The move from the quiet medical wing to the mission room was sudden. Winsten did not change into his old clothes. He put on the new suit. It was matte black and custom-made. It was lined with a thin layer of liquid-armor silk. It felt light, almost like a second skin.
Winsten did not go out into the field with the operatives. Instead, he walked into the Command Hive to run the operation from safety. The room was just a concrete bunker built deep into the mountain. The air was cold. A low hum came from a thousand servers. In front of him, a wall of thin glass monitors showed a rainy street in Washington, D.C.
"The target is inside," the AI said to Winsten. "The Gilded Pillar. It is a private club with lead-lined walls and signal jammers. Once those doors close, my signal is limited. I can only use the building's internal wiring. I cannot see the wireless spectrum inside."
Winsten stayed glued to the grainy thermal screen, watching from miles away.
"How many guards?"
"Six," the AI replied. "Experienced contractors. They are at the front entrance, the back alley, and two are moving around the lounge. Igor Mince is sitting in a private booth at the back. He is drinking an expensive, dark cherry juice and waiting for a courier who is not coming."
On the screen, Winsten watched two men walk toward the entrance of the brownstone. They wore wet trench coats. They looked like regular D.C. lawyers or lobbyists. Clean and ordinary.
Winsten could see digital tags flashing over their heads on his monitor. These were Vance's operatives, the ones doing the actual ground work. Their earpieces were linked directly to the AI's tactical feed, which linked straight back to Winsten's bunker.
"Vance," Winsten spoke into his mic. "Are we ready?"
Vance's voice came back clear from Manhattan.
"The team is entering the lobby. We are using the bait strategy. We will offer Mince an escape route from the money he stole from the Sentinels. If he has any brains, he will take it. If he doesn't…"
"If he doesn't, I am getting on a plane," Winsten said.
On the monitor, Winsten watched the two operatives push through the heavy wooden doors. The video feed on his screen switched to a tiny camera hidden on the lead operative's jacket. Winsten could see exactly what the operative saw.
The inside of the club was filled with dark wood and dim lighting. Wealthy men sat in deep leather chairs. They talked in low voices, making deals in total silence.
Igor Mince sat completely alone in the back booth. He looked pale, soft, and nervous. His eyes darted toward the two operatives as they walked up to his table. His hand moved quickly toward a hidden alarm button under the table.
"Mr. Mince," the lead operative said. His voice was calm and steady. "Do not touch the alarm. We already looped the system. If you press it, it will only trigger a data leak to the IRS about your hidden bank accounts. We are not here to hurt you. We are here to make a deal."
Mince froze. He stared at the operative, trying to see if he was bluffing.
"Who sent you? The Sentinels do not send people in suits. They send killers."
"We are the people the killers are afraid of," the operative said. He slid a digital tablet across the polished wood. "Look at these numbers. We know you took four million dollars from the Appalachian fund. We know they already sent an auditor to your house. You are a dead man, Igor. Unless you help us."
Winsten watched the man's face turn completely white on the screen. Mince looked like he just realized his escape route was gone.
"I cannot do it," Mince whispered into the operative's microphone. "They will find me and kill me before I even leave the block."
"Now," the AI whispered in Winsten's mind. "Pressure him."
Winsten leaned closer to his microphone inside the bunker. The AI did not just send his voice over the speaker to the club. It changed the frequency. The sound vibrated right through the table, the drinking glasses, and the floor of the club where Mince sat. It made it sound like the entire room was speaking directly to Mince.
"Igor," Winsten said from the bunker. His voice was completely cold. "This is the man you tried to get rid of on the highway. I am the one you thought was in a body bag."
Mince jumped in his seat. His elbow knocked over his glass. The dark red juice spilled across the white tablecloth, soaking into the fabric. He stared wildly at the operative's jacket, looking for the hidden camera.
"You are alive?" Mince gasped.
"I am the only reason you are still breathing," Winsten said through the system. He kept his voice low and dangerous. "The Sentinels want you dead because you stole from them. I want you alive because you have information. Give us the name of your boss, and we will give you a new life. Refuse, and I will send your exact location to the people you robbed."
Mince looked down at the tablet. Then he looked at the exit. The silence in the room felt heavy. Outside, the heavy rain beat against the glass windows like a timer ticking down.
"Miller," Mince croaked out. "Cyrus Miller. He is a Director at the Treasury Department. He signs the checks. He is the one who ordered the hit on your car."
Winsten felt a sudden spike of anger in his chest inside the Hive. He finally had a real name. A real target.
"Information verified," the AI announced instantly. "Cyrus Miller's data matches the encrypted files from the attacker's phone. He is currently attending a private event at the National Gallery. Winsten, we found him."
"Secure Mince," Winsten ordered the ground team. "I am heading to D.C."
"Winsten, hold on," Vance cut in over the radio. "We need a careful plan. You cannot just burst into a high-level gala at the National Gallery."
Winsten stood up from his console and straightened his sleeves. He looked at his own reflection in the dark glass of the monitors. The tired taxi driver from Brooklyn was gone. There was someone much harder standing there now.
"I am not going to burst in," Winsten said. "I am going to walk right through the front door. I want to see his face when he realizes his money cannot save him anymore."
"The aircraft is ready," the AI said. "The flight path is clear. We leave in five minutes."
Winsten turned and walked away from the monitors toward the elevator. His steps were heavy and certain. For two days, he had focused on being a brother inside the medical wing. Now, he was finally leaving the base to join the action himself. And Cyrus Miller was about to find out that trying to kill Winsten Stone was the biggest mistake his group ever made.