Page 84 of Undercover Infidel
Gus leaned forward. “The doctors report his cognitive functions are severely compromised. Whetherfrom the bullet wound or some other trauma, he appears unable to communicate beyond basic responses.”
“You said ‘appears,’” Lex noted.
“It could be an act,” Tag concurred. “Though the medical evidence suggests otherwise. Brain scans show damage to his speech centers.”
“Convenient,” I muttered.
“Very,” Ash agreed. “But even if he’s faking, the consortium has gone underground. Their financial network has collapsed, and most of their facilities have been abandoned.”
“What about McLaren?” Lex’s voice remained neutral, but I caught the tension in her shoulders.
A pause stretched between us.
“Still no confirmation,” Gus said. “The damage to the facility was extensive. If she was inside during the final explosion…”
He didn’t need to finish. We all understood the implications.
Lex’s expression remained guarded. I knew she still struggled with McLaren’s betrayal, with the knowledge that her mentor had helped create the very weapon we’d risked our lives to destroy. The uncertainty about McLaren’s fate only compounded that pain.
“Bennett was officially declared dead,” said Gus. “Not that there was a question. However, his body was recovered from the rubble and identified through dental records.”
“What about the neural interface technology?” I asked, steering the conversation toward more pragmatic matters.
“Destroyed, as far as we can tell,” Ash replied. “The pulse weapon overloaded exactly as McLaren predicted. If any schematics survived, they haven’t surfaced.”
“We should remain vigilant,” I cautioned. “Ideas like that rarely die completely.”
“MI6 and Unit 23 have established a joint monitoring program,” Lex added. “Any research that bears even a passing resemblance to Orlov’s work will trigger alerts.”
The conversation drifted to less consequential topics—the latest gossip from Vauxhall Cross, Sullivan’s plans for renovations at Ashcroft, and Gus’s new financial tracking algorithm. As we talked, I observed the easy camaraderie that had developed between Lex and my friends. She belonged here, among us, in a way that felt both surprising and inevitable.
Eventually, Sullivan announced they needed to leave. “Mairi insisted on serving a special dinner tonight.”
“And Ash can’t say no,” teased Gus.
“The aunt of the Duke of Ashcroft does not intimidate me,” Ash protested unconvincingly. “I simply show her the appropriate respect.”
Their banter continued as they gathered their things, the normality of it a balm after weeks of intensity. As Gus and Tag prepared to follow them out, I caught Tag’s arm.
“Stay a moment?”
He nodded, understanding without an explanation. Lex quietly offered to walk the others out, giving us privacy. Once they’d gone, Tag returned to his chair.
“No word about Nightingale?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
He shook his head, eyes fixed on the fireplace. “Nothing definitive. There was a possible sighting in Beirut last week, but it went cold.”
“You’ll find her.”
“Will I?” His voice carried a rawness I wasn’t accustomed to hearing. “No contact, no trails to follow. She’s either dead or doesn’t want to be found.”
“The fact we haven’t found a body gives me hope,” Gus offered quietly from the doorway, having returned without Lex, Sullivan, or Ash.
Tag’s shoulders tightened. “Or whoever took her ensured there was nothing to find.”
“We aren’t certain she was taken, Tag,” Gus said in a low tone of voice.
The three of us fell silent, each contemplating the grim possibility.
