Page 60 of Scarlet Angel

“What the hell’s going on?” Paolo, an old Oxford chum, leads one of the biggest tech companies in the world. When he didn’t take my call earlier, I knew we were in a shit storm. “Have you got a handle on it?”

“Aye.” There’s a flurry of noise in the background. “Damage being assessed.”

“What happened?” There’s a click, and the background noise mutes.

“Officially? It’ll be blamed on a security network update or a solar flare.”

“Who did it?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone within the syndicate.”

“What makes you say that?” Unease hits, and I push off my chair to look out the window.

The theory doesn’t fit. Anyone who joined the syndicate did so to avoid markets crashing. High-handed morals and dreams spout around the table, but it all comes down to a concerted effort to avoid a market meltdown. Our mandate is to preserve global market stability despite prevailing political parties or factions.

“It was a one-two hit,” Paolo says with chatter in the background. “Transatlantic wires cut at the same time three satellites were taken out by what may have been a conventional munition in the atmosphere. And cyberterrorists attacked.”

He’s lost me. “An attack on western Europe. That sounds like the Russians or Chinese, but China’s a stretch.”

“Based on appearances, I’d agree with you.” A door closes and quiet replaces chatter. “But the tactics follow a risk assessment the syndicate created two years ago.”

“Didn’t you implement protections?”

“Aye. And they worked around them. It’s early days. We’re still figuring it out. But my gut says the coordinated attack was a pilot program. Testing systems before a full-blown attack. Might not have hit their targets.”

“You think they wanted to hit the US?”

“If they’re following the risk assessment, the US is next. Ah, there. London’s back up.”

“You’ll let me know if I can do anything?”

“You still own a collection of hackers, right?”

“I own three technology companies, yes.”

“We may need them. Stay put, mate. It’s likely this is round one.”

“You really think so?”

“It’s my best guess. I’ve got to jump.”

The call ends, and I set the device down. Movement catches my eye. Scarlet stands in the doorway.

She’s in a luminous off-white dress that covers her from wrists to ankle and gives her an ethereal quality, casting light along a shadowy corridor. It’s those green eyes that draw my attention, giving life to a knowing and inquisitive expression.So fucking beautiful.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A bit. Who were you talking to?”

“An old Oxford mate.”

“Part of the syndicate?”

“He’s a part of our network. His business is technology.” I glance at the telly and consider shutting it off—turn my back on it for a needed break.

“Your family must be expecting you to arrive any moment now. Are you nervous?”

I haven’t seen her since yesterday when she wordlessly departed. The flight her family booked for her lands shortly, assuming it left before the outages.

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