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“IT’S THREE O’CLOCK in the morning. How much longer will this take?”
Enrico stood in the doorway to the examination room, cradling a medium-sized box in his hands, waiting for an answer.
Logan sat just inside the door, keeping an eye on the unconscious figure sprawled on the room’s single cot. Garr slept soundly, motionless, as the anesthetic gradually worked its way out of his system.
Logan leaned back in his chair, stretching his aching arms. “Not as long as you’d think. There were five Implants requiring extraction, and the procedure can only be done one at a time. Garr wanted everyone else to be Implant-free first, so he insisted on going last.”
Enrico nodded, watching the slow rise and fall of Garr’s ribcage. “That sounds like the Colonel. That’s why people will follow him.”
The clandestine clinic, its anonymous location a healthy distance from the Citadel’s smoking ruins, had been the site of an exuberant reunion a few hours earlier. The Runners, rain-soaked and exhausted, arrived just before midnight to discover Doc Simon waiting for them.
Doc made good use of the high-tech medical equipment in the clinic. “This won’t even leave a scar,” she’d promised each candidate for surgery.
Logan smiled at the memory, and then noticed the box in the mechanic’s hands. “Is that the last of it?”
Enrico hefted the open container, shaking its contents. “The last Implant was the Colonel’s, so that’s all of it. Everything dismantled, broken down, sliced in two, and whatever other damage I could inflict on it. Then, just in case, I melted it all down with a blowtorch. Good riddance to Implant technology.”
His grin faded and he gave Logan a reproving look. “You knew what Mateo was planning all along. You could’ve said something. Or dropped a juicy hint or two.”
Logan shrugged, favoring him with a weary smile. “Sorry, Enrico—I was sworn to secrecy. Call it the ‘Dissident’s Code,’ if you like. Mateo had his reasons.”