Page 134 of Hunted to Be Mine
“With respect, sir, the circumstances were exceptional. Specter’s resistance to the Reset Protocol was unprecedented. The statistical probability of…”
I raised a single finger, and Alban fell silent immediately.
“Do you believe in coincidences, Alban?” I asked, finally turning from the window.
He hesitated, caught between telling me what he thought I wanted to hear and what he actually believed. “Sometimes events align by chance, sir.”
“No.” I rose from my chair. “Randomness is merely pattern recognition failure. The human brain creates artificial boundaries between connected phenomena because it cannot process complexity at scale.”
I moved to the white wall where my personal workstation hummed. With a gesture, I activated the display, data streams flowing across the surface, personnel files, communication logs, security breaches.
“These aren’t random events, Alban.” I traced a pattern through the data with my fingertip. “Someone is dismantling my work from within.”
Alban shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, that would suggest…”
“A traitor.” The word fell between us, precise and cold. “Someone with intimate knowledge of our protocols, access to secure facilities, and the technical expertise to exploit vulnerabilities without triggering alarms.”
“That’s impossible,” Alban objected. “Our vetting process is infallible. The loyalty protocols…”
“Are designed by humans and can be circumvented by humans.” I continued studying the patterns in the data. “Perhaps SENTINEL has placed a mole. Perhaps one of our own has developed a conscience. The motive is irrelevant. The pattern is undeniable.”
Alban’s skepticism remained visible in the reflection of the display. “Director, with respect, I believe we’re looking at operational failures, not sabotage. The Crawford woman is exceptionally skilled, and Specter’s conditioning was already compromised before…”
“Your inability to see the pattern does not negate its existence.” I turned to face him directly. “Tell me, what is the statistical probability that three of our most valuable assets would break conditioning within such a short period of time?”
Alban paled slightly. “When you present it that way…”
“Someone orchestrated this,” I stated flatly. “Someone is systematically destroying what I’ve built.”
I returned to my desk, sliding my finger across the glass surface to activate another display. A complex network of connections materialized in the air between us—personnel files, communication logs, access records.
I smiled thinly. “We have a cancer in our organization, Alban. And like any cancer, we’ll identify it, isolate it, and excise it.”
Alban shifted uncomfortably. “What do you need from me, Director?”
“Accelerate the failsafe protocol for Blackout.” I returned to my chair, folding my hands precisely on the glass surface. “If he’s still alive, I want him destroyed.”
“The termination protocol,” Alban finished quietly.
I nodded curtly at Alban. “You’re dismissed.”
He hesitated at the edge of my desk, fingers tightening on his tablet. “Sir, there’s also the matter of the security protocols at the Geneva facility. The breach indicates…”
“I said you’re dismissed.” My voice remained level, but something in my eyes made him step back.
“Of course, Director.” He retreated toward the door, his shoulders stiff with poorly concealed anxiety. At the threshold, he paused. “Will you be attending the European branch directors’ meeting tomorrow?”
“No. Cancel my appearance. Cite security concerns.”
The door closed behind him. I remained at my desk, fingers steepled before me. Alban’s concern about the security breach was merely a symptom of a much deeper problem.
I turned to my monitor. The recent raid on our Zagreb warehouses should have exposed nothing of significance; I had ensured all sensitive materials were relocated days before the main transfer. Yet somehow, they had extracted usable intelligence.
Someone had provided him with the access codes. Someone intimately familiar with our systems. Someone I had trusted.
The defect in the assets themselves wasn’t the problem. They were merely a tool, a finely crafted one, certainly, but still just an instrument being wielded by someone else. The real threat was whoever was pulling the strings.
A traitor in my organization. The thought was almost fascinating in its audacity. Was it some higher up or a simple asset? Curiosity stimulated me. Who under my thumb dared to think they could outsmart me, bring me down?
