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Chapter 22
“How would he know I’m alive?” I ask, pacing around our room.
Between Ingram’s heroics in freeing me and the might behind his organization, I’d forgotten that Anton wasn’t just going to wait around to be trapped and killed. Of course he would fight back.
“My guess is the implant containers,” says Ingram. “They probably didn’t have a chance to melt before the fire department and the rain doused the barn. Even with the self-destruct feature, it takes time for the containers to heat up enough to be destroyed. That was sort of the point: they were meant to contain a potential explosion.”
Damn.
“It couldn’t be helped. I’m sorry, Kate.”
“Don’t be. This is Anton’s fault.”
He shouldn’t have gone after Brendan. I did everything that was asked of me as a prisoner to protect my friends. Anton has no right to involve them. Even if he thinks I’m alive, what makes him think I’m not a captive of Anarchy, Inc.? Unless he has reason to suspect Ingram is behind everything that’s happened, but if so Anton never said anything about that to me.
Either way, he should have stayed away from Brendan. Right now, I almost wish Anton would try and attack us. We’d kick his ass yet again, and this time I’d get in on the fight. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from my training earlier, but I want to do my part. I want a taste of Anton’s blood. After everything he’s put us through, enough is enough. We have to protect Brendan — if that means launching a strike at Anton to keep him distracted, it’s worth doing.
Except, I’m not the one who’s going to be leading the charge. It’s fine for me to want to fight, but good people could get hurt. If Ingram has a plan, then I’m interested, but I can’t force him to risk people’s lives because I’m pissed off.
However, we can strike at Anton with more than guns and missiles. My weapon of choice has always been information.
“Ingram, what if I went on TV right now? I could tell the world I’m alive, and whatever message you want me to tell. It would make anything Brendan knows about me irrelevant.”
He’s watching aerial footage of a taxi, or what’s meant to look like one.
“With one phone call, I could go live on LPN and every other major network,” I continue. “I could tell them literally everything about Anton: keeping me prisoner, killing Madeleine, killing Sidney Traves… I could expose the Masters entirely.”
“What if no one believes you?” he asks. “As far as the world knows, you’ve been on a bender. You could be drunk or on drugs. It will sound utterly insane.”
Fuck.
“However, I do think you’re on the right track. We can put Anton back on the defensive using what we have on him, and we can keep you clear of it. Let me show you something. I’ve been waiting for the right time. You’re going to like this.”
He takes out the phone and holds the screen so we can both see. An open file folder shows numerous video thumbnails; Ingram opens the first.
A man sits at a metal table, backlit to hide his face in darkness.
“What’s your name?” asks Eyal, his voice coming from off-screen.
“Yusuf,” the man replies, his voice heavy with a thick Saudi accent.
“That’s not your real name, is it?”
“No.”
“Tell me how you came to join Anarchy, Inc.”
“I was recruited after the death of Hamza Bin Khaled,” he explains. “I chose to live, rather than die.”
“Tell me about the day of the attack,” says Eyal.
“We went to meet a buyer for an expensive new weapon. While Hamza and the buyer spoke, snipers opened fire, killing Hamza and many others without warning. The buyer escaped, and I was taken for interrogation.”
“Who was the buyer?”
The man answers without hesitation, “Anton Ford. CEO of Innovative AF.”
“Why was a tech CEO looking to buy weapons?”
