Page 79 of Playing with Fire

"I've studied all my children. Your methods, your strengths, your patterns. It's what any responsible father would do."

"Most fathers don't keep dossiers on their children's shooting techniques," I pointed out, examining the custom ammunition laid out in precision rows.

A ghost of a smile touched Algerone's lips. "Most fathers don't have children like mine."

The statement hung between us, laden with implications neither of us was ready to fully examine. For all his faults—and they were numerous—Algerone had never pretended we were normal. Had never expected us to be anything other than what we were. There was something almost freeing in that acceptance, something I was reluctant to acknowledge.

"Walsh's phone contained more than just communication logs," Algerone said after a moment, changing the subject as he handed me a tactical harness. "My team found fragments of Phoenix's larger plan. It seems Walsh wasn't his only inside man."

I stilled, hands pausing on the sidearm I was checking. "What do you mean?"

"Phoenix has been systematically infiltrating organizations connected to your family. Not just my security team, but local law enforcement, utility companies, even the private security firm your brother War uses for his clinic. This wasn't a hastily planned vendetta. This was years in the making."

The implications sent ice through my veins. "How far has the infiltration spread?"

"We're still mapping the extent, but it's substantial." Algerone checked a matte black pistol similar to the one he'd given me before securing it in his own tactical harness. "Which is why tonight's operation is crucial. We need to confirm his location and contain him before he can activate whatever network he's built."

"He's learning from my playbook," I murmured, checking the extra magazines before securing them to my belt. "Studying his target, establishing patterns, cutting off support systems before striking."

"Yes," Algerone agreed. "There's a certain poetic symmetry to it, isn't there?"

I looked up sharply. "I'm nothing like Felix Burns."

"Of course not," Algerone replied smoothly. "Burns is too attached. He’s made this personal. You are smarter than that. His personal investment has made him emotional, and that is why he will fail and you will succeed."

His calm assessment of my nature should have been disturbing. Instead, I found myself nodding in agreement. Algerone understood the fundamental truth that had always separated me from simple killers: I didn't hurt people because I enjoyed suffering. I executed judgment because someone needed to maintain balance in a world where the system failed.

Our eyes met again, and for once, I didn't look away. At that moment, I saw something I hadn't allowed myself to recognize before. Algerone didn't just understand my nature; he shared it. The methodical precision, the calculated violence, the absolute conviction in one's own judgment. These weren't traits I'd inherited randomly. They were passed down, carefully cultivated in a bloodline designed for exactly this purpose.

"Ready?" Algerone asked, breaking the moment as he secured the last of his equipment.

I nodded, pushing aside the uncomfortable revelations to focus on the mission ahead. "Let's go hunting."

As we headed toward the vehicle bay where the team was assembling, my phone vibrated.

Leo:Set up in our quarters. Triple secured as promised. Satellite uplink established. Be careful out there. Come back to me.

X:Always. Keep the connection open. I want to hear your voice the whole time.

The tactical team waited in formation by two unmarked SUVs. At their head stood a man I didn't recognize. He was tall, with the lean muscle of a distance runner rather than a weightlifter. His dark hair was cut military-short, but something about the way he carried himself suggested special forces rather than conventional military. The four operators behind him maintained the same disciplined posture, gear checked and ready.

To my surprise, Misha was there too, kneeling beside an open equipment case with a needle and thread, making adjustments to what looked like tactical gear. He was speaking in rapid French with the team leader as he worked, their conversation flowing with the natural cadence of native speakers.

"Commander Reid," Algerone greeted the team leader. "Everything prepared as specified?"

"Oui, monsieur," Reid replied, then quickly switched to English. "Yes, sir. Team is prepped for passive reconnaissance only. Ghost protocol as ordered."

Misha looked up from his sewing, flushing slightly when he noticed my questioning look. "One of the tactical vests had a tear along the seam," he explained, tying off his thread. "Could have compromised the ballistic insert's positioning. Fashion emergencies aren't limited to runways."

"Misha's been invaluable," Reid added. "When our equipment specialist noticed the damage an hour ago, Monsieur Etremont suggested Misha might be able to help. He repaired three vests with stronger stitching than the originals."

"I should get back upstairs before the lockdown.” Misha hesitated, then spoke to Reid in French briefly before disappearing up the stairs.

I activated my comm unit, hearing the immediate click of connection followed by a chorus of confirmations from the team. The final voice to join was Leo's, coming through with perfect clarity from his secure position at the Sentinel.

"Satellite uplink active and micro-drones deployed," he reported. "I've got real-time imaging from both sources and a backdoor into their perimeter security. The Ghost Bats are maintaining position at three key vantage points. They won't know we're looking."

"Good work," I acknowledged, settling into the lead SUV's passenger seat while Algerone took the wheel. "Keep the connection active but minimize digital footprint. If Phoenix has half the skills we think he does, he'll be monitoring for access attempts."

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