he whispered. “Your insurance policy, Major.”
Ethan adjusted his glasses with his left hand. The cuffs clinked. “Only it expired.”
“You think you’re clever?” Doran’s voice shook. “You think these scribbles save you?
I can tear this up right now and send all three of you to segregation, where you’ll rot for killing a cellmate.” “You won’t tear it up.” Ethan spoke quietly, but in the office silence his voice sounded like a judge’s ruling.
“Because a copy of that page is already with North.” Doran jerked as if shocked. “North? The old mob boss?
You’re bluffing, kid. There’s no line out.” “There was,” Silent Mike said.
“Through 205 at four this morning. Package went.” Doran shot to his feet.
He rushed to the safe, pulled out a pistol, then immediately set it on the desk. “A gun won’t help against something that’s already in motion.”
“North.
Old boss. Keeper of the fund.” If he had the numbers…
If he had checked the accounts… At that moment the phone rang. Not the internal line.
Not the city line either. The red phone on the side table—the one reserved for higher authority. Its ring was sharp and demanding.
Doran froze. He stared at it in horror. That call could only come from above.
From headquarters. Or from the men who protected the shadow money. “Answer it, Major,” Ethan said.
“It’s for you.” Doran picked up the receiver with a trembling hand. “Yes.
Yes, sir.” He listened in silence.
His face aged in front of them. His shoulders sagged. “I understand.
But it’s slander. I’ll sort it out. Yes, sir.”
He set the receiver down. Slowly sank into his chair. His eyes were empty.
“Accounts frozen,” he whispered. “Audit team coming in from Washington.
They’re on the way.” He looked at Ethan. There was no hatred in his face now, only the animal fear of a trapped rat. “You destroyed me.”
“You destroyed yourself,” Ethan said. “The moment you decided people were pieces on your board. Sometimes a pawn reaches the far side and becomes something else.” Val, sitting beside him, suddenly laughed, loud and rough.
“Well, boss? Who’s the meat now?” Doran said nothing.
He knew. Prison was not in his future. He would never live long enough to see prison.
Men like North did not forgive skimming from the fund. And generals did not forgive public scandal. By evening, Doran would likely be found hanging in a garage or dead in a staged robbery.
The office door opened. Doran’s deputy entered with several officers. “Major Doran, you are relieved,” the deputy said flatly.
“Turn over your weapon and credentials.” Doran silently placed the pistol on the desk, beside the sheet of paper that carried the numbers of his death. “These three,” the deputy said, nodding toward the inmates.
“Transfer them. Put Val and Mike in protective housing under heavy guard. The death of Corkscrew goes to the district attorney.
We’ll process it as excessive force in self-defense.” Then he looked at Ethan. “And this one?”
The deputy studied the pale man in broken glasses and a bloodstained sweater. He was not looking at a victim. He was looking at a man who had destroyed the head of operations from inside a locked cell. Men like that frightened institutions more than armed gangs did.
“Single cell,” he ordered. “Indefinite isolation. No mail.
No visits. Limited yard. He’s too dangerous.
He’s a virus. Contain him.” The guards hauled Ethan out of the chair.
“Goodbye, Val,” Ethan said as he passed. The former cop, killer, and enforcer looked at him with something like respect. “Take care, hacker.
And thanks for the chance.” Ethan was led into the corridor. They marched him down a long echoing passage.
He knew he might never see the sun again. They would lock him in a concrete box and hope the numbers, passwords, and names would die there with him. He had won the battle and lost the rest of his life.
Still, he did not regret it. Before they shoved him into the dark of solitary, Ethan caught his reflection in the glass of the duty station. Looking back at him was not a bullied nerd in glasses.
It was a predator. Face bruised, fingers broken, but with a cold digital fire burning in his eyes. The door slammed shut.
Darkness. Ethan leaned back against the steel and slid to the floor. He raised his left hand and adjusted glasses that were barely there. In the dark, numbers glowed brightest.
