NINE

Patrick Henry Danaher heard Werner Trutenko coming. Outside the closed office door, his half brother dropped orders like fiery bombs on the employees who sat in his path.

Patrick could have turned to watch Werner’s approach through the office’s inner windows. Instead, he chose to use these last few seconds to marshal himself. He sat up straighter, his bulk protesting the restriction of the molded chair’s arms. The past twenty-four hours had been among the worst he’d experienced in his adult life. Impatient as he waited for further updates, he’d paced, grimaced, and wished life had taken him elsewhere. Now, he ran a hand over his sparse red hair, and twisted his chin to loosen the snug of his collar.

Werner’s office door slammed open. “Patrick!”

“I’m here,” he said, getting to his feet. “What do you need?”

Werner wrenched off his suit jacket and threw it against the open chair. “I’m going in,” he said.

They stood for a moment, staring at each other, Patrick trying to read his half brother’s expression.

“I don’t understand,” Patrick finally said.

The two men were similar in height and build, both carrying more heft than their large frames required. Though separated by nearly fifteen years, the two men seemed much closer in age. Elder brother Werner still sported a full head of close-cropped gray hair, whereas Patrick felt as though his bald spot expanded by the day.

“The Tribunal,” Werner answered. “I can’t leave this to chance. I’m taking over.”

He shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Where the hell did I put my phone?” he asked.

Patrick reached across to where it sat next to the monitor.

His brother took it from him with mumbled thanks. “About that envoy, the one from the botched operation—”

“Charles Russell?” Patrick asked.

Werner grimaced. “After everything we’ve just gone through, do you actually believe I’d forget his name? No, I meant the woman. The one who came in after him.”

“Kenna Ward? What about her?”

“I’ve gotten word that she won’t be in attendance.” Werner pointed upstairs. “The owner of the franchise and the tech who was on duty that night are here, but Kenna is not.”

Patrick didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I’d intended to find out how much Charles Russell had shared with her.” Werner gave Patrick a pointed look. “If she was his fiancée, I have to assume she’s working with the dissidents, too.”

“My sources believe he kept her in the dark,” Patrick said.

“How confident are you with these sources?”

“Pretty solid.” Patrick shrugged. “They’re the same sources who warned us about Tate.”

“I should have listened to you.” Werner worked his jaw.

Patrick held up both hands. “He’s trouble, Werner. I think we ought to cut him loose now before he causes more problems.”

His brother shook his head. “We can’t. Not after all this. He could ruin everything.”

“He’s too unpredictable. Give him to me. I’ll find a job for him in the organization that keeps him busy but limits his influence.”

“Thought of that. Won’t work,” Werner said as he sat. “Tate may be easily manipulated but he’s not stupid. Any position not reporting directly to me will come across as a demotion.” Grimacing again, he added, “He’s proud of himself for what he did. Can you believe that? Proud.”

Patrick sat, too. “He’s sick.”

“Maybe, but we’re stuck with him for now.” Werner turned his attention to his laptop screen and studied the display. “How well did you know Charles Russell?”

“Not well enough to anticipate something like this.” Patrick ran a hand over his head. “Why?”

“Who recruited him?”

Patrick rubbed his lip. “I don’t recall.” Shifting his weight, he added, “I could find out.”

“Do it. Investigate the recruiter thoroughly. Russell may have accessed sensitive data. If so, he most likely passed it to that damned underground organization.” He shot Patrick a look of fury. “If whoever brought him on was part of the underground, too, I want that man’s balls on a silver platter.”

Patrick gave a crisp nod. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

“No,” he said. “I want you to search Charles Russell’s apartment first.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get in there any way you can and bring me everything that looks even remotely suspicious. Assemble a team to help you.” Werner placed his big fingers on the keyboard, tapping slowly, squinting as he worked. “Use people who know how to keep their mouths shut. Tell them what to look for, but don’t tell them why. And watch them. Make sure nothing gets past you. If this Russell was able to infiltrate our ranks, there’s no telling how many other spies we have in our midst.”

“Got it,” Patrick said.

Werner stopped typing and turned to his brother. “But perhaps we can fight fire with fire.”

“How?”

“You.” He pointed his finger like a gun. “Get inside the rebel underground.”

Patrick struggled to conceal his surprise. “How do I do that?”

“How the hell should I know? That’s your job,” he said.

Patrick shook his head. “This could take some time—”

Werner cut him off. “You knew Charles Russell. Exploit that friendship.”

“I wouldn’t call our relationship a friendship.”

“You’re the only person I completely trust.” Werner threw Patrick a baleful look. “Get in there. Do whatever it takes.”