Page 111 of Bitter Arrangement

I hold her tight for a while. I don’t want to be late to the meeting, but I need to sear this in my brain. If this is the last happiness I ever feel in life, at least I’m going out at the absolute peak.

She walks with me to the car. I can tell she doesn’t want me to go alone, but she knows the deal. Brenden will come over shortly, and they’ll sit together while they wait. Her brother knows he has to keep her from doing anything impulsive and stupid.

“I’ll be home soon,” I say, kissing her.

She nods, crying again. “You better be.”

I start the car and drive away. I don’t look in the rearview because if I do, I don’t think I’d be able to keep going.

My wife. My pregnant wife. Fuck, this changes everything.

A cold determination fills me. I don’t give a damn about Mantis or Los Sombras or any of them. Fuck them all. I’ll kill a thousand Mantis operatives and a million cartel soldiers if it means being here for my wife and my child. To hell with them all.

I reach the meeting point. It’s an hour outside of the city at an abandoned-looking construction site. I’m guessing they’re putting in a warehouse or something based on the size of the place. The back gate was left unlocked, per the Mantis instructions, and I head through the fence on foot.

The structure is concrete, exposed rebar, and cinderblocks. Muddy puddles lurk like a minefield. There’s nobody around, only quiet equipment and a broken-looking radio. I keep the dossier tucked under my arm as I find the entrance to the half-constructed building and go inside.

The floor’s bare poured concrete. Standing midway down is a group of ten men, all of them armed to the teeth and wearing black combat fatigues. I stop moving and stare, but three more armed men appear to my left, talking fast.

“No weapons,” the lead guard says. He’s in a black combat helmet, and I can’t see his face, but his accent is American. I’d bet these are mercenaries.

“I have one gun in my jacket.” I pull it open to show the holster.

The guard reaches in and takes it. He releases the magazine, removes the bullet from the chamber, and hands the weapon off to his assistant. Then he pats me down quickly and efficiently but finds nothing else.

“Go ahead,” he says, nodding.

I walk toward the waiting group.

A folding card table is set up, and a small man is sitting behind it. He’s wiry and older, with a bald head, dark eyes, and a hard frown. I’ve never seen him before.

“I brought what you’re looking for,” I say, holding out the folder.

The man doesn’t move. “My name is Fungal Spread. Do you know me?”

My eyebrows raise. “If that’s true, then you’re the most notorious hacker in the world.”

“And you are Permafrost. One of the best I’ve ever seen.” Fungal Spread watches me with a cold, ruthless stare. “But you took too long.”

“I wasn’t given much to work with.”

“I’m aware. My predecessor, Iron Head, was a desperate, stupid man. You never should have been brought into this process from the start.”

“We can agree on that.” I hold the folder up. “Do you want it?”

He frowns at me. “Did you really find the watch?”

“Take a look and find out.”

He seems intrigued and gestures sharply. One of his soldiers walks over, takes the folder, and hands it off. Fungal Spread sifts through the documents, reading them quickly. His eyes dart from side to side, and his lips move as if he’s vocalizing to himself.

“And all this is correct?” he asks.

“Everything in there is entirely accurate.” I’m extremely aware of the high-powered weapons all around me. I’d bet there’s a sniper or two up on the partially finished roof as well. One wrong move, one gesture from Fungal Spread, and my brains will be a fine pink mist. “It wasn’t easy to find.”

“This is a very disturbing revelation. How did you even think to look here?”

I have to be very, very careful here. I need to skirt the line between true and false. If I make up too much bullshit, Fungal Spread will grow suspicious. But I can’t just say I guessed.

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