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“Mr. Gillen, we have a problem.”
Digitized and distorted, the familiar voice hovered in the room without a source. The Voice was calm, not taunting, which made it sound even more inhuman.
“Yes, we do,” said the CEO.
“It appears the Weldon family is still active; however, I have a team sitting on them. We tracked Weldon’s phone yesterday to a ranch an hour west of the District. Very isolated. Say the word and we’ll put this matter to bed.”
Chase took three steps closer and pointed the pistol at Gillen’s face.
“Donot‘say the word.’”
“Is that you, Weldon?” A slight chuckle oozed from the embedded speakers and echoed around the suite. It sounded like feedback.
“Stand down,” ordered Chase. “I have a Glock in your boss’s face.”
“Mr. Gillen, Weldon is bluffing. He’s not going to kill you. It’s not too late to fix this.”
Chase pressed the Glock to Gillen’s forehead. “I wouldn’t take that bet if I were you, Miles.”
He jerked his chin toward Gillen’s computer. Protruding from it was a flash drive with a Rubber Duckie logo, which at that very moment was installing malware, delivering payloads, exfiltrating documents, and stealing passwords. Full system penetration. All at lightning speed. And all visible to Madison.
“A very pissed off nineteen-year-old currently has command and control of Avalon,” Chase said. Gillen’s face fell. “It’s over.”
“Not necessarily, Mr. Gillen. There’s just one thing though,” the mercenary added. “My team and I are more than happy to get our hands a little dirty, but it’s going to require an additional $50 million. With all this money flying around, it doesn’t really seem like that’s going to be a problem for you.”
Chase dug the muzzle into Gillen’s flesh. The CEO said nothing.
“Tell you what, Mr. Gillen,” said the Voice. “It sounds like the cat’s got your tongue. But I’m going to go ahead and take care of this for you. See that you take care of us. Or else.”
“Tell him no,” ordered Chase through gritted teeth.
“No…” said Gillen.
Chase relaxed, took a step back.
“…witnesses!”
Chase fired the Glock.
Gillen’s left foot exploded. The CEO screamed and rolled to his side. He bent into the fetal position and rocked back and forth, spattering blood and flesh, his scream replaced by a high keening. Tears streamed from his eyes. He clenched his teeth.
Chase turned from the writhing CEO and spoke to the room, to whatever hidden speaker was closest.
“Gillen is going down. You do not have to do this. Walk away while you still can.”
The Voice didn’t answer, but Gillen was muttering to himself. Chase didn’t care. But in straining to listen for a reply from the Voice, Chase caught something from Gillen’s mumbling. The man hadn’t been muttering prayers or even curses, but a string of numbers.
“Confirm transfer?” asked Ava suddenly.
“Confirm—”
Chase straddled Gillen and put the barrel of the pistol beneath the man’s eye.
“What was that?”
“Einstein’s phone number,” said Gillen. It took great effort, but the CEO smiled.
Chase cut him off with the butt of his pistol to Gillen’s mouth, but it was too late.
