Page 102 of Poison Evidence

She closed the video and flicked her finger across the mouse surface to randomly select a different file from the directory. Wherever it stopped was where she’d begin.

The first file was nothing. Either wiped clean or blank to begin with. She pulled out a notepad and jotted down the name. There might be a pattern even in the dummy files, and she may as well be methodical.

On the eighth file, she had an image. Pixelated, but still, there was something. She kept going through the files, surprised to note ten minutes had passed. Her stomach still ached with fear, but at least she wasdoingsomething.

She realized she was humming “Never Gonna Give You Up” and cursed the Russian programmers who’d planted the earworm.

The next file was a video again. Except…the images when she cracked it open were, like the photo file, pixelated. Was it possible that when all the images were stitched together and reduced to one thousandth their current size, they’d make a recognizable image? The video would be good for that because it had so many stills in one file.

A puzzle.

She sat bolt upright.

She had code that could learn this puzzle. Read the pixels and match the edges. It was a type of encryption she’d experimented with for CAM but had set aside when the Pentagon gave her only three months to prepare for the field test.

She pulled up her original test code and ran the stream of images—over seven hundred—through. It was rough, but the program made a dozen matches. She zoomed out on the matched sections and stared at the result.

It was an aerial photograph, maybe?

She tweaked the variables on the program and ran the images through again. This time she had forty-one matches, including one section of eighteen stitched images.

Zoomed out, she could see…a truck. A military truck. US—maybe? Had the AUUV had been tracking US troop movement in Okinawa?

A sound behind her caught her attention.Oh shit. She’d been so absorbed in her work, she’d forgotten to watch the water, to make sure no one approached the vessel from any direction.

She closed the pieced-together images with her left hand and reached for the gun holstered in the small of her back as she turned toward the sound.

Zack Barrow peeked over the gunwale, holding a small tube to his mouth. She identified the object a half second before she felt a sting on her neck. Blow gun.

Tranquilizer dart?

All at once, the world spun and the boat rocked as Zack heaved himself over the side. Her vision tunneled narrowing to an ever-smaller dot of light.

Zack said something—sounding much like a slowed-down recording—and the pinprick of light disappeared.

Everything was in place. Ian, Kaha’i, and Luke were hidden in the jungle, ready to engage if there was trouble. As planned, Rudy Fredrickson was hidden as well, with Ian covering him should he prove to be playing for the wrong team.

Dimitri paced the circular gun emplacement, changing direction frequently, but not in a pattern. He was a sitting duck out here; predictable movements were not his friend.

Five minutes to the deadline to deliver Sophia and Yulian. His terms had been clear. If they didn’t show, he would give the AUUV to the United States. After examining the AUUV at length, Ivy felt certain there was intel on the disk. Between the data and the technology itself, giving it to the US was the last outcome Russia would want.

If any attempt was made to take the AUUV without releasing Sophia and Yulian, Dimitri would detonate the C-4 packed inside.

The minutes ticked by with Dimitri exposed. His security was the gun in his holster and the C-4 remote in his hand. All Dimitri had to do was press the button and the AUUV would be just another piece of historic wreckage.

They all wore earpieces for communication among the team. Dimitri’s was hidden, with the microphone at his collar so he would appear to be without allies. Raptor had provided this equipment along with the NVGs and assorted weaponry. The C-4 had been provided by the US military.

This was the first time Dimitri had ever run an op with a team. It was a relief, but also disconcerting, with Fredrickson as a wildcard.

“You’re looking nervous, D,” Luke said in his ear.

“Don’t I want to look nervous? Unprepared?” he asked without moving his lips.

“Disagree,” Ian said. “If I were your handler, and you looked rattled, I’d wonder what was wrong and pull back to assess. They expect the Hammer. That’s who you need to be.”

He straightened at that. These last weeks in Palau—months, really—had changed him. He’d forgotten who he’d been, and who he’d had to become to fulfill his assignments as the Hammer.

The Hammer was a cold-blooded killer who acted with surgical precision.

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