We Meet Again, After All These Years

Ginger stared at the glowing laptop screen, her breath catching in her throat.

The financial flowcharts looked like a map of a criminal empire.

"Alya," Ginger whispered, terrified. "Do you really think the entire Pentagon briefing ten years ago was fabricated?"

Alya's face was a mask of cold stone. She clicked open a scanned document. Heavy black marker redacted almost every line, but the date and time stamps at the top were visible.

"Look at the timestamp," Alya said, pointing a trembling finger at the screen. "They accused Faustino of transferring the nuclear schematics in Geneva at 1400 hours. My father was in a medically induced coma in a black-site ICU at that exact minute."

Ginger covered her mouth with both hands. "My God. It was a setup."

Alya's eyes glazed over. The walls of the apartment seemed to shrink.

She was suddenly back in that damp safe house. She could smell the ozone and the gunpowder.

"The door splintered open," Alya whispered, her voice hollow. "He fell to the floor. White foam was pouring out of his mouth. He was convulsing."

Alya's hands began to shake violently. The phantom pain in her chest flared up, a sharp needle piercing her heart muscle.

"He was holding a key," Alya choked out. "A small, brass safe-deposit key. He forced it into my hand right before he died."

Ginger wrapped her arms around Alya's shoulders, trying to pull her out of the nightmare. "Stop. Al, please stop."

Alya shoved Ginger away. She didn't want comfort. She wanted blood.

Alya reached behind her neck and unclasped a simple silver locket. She popped it open with her thumbnail, revealing a microscopic SD card hidden behind a fake backing.

She inserted the card into a USB adapter and plugged it into the laptop.

A grainy, black-and-white security photo appeared on the screen. It showed a man walking away from the safe house in the rain, holding a black umbrella. The epaulets on his trench coat indicated high-ranking Department of Justice clearance.

"That man," Alya said, her voice dripping with venom, "is currently forming an exploratory committee for the Senate."

Ginger backed away from the table. "Alya, this is treason. If they find out you have this, they will kill you."

Alya let out a dry, humorless laugh. "If I do nothing, my father remains a traitor in the history books forever."

She picked up a thick stack of paper from the table. It was the Non-Disclosure Agreement she had signed for BCF. She tossed it onto the keyboard.

"I get the informant list from Elana," Alya stated. "I match the name to the photo. I send the packet to the Hague. Then I disappear."

Ginger looked at her friend's pale, determined face and nodded slowly. "Whatever you need. I'm in."

They clinked two water glasses together in the dim light, sealing a dangerous pact.

Meanwhile, high above the city in a glass-walled penthouse, Archer Garcia stood looking out over the Potomac River.

He held a crystal glass of amber whiskey. The ice clinked softly against the sides.

On the marble kitchen island behind him, a tablet displayed a live feed of the street outside Alya's apartment. Three black SUVs were parked in strategic blind spots, securing the perimeter.

Marcus stepped out of the private elevator and walked into the living room.

"Sir," Marcus reported. "We intercepted three separate brute-force hacking attempts on Customs and Border Protection servers. Someone is trying to pull Ms. Rivas's entry logs."

Archer's eyes went dead. He took a slow sip of the whiskey.

"Trace the IP addresses," Archer commanded, his voice devoid of any human warmth. "Find the contractors. Cut their hands off. Literally."

Marcus didn't blink. "Understood."

Marcus turned and walked back to the elevator.

Archer tipped his head back and drained the burning liquid. He set the glass down hard on the marble.

He pulled out his phone and opened a hidden folder. He stared at a photograph taken ten years ago-Alya, smiling, her face full of life and color.

"You can't run from me this time, Alya," Archer whispered to the empty room.

Miles away, Alya shivered, a sudden, inexplicable chill running down her spine. She closed her laptop, preparing for the war that awaited her at BCF tomorrow.