubic feet of space, was situated to her left. A single ten-inch TV was hooked into the wall displaying an episode of The Simpsons.

A Compaq laptop lay open on one of the mattresses, the only disturbance Juliet could see.

Well, that and the gun pressed to her head.

“Name,” a voice demanded. A woman. Strong, but feminine. The fact that she held the gun while a tall, studious-looking man emerged from a natural extrusion of the wall said that she was the real threat here.

“I hadn’t expected a woman,” the man said. Though he appeared intelligent—and somewhat handsome, if Juliet could be perfectly honest—his voice carried more authority than Juliet would have thought could come from such a man. He held her gaze, and even then Juliet felt like he was reading into her soul.

“Your name,” the woman said again.

“Juliet Adams. I’m the agent sent here by the state department.”

The gun receded from Juliet’s temple, but remained focused directly on her while the woman stepped over to the man’s side.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you’ll have to do better than that. Today I was nearly crushed flat by a man driving an SUV and then shot at by the same man. He claimed to be working for my science professor. And now I’m involved in a conspiracy theory regarding a plot by the same professor to create a weapon of mass destruction and use said weapon. You’ll understand if I need a bit more proof than that.”

Juliet wondered for a moment if she’d heard him right. He had the air of a man much older than he was, and he certainly seemed to be telling the truth. But a conspiracy theory? A crazed scientist?

No wonder Zeus had given her this one.

“Are you armed?” the brown-headed man asked.

“No.” The truth was that Juliet was indeed armed, but the gun was well out of reach in her purse. No way to reach it without the man’s bodyguard-apparent firing on her.

“She’s lying,” the woman said. It occurred to Juliet that they looked quite similar. The same short and slender nose, same lean jaw line, same low cheekbones. Maybe even similar enough to be siblings. Relatives, at least.

“I know,” the man told the woman. “It’s in her purse.”

“I can’t be sure you’re who I think you are,” Juliet explained, displaying no remorse for her lie.

The man smirked. “I like your attitude. No excuses, no apologies. But you understand we have good reason to be paranoid ourselves.”

Juliet nodded.

For a long second the man simply stared deeply into her eyes, and Juliet thought he might not just be deciding whether or not to trust her. There was a certain interest or even captivation in his blue eyes. Juliet didn’t know if she should be flattered or concerned.

“I don’t think she’ll be any trouble, Miri.” The man held his gaze for another moment, then turned to the woman. Miri. Miranda, probably.

“You sure?” Miri asked, never breaking her hold on the gun. She’d been trained to handle it, that much was obvious, but she didn’t carry herself like any street cop. FBI, possibly, or she may have even served in the armed forces.

“I’m sure.” The man put his hand over Miri’s gun and lowered it.

He trusted Juliet, for whatever reason. If it was infatuation, as Juliet thought she’d seen in his eyes, then he was a fool who would get her killed.

If it was intuition, like she hoped, he may prove to be an interesting ally.

The man stretched out his hand and the woman let the gun drop to her side, though she held her grip on it.

“David Penner,” he said.

Juliet took his hand and he shook it gently.

“Nice to meet you, Juliet.”

“Nice to meet you.”

David’s hand receded and he introduced the woman standing beside him. “This is my sister, Miranda.”

Miranda stretched out her hand and Juliet accepted. The gun was still in her hand. She must have noticed Juliet’s stare, because she held it up for Juliet to see and popped out the magazine. Empty. As was the chamber.

“Just for show,” Miranda explained, a smile tugging one corner of her mouth.

Juliet liked her deception and smirked. “The same kind of tactic I might use. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Now I hope you don’t mind, but we need to get down to business as soon as possible.”

“Of course. But if you don’t mind, I just had a thirteen-hour trip from D.C.”

Miranda understood immediately, but it took David a second. A single look from his sister and it clicked.

“Oh, absolutely, it’s right there on your left.”

Juliet smiled politely and headed for the bathroom. She left her purse just outside, satisfied that even if she couldn’t yet trust these people she somehow knew they wouldn’t just shoot her in cold blood.

She closed the door behind her and flipped on the light. Finally, a bathroom break.

From three thirty in the morning until about five, an hour and a half later, David, Miri, and their new counterpart Juliet discussed the situation. The “assignment,” as Juliet referred to it. The first half-hour discussion was regarding everything David and Miri knew that the government had neglected to fill Juliet in on. Darrow’s experiments, learning that he could use it as a weapon, being called by the Secretary of Defense—everything. Juliet was surprised by the seriousness of the situation, but it appeared the she’d seen many similar ones. Or even worse.

She was an interesting woman, David thought. Aside from offering that she was contracted by the state department, Juliet didn’t give up anything about her job title. No formal agency, she’d said, and despite being licensed to carry firearms, she didn’t have any federal clearance. No badge. No authority beyond the average citizen whatsoever.

David knew that was all just a cover. In reality she probably had the fullest extent to do whatever she pleased as long as Slogan approved. She wouldn’t abuse that power, however. Juliet was a strong, disciplined, and at the same time lovely woman. He couldn’t tell if it was a slight attraction or just fascination. She was very different than any other woman he’d met.

From four until five in the morning they discussed their strategy. Aside from stalling Darrow and possibly gathering evidence on him, David and Miri hadn’t formed one yet. That was why Juliet had come, she’d said.

She carried herself with a dignity and maturity far beyond her age, David thought. Only twenty-four, barely older than him. Yet there she was, sitting next to Miri on one of the mattresses, working out a plan with them to strike at Darrow as if she were the master strategist for the entire U.S. military.

David rapidly grew to realize that he was indeed attracted to Juliet. And she knew it. Or at least, she suspected.

But this was no time for a meaningless infatuation, not when the biggest threat that had ever fallen upon the world was presenting itself right before them. Now was the time for action.

And before that, planning.

“I think it’s a pretty sound strategy,” Miri said. David breathed in deeply, snapping out of whatever subconscious daydream had taken him over for the moment.

It was nearly five thirty. The single window that showed the outside world was covered by the yellow curtain Miri had drawn, but ambient light filtered in. Whether it was from the sun or the lights of the city, David couldn’t tell. It simply came in and filled the room.

“Don’t you, David?” Miri persisted.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” David said, even though he remembered full well each of the six possibilities they’d considered during the last hour and a half.

Miri sighed. She was impatient, unlike Juliet. “You want to do the honors?” she asked.

Juliet smirked politely, amused by Miri’s edginess. “This is it in a nutshell,” she said, turning to face David. “Assuming, of course, you still want to go through with the legal version of the plan.”

David chuckled. They’d discussed simply breaking into Darrow’s lab right then, while no one was inside. It was tempting—they could easily get everything they needed then and there—but if all this turned out to be nothing they would be in big trouble.

Not likely, Juliet had argued.

It was beside the point. If it was legitimate, the courts could easily dismiss evidence gained by false means. Again, unlikely. But David didn’t want to take any risks.

“I’m sure,” he told Juliet. “The legal plan. At least, somewhat.”

Juliet took a deep breath. “Okay. Legally. You go to that press conference Darrow’s holding at what, ten tomorrow? He and most of his fellow researchers will be distracted, so Miranda and I will slip into his lab using her clearance. We inspect the device and gather all the evidence we can. Failing that, we cause as much chaos as we can.”

The last part had been Miri’s suggestion and Juliet supported it enthusiastically.

“The only thing I’m concerned with is that you two don’t have a clue what to look for.”

“Inform us then, Enlightened One,” Miri joked. She’d suggested that she be the one to stall Darrow by flashing her badge and demanding he come with her. It was a good idea, aside from the fact that she’d fled a crime scene and was now a wanted woman.

“I don’t mean to sound stuck-up, but there are very few people who could understand Darrow’s research—how it works and what to look for to determine its function.”

“Trust me, David,” Juliet said softly. “I may not look like a scientist, but you don’t get where I am without being intelligent. I admit I probably won’t be able to understand everything. Just tell us what to look for and we’ll do our best.”

David sighed, knowing that this was their best option.

And he told them. He told the two women—both of whom had only recently begun playing major roles in his life and were rapidly becoming two of the most important women in his world—exactly how to find any discrepancies with Darrow’s invention. Any possible threatening uses. Anything at all that Darrow had neglected to mention in his report.

They listened, Miri with a mild understanding and Juliet with a look of determination to understand, even the parts that she didn’t fully.

A half-hour later they decided it was time to sleep before their busy day. David, wanting to show off his noble nature, gave Juliet and Miri the two mattresses and selected the armchair in the corner of the room for himself. It was rough and lumpy and downright painful at times, but David was so tired he slept soundly through the night.

At least, until he dreamt.