Page 142 of Only the Wicked
“In your role on the Hill, you’re familiar with PR strategy, correct? Sometimes the best response is diversion.” I open my backpack deliberately slowly, keeping a close eye on both Gregory and Dristol as I extract the iPad we prepared specifically for this meeting. Of course, I planned to share it with Crawford, but here we are.
The device contains isolated evidence Quinn and Daisy compiled—nothing that can be traced back to the source if this goes sideways.
I press play and watch Dristol’s skin blanch.
The evidence is damning—Dristol’s face is clearly visible in meetings with Romanovich in locations ranging from coffee shops to park benches. Timestamps. Locations. Phone records. The financial transactions and offshore accounts are the most damning pieces of evidence.
“Photographs of meets. Financial transactions. All easily assembled once you know what you’re looking for and with access to the right databases.” I deliberately leave unsaid the implication: once you know what you’re looking for, you might find much more.
Dristol’s throat works as he swallows. He rubs his neck, sniffs—stress responses.
“We live in a world of deep fakes.”
His defense is weak, perfunctory. I watch his eyes—not focused on the evidence, but darting to the corners of the room. Is he looking for cameras? Exits?
“Deep fakes are increasingly common,” I concur. “But these are real. And we have live witnesses. You know, thanks to last night.”
He leans back in his seat. He doesn’t bother to hit replay.
“There’s got to be a way.” He breathes in deeply and taps his index finger against the table. “It’s best for you if we work together smoothly. This theoretical evidence—it can easily be misunderstood. And for you, think about what’s at stake. If the winds pick up on a deal that violates US policy, you could see every government contract disappear. Billions of dollars.”
What Dristol doesn’t understand—what people like him never understand—is that my refusal isn’t negotiating posture. It’s the fundamental principle ARGUS was built on. Do good. The moment I agree to work with someone like this, I’m no better than the surveillance state opportunists I set out to counter. More practically, once I negotiate with one, it’s only a matter of time before my willingness to deal is exploited by others. That’s why I’m here now. One questionable deal—one mistake—at a weak moment.
The mythological references from earlier flash through my mind. This is another form of hubris to fear—not mine, but theirs. The arrogance that makes men believe they can control anything powerful once it’s unleashed. They think they can use ARGUS without consequence, just as Icarus thought he could fly anywhere, never falling.
“What exactly do you want?” Might as well get it on tape.
Reid steps forward into Dristol’s sight line.
Something passes between them. With Reid’s face partially hidden by his stance, I can’t read the two men, and find myself scanning Reid’s waistline, wondering if he’s carrying. I’ve been told FBI agents always carry, but he was never FBI. Quinn said he’s former CIA.
He’s a slim guy, slightly shorter than me. And Dristol’s out-of-shape. I’m not afraid of either of these men, unless there’s a gun holster beneath Reid’s sports jacket.
In my ear, Syd’s voice comes through. “Ask him what’s in it for him. How does he monetize it.”
“What I don’t understand,” I begin slowly to capture the men’s attention, “What’s in it for you? I see how I increase my fortune with the acquisition, but I’m not seeing the payout for you two.”
It’s a valid question, unless Miles is paying these fuckers. The thought pushes me over the edge into angry. Would he really do that? Hire these twats instead of just having it out with me?
“Let’s say we have a vested interest. And it’s no concern of yours,” Reid answers.
He moves to leave, and in my ear, Syd says, “Save it. Buy an additional meet.”
I’m not convinced I need more on this prick. I’ve got a powerful tool at my fingertips. But, in team spirit, I say, “Let me sleep on it.” It’s a phrase I use all the time thanks to Nana, the queen of ruminating.
Dristol stands, pushing his chair back. “You asked what we want?”
I nod.
“Not much. Access. That’s all. After you purchase the database, give us unfettered access for one week. That’s it.”
“And what would I get?”
“We become your ally.”
I pointedly look at Reid, questioning why I need a guy with a fake badge as an ally.
“He’s connected,” Dristol answers my unspoken question. “In a group that theoretically doesn’t exist. He uses an alternative identity when it’s useful.”
