“There is no deal, Doctor.”
“I have a dead man’s switch.”
I channel every ounce of authority I possess. The trauma surgeon who orders others out of her trauma bay when they compromise a patient. The woman who stole the chart. The woman who learned how to lie from the man standing behind me.
“The data sits on a timed release. Encrypted server. If I don’t punch in a code in thirty minutes and every four hours after that, it goes to the press. It goes to the FBI. It goes to the oversight committee. The senator burns.”
The leader stops. Cocks his head.
“Bluff.”
“Is it?” I step forward, putting myself deeper into the line of fire. I hold his gaze. “Can you afford to take that chance? If I die, the code doesn’t get entered. If he dies, I let the clock run out. We walk out of here, or deep state secrets align with the morning news cycle. Your boss goes to prison, and you become a liability to be cleaned up.”
Silence stretches. The wind howls, filling the void.
The leader looks at Boyd, standing there, knife in hand, ribs heaving, and then back at me. He runs the numbers. He knows the senator. He knows failure isn’t an option, but exposure is worse.
“Stand down.”
The leader lowers his weapon.
“Iris,” Boyd growls. “Don’t do this.”
“Drop the knife, Boyd.”
I keep my gaze on the leader. I don’t look at Boyd. If I look at him, I’ll break.
“It’s over.”
“No.” He shakes his head.
“That’s an order.” I turn to him then.
He looks at me with betrayal, with fury. Like I stabbed him. He would rather die fighting than see me taken. He would rather bleed out in the snow than fail the mission.
But he has to trust me.
Trust me.I pour everything I can’t say into that look.I have a plan. Just stay alive. I need you alive.
Slowly, agonizingly, he lowers the knife. His fingers open. The blade drops into the snow with a muffled thud.
“Smart.”
The leader gestures to his men.
“Grab her. Leave him.”
“Sir.” One of the soldiers glances at Boyd. “He’s a witness. Protocol says?—”
“He’s a ghost. Weaponless, without comms, five miles from the nearest road in a blizzard. Leaving him here is a death sentence anyway. We have the package. We have the timeline. Move.”
They swarm me.
Rough hands grab my arms. Zip-ties bite into my wrists, cinching tight enough to cut circulation. They drag me away from the rocks, back toward the road.
I stumble. They haul me up.
I look back.
