“A classic sting. You send out feelers for Dr. Beckham, tell him you’re working for me and found a cure for this weapon. Tell him you figured out it was him, and he can either pay you double what I’m paying you to botch the cure and keep your mouth shut, or you’ll tell me it was him and the authorities will come down on him like avenging angels.”
“More stick than carrot, huh?”
“The old tricks are the best tricks.”
“What if I’m wrong and it’s not him?”
“Then he’ll either ignore you, or call you a kook and say you’re trying to settle a score from grad school. You’ll point out he’s got no credibility after being forced to retire, and everyone will forget about it in a couple days.”
Elsa nodded along with the thread. “And if I’m right?”
“That’s where the risk comes in. Whoever is behind this will either pay you and thank their lucky stars they’ve managed to flip another asset and penetrate my organization even more deeply…”
“Or?”
“… or they determine it’s cheaper and safer to remove you from the board.”
“And safely set me off to the side until the game is over and we all get put back in the box?” she asked hopefully.
“Not like that, I’m afraid. But I think the first outcome is far, far more likely. And if they attempt the second, you’ll be under constant surveillance and protection. It’s hard to spring a trap when the target knows it’s there.”
“But not impossible.”
Tyson held his hands out, palms up. “As I said, an element of risk. But I wouldn’t even put this on the table if I wasn’t entirely confident that risk was manageable.”
Elsa breathed out heavily through her nose, then stared off into the middle distance of the bar. Tyson didn’t follow her gaze, instead looking at his hands and the blood on them. Not physically, of course, but it was still there. Someone’s daughter, sister, young lover, had already died in the plot against his empire.
He’d made tough calls many times before. Fired people in such a way it ended their careers. Bought start-ups just to quash an emerging threat and snuff out lifelong dreams. Even had one person choose suicide instead of facing the humiliation of demotion, not that anyone had expected that outcome.
But a murder was a different animal entirely. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Maybe he was naïve, but that just wasn’t the way the game was played up here in the executive levels. It was so … uncouth. He’d joked with the board about plugging the leak, but had come to regret that bit of bravado.
“The trial,” Elsa blurted out.
“Yes, of course. You won’t have to appear in open court. I’ll see to it that your testimony is submitted anonymously.”
“No.” She jumped onto the end of his sentence. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to be sheltered, witness protection, or any of that. I went into genetics to help people, to be a healer. This bacteria is a perversion of the science I’ve dedicated my life to pursuing. It’s an abomination. I want to stare them down and watch them squirm. And I want them to know who fucked them.”
Tyson took a moment to admire the passion radiating from the intriguing woman he was only just now beginning to understand. “You’ll get that chance, I promise you.”
Elsa drained the rest of the sour beer in one pull.
“Assuming you keep me alive long enough.”
“Yes. Assuming that.” Tyson looked over her clothes. “To that end, I think it’s time you make acquaintances with my tailor.”
“Your tailor?” she said with surprise. “Is this the part of My Fair Lady where I get a makeover?”
“I’m afraid I must confess I don’t get the reference, but the style isn’t what’s important. You’ll—” A priority connection request popped up in Tyson’s AR. It was Paris. She knew where he was and what he was discussing. She wouldn’t interrupt for something trivial. He looked at Elsa apologetically and pointed at his temple. “Excuse me for a moment.” He sent his mind’s voice into the virtual interface. “Go ahead, Paris.”
“There’s someone to see you in your office, sir. It’s urgent.”
“They’re alone in my office?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I can’t say. It’s sensitive.”
“I’m leaving now. Send a pod.”
“Waiting outside for you, sir.”
“You’re too good to me, Paris.”
“I’ll remind you of that one of these days.”
Tyson dropped the connection and returned his attention to Elsa. “Forgive me, but something’s come up.” He thumbed the small auto-waiter to settle the bill. “I’ll message you with details about the tailor appointment.”
“I don’t have a lot of time to saunter across the city.”
“No need, he’ll come to you.” Tyson stood. “We’ll talk soon. Stay alert, stay safe.”
Minutes later, he was inside his private express lift, shooting up the three hundred meters to his penthouse office like a cannonball. Twice on the way over he’d prodded Paris to tell him who he was coming to see, but she rebuffed him. Whoever it was, their presence was so clandestine that Paris not only felt pressured to let them wait alone in his office, but didn’t trust even her own communication security protocols with their identity.
It couldn’t be an extensive list. Tyson went through the possibilities. One of the other transtellar CEOs or chairmen? There were only a baker’s dozen of them, and everyone kept tabs on who was moving around where, not that there weren’t slipups in that coverage. Sokolov? She’d managed to drop in on him unannounced once already. A delegate from the UN? A Xre ambassador? Now that really would be crazy.
Tyson’s train of thought pulled into the station as his feet lightened under the sudden deceleration of magnetic braking. The lift car slowed to a crawl as it emerged through the floor of his penthouse like a night-blooming jasmine.
The door opened onto a dimly lit scene. The ring window around the perimeter of the room was frosted for privacy, giving
