Kasper's response came through action, not words. His sidearm rose to firing position. Across the factory floor, twelve EU operatives registered the threat.
Weber's amplified sigh carried weary professionalism. "So that's your answer. Unfortunate."
The factory floor exploded into a war zone.
Kasper's Costa del Sol reflexes seized control before conscious thought. His body remembered this. The sudden violence. The way air pressure changed when directed energy weapons discharged. The smell of superheated metal and ozone mixing with dust from pulverized concrete.
"Cover!" His voice cut through the chaos. Not a suggestion. A command that seventeen months of killing had burned into muscle memory.
The team scattered. García dove behind a holographic display terminal. Textbook Academy defensive posture, just like the simulations. Except in simulations the terminal didn't shudder from directed energy impacts. Didn't grow hot enough to blister her palm when she braced against it. Her training was solid. Her experience was zero. The gap between those two truths might get her killed.
Valerian ghosted toward elevated positions, his aristocratic grace becoming tactical precision. Rui's bioluminescence flared bright as his cyberlitch systems interfaced with the factory's electronic infrastructure.
And Lydia.
Lydia stood perfectly still for three seconds. All seventeen experiential streams processing threat assessment simultaneously. Her neural ports flickered with data overflow. Some streams screamed to flee. Others calculated firing solutions. Others froze with cascading memories of laboratories and violence.
Then she moved. Faster than human. Her distributed consciousness coordinating with the factory's security systems in ways that shouldn't be possible.
The lights died.
Emergency lighting kicked in half a heartbeat later. Red amber glow that turned the art deco factory into something from a nightmare. Geometric patterns on the walls became angular shadows. Chrome fixtures reflected light in fragmentary bursts. The streamlined architecture that had looked elegant in afternoon sun now created kill zones and blind spots.
"Mr. de la Fuente." Inspector Weber's amplified voice maintained clinical precision even as her operatives advanced through smoke and debris. "I admire competence. But this factory is surrounded. Twelve of my operatives inside. Twenty more establishing perimeter. Surrender Marina's data cylinder or we demonstrate why the European Union maintains superiority in special operations."
Kasper's enhanced vision cut through the smoke. Twelve figures in tactical gear. Military-grade enhancement. Weapons that belonged in laboratories, not urban operations. They moved with coordination that suggested shared tactical networks and years of training together.
Professional. Competent. Lethal.
Exactly like the teams he'd killed in Costa del Sol when professionalism and competence hadn't been enough to stop someone who'd learned to fight without rules.
"Rui," Kasper subvocalized through the encrypted channel. "Can you disrupt their tactical network?"
"Already trying." Rui's voice came back strained. His cyberlitch consciousness wrestling with European encryption protocols. Light patterns dancing across his forearms in complex sequences. "Their security is military-grade. NATO-standard quantum encryption. I can slow them down but not shut them out completely."
"Slow them down is enough."
Kasper ghosted through the darkness. His nanobots processed thermal signatures automatically. Threat assessment running background calculations while his conscious mind focused on tactics.
Onofre had vanished. Not fled. Just relocated to wherever he went when operations became violent. Kasper suspected the Sindicato leader was watching from somewhere secure. Calculating. Deciding whether to intervene or let this play out as another test of his assets' capabilities.
The thought made something cold settle in Kasper's chest. Even now. Even during this. Onofre was still measuring variables.
García's breathing came harsh through the encrypted channel. Too fast. Panic edging in. "Kasper, there's too many. We can't hold them."
"We don't need to win." Kasper tracked movement through his enhanced vision. "Just survive long enough to make the cost too high."
"Twenty seconds, Mr. de la Fuente." Weber's voice remained calm. Professional courtesy extended to people she was about to kill. "I'm authorized to use lethal force to secure intelligence regarding al-Zawahiri's cryogenic facilities. The European Union considers this continental security."
Continental security. The same excuse every colonial power used when they wanted something that didn't belong to them.
"Go back to Brussels, Inspector." Kasper's voice carried ice from Costa del Sol. "This isn't your continent."
Silence for three seconds.
Then Weber laughed. Genuine amusement. "Fair point. We are rather presumptuous. But presumption backed by superior firepower tends to produce results. Last chance."
Movement to Kasper's left. One of Weber's operatives advancing through the smoke. Enhanced. Military training. Weapon raised and tracking for targets.
Kasper's sidearm found its target before conscious decision. Squeezed trigger twice. Double-tap. Center mass.
The operative went down hard. Body armor absorbed most of the impact but the kinetic force was enough to disable. Not dead. Kasper's Costa del Sol protocols had evolved. Kill when necessary. Disable when possible. Save the nightmares for when you had no other choice.
"Contact!" The operative's voice carried professional calm even as he reported taking fire. "Southeast quadrant. Enhanced target. Military training. Recommend suppression."
The factory floor erupted.
Directed energy weapons discharged with crackling hisses that turned air to plasma. Conventional firearms barked in staccato bursts. And underneath it all, the shriek of metal being superheated and the crash of equipment being destroyed.
Art deco fixtures melted. Geometric reliefs on support columns blackened and cracked. Bakelite switch plates shattered from thermal stress. The beautiful streamlined architecture that had survived ninety years was being destroyed in seconds.
Kasper moved. Constant motion. Never staying in one position long enough for their tactical networks to coordinate fire. His enhanced reflexes translated threat assessment into movement without conscious thought. Duck. Roll. Return fire. Relocate.
Costa del Sol had taught him this. How to fight when outnumbered. How to turn chaos into advantage. How to make professionals hesitate by being unpredictable enough that their training became liability instead of asset.
But these weren't cartel enforcers or gang members. These were EU special operations. Trained by the same institutions that had produced the Association's best hunters. Every tactic Kasper used, they had counters for. Every trick from Costa del Sol, they'd seen variations of.
The fight wasn't going well.
"Valerian," Kasper subvocalized. "Status?"
"Second floor. Elevated position. I've got angles on three of their operatives but taking the shot exposes my position." Tactical assessment delivered with aristocratic precision. "Your call."
"Hold fire unless they breach our defensive perimeter." Kasper ducked behind a support column as directed energy fire turned the space he'd occupied into superheated air. The heat washed over him even from cover. "We're not trying to win this fight. Just survive it long enough to negotiate."
"Negotiate?" García's voice came through stressed and frightened but still functional. "They're trying to kill us!"
"They're trying to intimidate us into surrendering the intelligence." Kasper tracked another operative's movement through his enhanced vision. "There's a difference. If Weber wanted us dead, she'd have started with grenades instead of demands."
"She still might!"
True. Which meant time was running out faster than ammunition.
Another operative advanced on Kasper's position. This one smarter. Using smoke and debris for cover. Moving with confidence that suggested enhanced perception and military training.
Kasper waited. Patient. Let them come closer. Closer.
Then struck.
Not with his sidearm. That would give away his exact position. Instead he grabbed a piece of debris. Structural support beam fragment. Art deco geometric patterns still visible on the twisted metal.
Threw it hard.
The fragment caught the operative in the chest. Body armor absorbed the impact but the surprise disrupted their tactical advance. Kasper followed up instantly. Closed distance. Used his enhanced strength and Costa del Sol hand-to-hand training.
Three seconds of brutal efficiency.
The operative went down unconscious. Not dead. Disabled.
Kasper took their weapon. Military-grade directed energy rifle. EU manufacturing. The kind of hardware that required authorization from continental security councils before deployment.
The kind of hardware that confirmed Weber wasn't bluffing about her authority.
"Two operatives down," Weber's voice carried a new note. Not quite concern. Just recalibration. "Mr. de la Fuente, you're more capable than intelligence suggested. Former Association operative. Costa del Sol veteran. Nanotech enhancement. Should have anticipated you'd be problematic."
"Should have stayed home," Kasper called back. He relocated again. Constant motion. His muscles were starting to burn. Enhanced or not, this pace couldn't be maintained forever.
"Al-Zawahiri's technology threatens European security." Weber's amplified voice maintained professional courtesy even as her operatives adjusted tactics. "When continental stability is at risk, geography becomes secondary."
"Continental stability." Kasper checked his ammunition. Running low. The firefight had lasted maybe six minutes but six minutes of sustained combat consumed resources fast. "That what you call intelligence theft now?"
"We prefer multinational security cooperation." Weber actually sounded amused. "Though I admit the terminology is primarily cosmetic. We want the technology. You want al-Zawahiri eliminated. Our goals align. Why are we shooting at each other?"
Because you came in here like conquerors instead of allies, Kasper thought. Because people like you still think former colonies should be grateful for European intervention. Because your cooperation always comes with chains attached.
But he didn't waste breath saying it. Just tracked another operative's movement and calculated whether he could reach them before they reached García's position.
The copper taste of adrenaline filled his mouth. His heart hammered against his ribs. This was taking too long. Weber's operatives were adapting. Finding patterns in his movement. Coordinating better despite Rui's interference.
"Rui," Kasper subvocalized. "How's their tactical network?"
"Degrading." Rui's voice carried strain that suggested his cyberlitch consciousness was fighting battles in digital spaces Kasper couldn't perceive. Light patterns across his skin had gone chaotic. Bright. Almost painful to look at. "I've introduced enough interference that their coordination is compromised. But they're adapting. Military AI protocols compensating for my disruption. Maybe three more minutes before they route around my attacks completely."
Three minutes. Enough time to change tactics. Not enough time to win.
Kasper's enhanced hearing caught movement on the factory's second floor. Multiple signatures. Weber's operatives establishing elevated positions. Once they had height advantage and clear sight lines, this fight was over.
No amount of Costa del Sol experience could beat geometry and physics.
García's position was exposed. She'd moved twice but her institutional training kept defaulting to textbook defensive postures. Predictable. The kind of predictable that got you killed against opponents with tactical networks and elevated firing positions.
One of the Sindicato operatives who'd been helping with equipment distribution was pinned near the communications array. Young. Maybe twenty-five. Kasper didn't know his name. Just another variable in Onofre's calculations.
The operative saw the EU soldiers advancing on García's position. Saw the angle. Understood what was about to happen.
He broke cover.
Sprinted toward García with his sidearm raised. Drawing fire. Pulling attention away from her exposed flank.
Three directed energy weapons tracked him simultaneously.
"No!" García's scream cut through the chaos.
The operative's body armor absorbed the first hit. The second caught him in the shoulder. Spun him. The third removed most of his head in a spray of superheated vapor and blood.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
García stared at the corpse. At this person whose name she probably didn't know. Who'd just died protecting her. Who'd made a choice in the space between heartbeats that would haunt her for the rest of her life if she lived long enough to be haunted.
Her hands stopped shaking.
Something in her expression went cold.
She raised her weapon and returned fire with precision that belonged to someone who'd just learned the difference between simulation and reality. Between institutional competence and field survival. Between people as abstractions and people as bleeding corpses three meters away.
Each shot was controlled. Measured. No wasted ammunition. Her Academy training was finally translating but not the way her instructors had intended. Not through confidence and competence. Through rage and grief and the terrible clarity that came from watching someone die for you.
"Kasper." Valerian's voice came through urgent. Aristocratic composure cracking. "They're establishing crossfire positions. Second floor, southeast and northwest corners. Once those are locked, we have maybe thirty seconds before we're in a kill box."
Thirty seconds.
Kasper's tactical mind ran through options. They could:
Surrender the intelligence. Save the team. Lose the mission. Empower the EU to hunt al-Zawahiri without the complications of Latin American agency. Watch as foreign powers once again treated this continent like their personal resource extraction site.
Fight to the last. Everyone dies. Intelligence destroyed. EU gets nothing. But also accomplishes nothing. Al-Zawahiri continues operations. The children in the laboratory continue suffering. Marina and the other guards continue being weapons. All of it for pride and principle.
Or.
The fire suppression systems. Blind everyone. Reset the tactical situation. Risky but possible.
Kasper noticed something. The attack pattern was wrong. Too aggressive. Too committed. Weber's operatives were fighting like they weren't worried about being interrupted. Like they had time on their side. Like someone had told them the target was moving soon.
Like they knew something Kasper didn't about the timeline.
"Rui," Kasper subvocalized. "This attack pattern. Does it feel wrong to you?"
"Thought that was just me." Rui's bioluminescence flickered. "They're fighting like they know we're on a clock. A shorter clock than we think."
Which meant the forty-five hours Onofre had given them was already obsolete. Which meant al-Zawahiri had detected something. Which meant every calculation they'd made was wrong.
But immediate survival came before strategic revelation.
"Lydia," Kasper subvocalized. "The fire suppression systems. Can you interface with them?"
Silence for two seconds that felt like hours.
Then her voice came back fragmented. Multiple tones overlapping. Seventeen streams speaking at slightly different speeds. "Yes. But activating will flood entire floor. Everyone gets hit. Including us. Some of me wants to. Some of me is scared. I can't. I don't."
The distributed consciousness was fracturing under stress. Too many experiential streams processing too many conflicting priorities. Some calculating tactical advantage. Others paralyzed by fear. Others wanting to flee. The seventeen versions of Lydia were arguing with themselves while Weber's operatives closed in.
"I need you here," Rui's voice came through the encrypted channel. Calm. Steady. The kind of steady that came from understanding exactly what she was experiencing. "All seventeen of you. Focus on one goal. Protect the team."
Another second of fractured silence.
Then, unified: "Activating now."
The klaxons blared. Red emergency lighting intensified to painful brightness. And then water. Massive quantities of it released from overhead sprinklers designed to protect textile machinery in the 1930s when this building actually produced something other than violence.
The factory floor became chaos.
Water mixed with smoke. Visibility dropped to nothing. Thermal signatures became useless as everyone's body temperature equalized with the environment. The tactical advantage Weber's enhanced operatives possessed vanished in the deluge.
Kasper held position. Let the water wash over him. Cold. Shocking. But survivable.
The EU operatives weren't prepared for this. Their tactical networks assumed environmental consistency. Their enhanced perception relied on thermal and electromagnetic signatures. Their coordination depended on line of sight and predictable terrain.
All of it gone in the flood.
But they were professionals. They adapted. Started falling back to regain coordination. Started using the confusion to establish new positions.
The eastern wall exploded.
Not directed energy. Something older. Actual explosives. C4 or similar. The detonation was precise. Controlled. The kind of demolition that came from someone who knew exactly where load-bearing supports weren't.
Through the smoke and debris, a figure moved with enhanced speed. Small. Compact. Neural ports along her spine flickering with damage indicators.
Marina.
She carried a directed energy rifle she'd clearly stolen from somewhere. Her jacket was torn. Blood on her face and hands. More blood soaking through her shirt from wounds Kasper couldn't see. But her aim was perfect as she tracked three EU operatives who were still processing the new threat vector.
"Kasper!" Marina's voice cut through the chaos. "They're regrouping! Forty-five seconds before they have firing solutions again!"
She wasn't asking permission. Just providing tactical information.
Two EU operatives turned toward her. Weapons rising. Training overriding surprise.
Marina dropped the first with a headshot that suggested military-grade neural enhancement and years of combat experience. The second got a burst to center mass that punched through body armor with the kind of stopping power that came from stolen EU weaponry turned against its makers.
Then she was moving. Sprinting through the water toward Kasper's position with efficiency that showed she'd been enhanced by people who understood how to make weapons out of human beings.
"All operatives," Weber's amplified voice cut through the chaos. Still professional. Still calm. But with new edge that suggested her patience was expiring. "Fall back to entrance. Regroup and reassess."
The EU operatives retreated with military discipline. No panic. No confusion. Just professional tactical withdrawal. They moved through the water and smoke with precision that confirmed these were people who'd trained for exactly this kind of chaos.
They just hadn't expected to face it in a Buenos Aires factory against opponents who should have been outmatched.
Kasper didn't pursue. Just held position and let them go. His team was alive. The intelligence was secure. Sometimes survival was victory enough.
The water continued for thirty seconds before Lydia shut it down remotely. The klaxons died. Emergency lighting continued its red amber pulse. And in the aftermath, the factory floor looked like a war zone redesigned by someone who understood art deco aesthetic principles.
The geometric reliefs were scorched and cracked. Chrome fixtures had melted into abstract sculptures. The streamlined architecture that had survived ninety years was now damaged beyond repair. Water dripped from ruined vacuum tube arrays. The art deco fountain Kasper had walked past earlier was now just shattered concrete and broken brass fittings.
But they were alive.
Marina reached Kasper's position. Breathing hard. Blood mixing with water dripping from her hair. "They tracked me here. My fault. Didn't realize they'd planted surveillance during our conversation at the harbor. Led them straight to you."
"You came to warn us." Kasper's tactical mind was already recalibrating. Marina's arrival during combat. Her timing. Her stolen weapon. The blood that suggested she'd fought her way here. "How did you know they were coming?"
"Al-Zawahiri detected their operation." Marina touched the neural ports along her spine. Her hand came away bloody. Damage indicators or conditioning trying to reassert control. Hard to tell. "He's been monitoring European intelligence movements for weeks. When Weber mobilized against you, he knew."
"And sent you."
"He gave me a choice." Marina's smile carried weight that came from understanding terrible ironies. "Warn you and prove I'm still fighting my conditioning. Or stay quiet and prove I'm weapon waiting for deployment. Either way, he learns something useful about my loyalty."
The weight of that settled over Kasper like geometry imposing impossible equations. Marina was test and tested simultaneously. Her warning was genuine and also part of al-Zawahiri's larger game. Truth and manipulation occupying the same space.
Kasper checked his team. García soaked and shaking. Staring at the corpse of the Sindicato operative who'd died protecting her. Valerian descending from elevated positions with aristocratic dignity somehow intact despite being drenched. Rui's bioluminescence dim but steady. And Lydia standing near the communications array with all seventeen streams showing exhaustion that went beyond physical.
"Status?" Kasper asked.
García's voice came quiet. Shocked. "Two minor injuries. Equipment damage. Structural integrity compromised but stable." She paused. Looked at the dead operative. "Casualties. One KIA."
One killed in action. Reducing a person to acronym because the reality was too heavy to carry in full sentences.
"We held them off," Valerian said. He checked his weapon with methodical precision. Aristocratic training providing structure when chaos threatened. "For now. But Weber's not done. She's just regrouping. Next time she'll come with different tactics."
"Next time she'll prioritize overwhelming force over negotiation," Rui added. His light patterns had stabilized but remained dim. The digital warfare with EU encryption protocols had cost him. "She tested our capabilities. Found us more competent than anticipated. Won't make that mistake twice."
Onofre emerged from the second-floor observation room. Reinforced glass. Soundproofed. Safe. Not a scratch on him. His suit somehow still immaculate despite the factory floor being underwater minutes ago.
He'd been watching. The entire time. Measuring their performance while they fought for their lives.
Kasper felt something cold and sharp settle in his chest. "You were observing."
"Of course." Onofre descended the stairs with precise steps. "I needed to assess performance under actual combat stress. Simulations only reveal so much about operational effectiveness."
"Miguel Santos is dead." Kasper's voice went flat. "That assessment enough for you?"
Onofre paused. Looked at the corpse. His expression didn't change but something behind his eyes suggested calculation. "Miguel Santos. Twenty-four years old. Two years with my organization. He knew the risks."
"Did he know you were watching him die from a safe room?"
"He knew his function was to protect assets more valuable than himself." Onofre pulled up a holographic display that somehow still functioned despite the water damage. Brass housing with vacuum tube arrays. The projection flickered but held stable. "His death served organizational objectives. Acceptable performance."
García made a sound. Not quite sob. Not quite scream. Just noise that came from something breaking inside.
"But Inspector Weber will return within the hour," Onofre continued as if nothing had happened. "With reinforcements. And next time she'll prioritize overwhelming force over negotiation. We need to relocate."
"They'll track us." Rui's cyberlitch consciousness had interfaced with something. Analyzing data streams. "Weber planted trackers during the assault. Microscopic. Attached to our equipment. Our clothes. Possibly our skin. Standard EU intelligence protocol."
"I can detect tracker signatures," Rui added. His bioluminescence brightened slightly. "NATO uses specific isotope markers. Predictable. The Sindicato has countermeasures."
Onofre smiled. No warmth. Just professional appreciation for competent opposition. "Which is why I've already arranged alternate transportation and secure facility. We relocate in fifteen minutes. Leave the trackers behind with decoy team that leads them on extended chase through Buenos Aires while we prepare for actual operations."
He checked his chronometer. Brass casing with geometric patterns. Sunburst design that caught the emergency lighting. "Forty-five hours, thirty-seven minutes until our planned mission execution. Assuming we survive Inspector Weber's next assault. And the one after that. And whatever other complications arise between now and deployment."
"You don't have forty-five hours."
Marina's voice cut through like a blade.
Everyone turned.
Marina touched the neural ports along her spine. Blood on her fingers when she pulled them away. "Al-Zawahiri detected Weber's assault. He knows about the intelligence I provided. He's accelerating evacuation protocols. You have twenty-four hours. Maybe less."
The weight of that statement pressed down like geometric architecture imposing impossible equations.
Onofre's detached precision fractured for the first time since Kasper had met him. Just briefly. Just a microexpression that suggested calculations being revised faster than his conscious mind could process. His pupils dilated. His hand stilled completely on the holographic display controls.
Then his composure resettled like ice reforming over deep water.
"Twenty-four hours." Onofre's voice carried weight that came from understanding impossible mathematics. "Four teams. Simultaneous operations. With European intelligence operatives hunting us and al-Zawahiri accelerating his defensive posture."
He looked at Kasper. At the team. At Marina who'd just confirmed that every timeline they'd been working with was obsolete.
"The mathematics were always difficult. Now they're approaching impossible."
Lydia stepped forward. All seventeen experiential streams converging on terrible certainty. "My friends." Her voice cracked. First time Kasper had heard emotion override her distributed consciousness's efficiency. "The three guards I knew from Project Lazarus. Marina says they're among the six who are salvageable."
She touched the neural ports along her temple. Her hand was shaking. "If we don't extract them in twenty-four hours, al-Zawahiri kills them. If we do try to extract them and I'm wrong about them still being salvageable, I have to watch them die again. Either way, I lose people I loved before I became this."
Rui moved closer to her. His bioluminescence brightening slightly. Protective instinct overriding exhaustion. "We'll get them out. All six."
"Can we?" Lydia's seventeen streams were showing visible disagreement now. Some hopeful. Others calculating odds. Others already grieving. The conflict played across her face like watching someone argue with themselves. "In twenty-four hours? With everything else happening? With al-Zawahiri watching for exactly this kind of rescue attempt?"
"We don't have a choice," Kasper said. "We try or we prove al-Zawahiri right. That conditioning is permanent. That people like you and Marina are just weapons waiting for optimal deployment."
Marina's expression didn't change. But something behind her eyes looked like gratitude or hope or maybe just professional satisfaction at hearing someone say what she'd been fighting to believe.
"If this is trap," Kasper added, looking at Marina. "You die first."
"If this is trap, I die anyway." Marina didn't light a cigarette. Just stood there like someone who'd calculated costs and decided martyrdom was better than complicity. "At least this way someone tried."
Outside, Buenos Aires continued its evening rhythms. Traffic flowing. People walking home from work. Life continuing with oblivious momentum.
Inside the destroyed factory, a team prepared for operations that would either save six lives or prove that some weapons could never become people again.
García knelt beside the dead Sindicato operative. Reached out with trembling fingers. Closed his eyes. "I don't know your name," she whispered. "I should know your name."
"Miguel Santos," Onofre said quietly. First time Kasper had heard anything approaching sentiment from the Sindicato leader. "Twenty-four years old. Two years with my organization. He knew the risks."
"He died protecting me." García's voice broke. "I didn't ask him to. I didn't want him to. But he did it anyway and now he's dead and I don't even know if it mattered."
"It mattered," Valerian said. He'd moved closer without Kasper noticing. Aristocratic distance replaced with something more human. "You're alive. That means it mattered."
"Is that enough?"
Nobody answered. Because sometimes the question wasn't really asking for response. Just acknowledgment that the question existed.
García stood. Her institutional mask was gone. The manager who'd walked into this factory hours ago was dead. The person standing in her place was something else. Someone who understood that paperwork and protocol couldn't stop people from bleeding. That sometimes the mathematics were simple: one life for another. That Miguel Santos had made his choice and now she had to make hers.
She picked up his weapon. Checked the charge. The movement was mechanical. Professional. But her eyes were different. Harder. Like something inside had crystallized under pressure.
"When do we leave?" Her voice carried weight that came from crossing thresholds you couldn't uncross.
Onofre studied her for three seconds. Then nodded. Something that might have been approval flickered across his face. "Now."
Kasper headed toward where Onofre was coordinating evacuation procedures. His hand found the data cylinder in his pocket. Marina's intelligence. Six recognition codes. Six guards who might remember being human.
Twenty-four hours to find out if weapons could choose to stop being weapons.
Or if choice was just another illusion conditioning used to make people think they were free.
The question sat heavy in his chest as Sindicato operatives moved through the destroyed factory with practiced efficiency. Loading equipment. Checking weapons. Preparing to relocate to underground tunnels that had survived ninety years of prohibition and crime and revolution.
Preparing to prove whether impossible mathematics could be solved with sufficient will.
Or whether some equations had no solutions except tragedy.
Twenty-four hours.
Four targets.
Six chances.
And somewhere in the spaces between those numbers, al-Zawahiri was watching. Weber was planning her next assault. And Marina's conditioning was fighting her decision to help in ways that would eventually demand resolution.
Twenty-four hours until Kasper proved weapons could become people again. Or twenty-four hours until he watched Lydia lose the last fragments of whoever she'd been before Project Lazarus turned children into infrastructure.
Either way, the mathematics no longer offered clean solutions.
Just varying degrees of tragedy.
The only question was which tragedy he'd choose.