Page 49 of The Lazarus Protocol

Langley, Virginia

Simon scrolled down the dossier that had popped up as soon as the voice recognition program identified the caller. He adjusted the headset, waiting for a response on the internal instant message app.

His contact finished typing, the three flashing dots finally replaced with text.

Confirm the order was received.

Simon wanted more coffee, but refilling the empty mug on the edge of his desk would have to wait. Besides, Cherise, who worked three cubicles away from his, wouldn’t be fetching more for another twenty-six minutes. If he waited and didn’t go now, he’d be able to get more coffee when she did. She would smile at him, and he’d be able to make small talk. One day he’d ask her out, but for now he was planting seeds. Convincing her that he was a nice guy.

He typed out his reply,

Received and understood.

DZ will eliminate the asset.

If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be the Division Zero team for much longer. Not the shortest stint for a group of contractors in that position, but up there as a contender.

Simon rolled his eyes at what came up. He’d been speaking to Adam Russell Helton, US Army veteran with Special Forces detachments. Commendations. So many missions Simon’s eyes crossed, and he decided this was one of those Captain America golden boys. Football captain. The guy who always got the girl. He hated guys like that.

At the bottom of the dossier, he found a link to a mission report that listed Helton as killed in action. Now he was a ghost.

And that was the thing about ghosts like Helton and his team. Like the asset. When they were killed for real, no one even blinked. No one really noticed.

He kept scanning through what the CIA had on this guy, wondering that it seemed a little too sanitized. An homage to some guy who gave his life for his country. But what was the real story?

His screen flickered, the way it frequently did these days. Glitchy power cord or whatever.

A message popped up in the thread.

There can be no mistakes.

Simon didn’t want the conversation to get into how this guy—he assumed it was a guy, but he had no idea—was counting on him, so of course he would deliver. Or any of the $237,000 worth of reasons why Simon had no choice but to comply, which meant he had no choice but to comply. He didn’t need a lecture to remind him of the situation he was in.

I haven’t forgotten.

If this guy publicized what he knew, Simon would go to jail.

A notification popped up at the bottom corner of his computer. An incoming call was being routed to him.

Thanks to his contact, the network on this floor would reroute all relevant traffic to his computer. His phone extension.

A second later, the base on his desk flashed and he heard the ring on his headset.

Simon glanced around, ensuring no one was listening to what was going on in his cubicle. He was only one in an ocean of cubicles belonging to low-level analysts. Why would anyone notice him?

But the contact had. Somehow, he knew everything.

Answer the phone.

Simon rolled his eyes and only complied because the ringing was annoying. Not because he’d been told to do it. “This is Morris.”

“Hi… Oh.” A female voice on the other end. Stephanie-Jo whatever-her-name was. “You’re not who I was expecting to speak with.”

“I was tasked with receiving all calls, as the team is currently unavailable.”

“If I can’t speak to my supervisor, then I should just call back later.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Simon sat back in his chair. This wouldn’t be a call that required him to log anything more than whatever he made up later.