Chapter 9 - BishopSamuel Bishop had aged well.
That was my first thought when his video call appeared.
It was a strange thing to notice about a man I had watched die.
Or believed I had watched die.
His hair was white now.
Face thinner.
But his eyes were exactly the same.
Cold.
Patient.
Amused.
“Hello, Claire.”
I stared at the screen.
“Hello, Bishop.”
Ryan stood beside me.
Dad sat behind us.
Cole’s team worked quietly around the room.
Tracing.
Listening.
Planning.
Bishop knew they were there.
He didn’t care.
“You look well.”
“You look alive.”
He smiled.
“Reports can be inaccurate.”
“I saw your vehicle explode.”
“You saw a vehicle explode.”
Of course.
Classic misdirection.
I should have known.
“Where is my family?”
“Safe.”
“Show me.”
The camera shifted.
Mom.
Caroline.
Children.
Alive.
Terrified.
I controlled my breathing.
“What do you want?”
“The archive.”
“No.”
Ryan looked at me.
Bishop smiled.
“You haven’t changed.”
“You trained me not to negotiate from weakness.”
“I trained you very well.”
Something in his tone made my skin crawl.
“You trained me because of Orpheus.”
“Yes.”
No denial.
“Did my father consent?”
Bishop looked toward Dad.
“James still claims innocence?”
Dad stood.
“You forged my signature.”
Bishop laughed.
“You signed dozens of authorizations.”
“Not that one.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“To your conscience perhaps.”
Dad moved closer.
“You used my children.”
“I developed potential.”
Ryan swore.
Bishop continued as though he hadn’t heard.
“Your family was remarkable, James. Claire especially.”
I wanted to break the screen.
Instead I asked, “Why?”
Bishop turned back to me.
“Because nations spend billions trying to identify people like you after adulthood. Orpheus asked whether we could identify them earlier.”
“Children.”
“Future assets.”
“We weren’t assets.”
“You became one.”
“I became one because you manipulated my life.”
His expression softened.
“Did we make you brilliant?”
“No.”
“Did we make you brave?”
“No.”
“Did we make you capable of surviving Harrow?”
I hated the question because the answer was complicated.
He saw it.
“We opened doors, Claire. You walked through them.”
“And then you tried to kill me.”
“Yes.”
Ryan surged forward.
Cole restrained him.
“Why?” I asked.
Bishop’s smile disappeared.
“Because you discovered Meridian.”
“I didn’t know I had.”
“You were close enough.”
“What did I find?”
“A relationship between American contractors and a smuggling network.”
“I reported that.”
“Yes.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
And there it was.
I had handed my discovery directly to the enemy.
“Then you redirected Harrow.”
“Yes.”
“You sent my team into an ambush.”
Bishop said nothing.
My hands trembled.
Eight people.
Three traitors.
Five loyal.
How many died because of him?
“Who survived Talon?”
“Besides you?”
“Yes.”
“Two.”
My breath caught.
“Who?”
“Give me the archive.”
“Names first.”
He smiled again.
“One is David Mercer.”
“David wasn’t Talon.”
“Not officially.”
The room went still.
“And the other?”
Bishop leaned toward the camera.
“You already met him last night.”
My mind raced.
Party.
Officers.
Guests.
Cole.
No.
I looked at Nathan.
He saw it.
Shook his head.
Bishop laughed.
“Not Colonel Cole.”
“Then who?”
“Bring me the drive.”
I forced myself to think.
He wanted the archive desperately enough to hold children hostage.
Which meant the hard drive contained something he couldn’t replace.
“You can’t decrypt it.”
His smile vanished.
There.
“Correct.”
“And you need me.”
“Yes.”
“Biometrics?”
“Yes.”
Same principle as the Geneva box.
I was a key again.
“Where?”
He sent coordinates.
A rural estate in Virginia.
Dad stared.
“I know that property.”
“Whose?”
He looked sick.
“General Halpern.”
Of course.
Bishop continued.
“Midnight.”
I checked the clock.
Four hours.
“Everyone comes.”
“No.”
“Yes. James. Ryan. You.”
“And Cole?”
Bishop smiled.
“Colonel Cole can come if he wishes.”
Cole frowned.
“He wants us there.”
“Obviously.”
“Why?”
Bishop answered.
“Because tonight Orpheus ends.”
The video disconnected.
Silence.
Then Ryan said, “We’re not giving him the drive.”
“Yes, we are.”
He stared at me.
“What?”
“We give him what he thinks is the drive.”
Cole nodded.
“Clone.”
“Not enough. He’ll verify it.”
Dad looked at me.
“What are you thinking?”
I stared at the hard drive.
“Bishop trained me.”
Ryan sighed.
“That sentence is becoming terrifying.”
“He taught me that the safest lie contains mostly truth.”
Cole understood.
“We modify the archive.”
“Exactly.”
“What do we insert?”
“A beacon. Tracking code. Something that phones home the moment he connects it.”
Cole looked toward his technical team.
“Can you do that?”
One technician nodded.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe isn’t enough.”
I leaned toward him.
“You have four hours.”
He looked offended.
“Now I see why they called you Blackbird.”
For the first time all day, Ryan laughed.
It felt good.
Wrong moment.
But good.
At 11:42 p.m., we approached Halpern’s estate.
No police.
No visible military units.
Bishop had warned that any external intervention would trigger explosives near the hostages.
We didn’t know whether he was bluffing.
With children involved, we couldn’t test it.
I carried the altered drive.
Ryan walked on my right.
Dad on my left.
Cole followed twenty feet behind.
The main doors opened.
General Mark Halpern stood inside.
Three stars on his uniform.
No weapon visible.
“Claire Whitaker.”
“General.”
He looked at Ryan.
“Captain.”
Ryan’s jaw clenched.
“You selected me.”
“Yes.”
“For Kandahar.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Halpern looked almost sad.
“Because you were supposed to find the servers.”
Ryan froze.
“You wanted me to copy them.”
“Yes.”
Bishop’s voice came from behind him.
“And we wanted to see what you would do.”
He entered the hall.
“Orpheus never ended.”
My stomach twisted.
“Kandahar was a test.”
“Partly.”
“You risked my brother’s team.”
“Calculated risk.”
Ryan lunged.
I stopped him.
“Not yet.”
Bishop smiled.
“Always the disciplined one.”
“Where’s my family?”
“Downstairs.”
“Show me.”
He gestured.
We followed.
Basement level.
Wine cellar.
Large reinforced room.
Mom and Caroline sat together.
Children behind them.
Armed guards nearby.
Alive.
That was all I needed.
Bishop held out his hand.
“The drive.”
I raised it.
“You release them.”
“After verification.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“You taught me better.”
His eyes narrowed.
I pointed toward Mom.
“She and the children walk outside with Dad.”
“Ryan stays.”
“Yes.”
“Cole stays.”
“Yes.”
Bishop thought.
Then nodded.
My father crossed to Mom.
Untied her.
Caroline gathered the children.
Mom looked at me.
“Claire…”
“Go.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Mom.”
Something in my voice stopped her.
I softened it.
“Please.”
For once, she listened.
They left.
Bishop took the drive.
Inserted it into a secured laptop.
The screen activated.
Biometric prompt.
He looked at me.
“Your thumb.”
I approached.
Pressed it.
The archive opened.
Folders appeared.
Thousands.
Bishop exhaled.
He had wanted this for a long time.
Then the inserted beacon activated.
Somewhere above us, Cole’s remote team would be receiving the signal.
Bishop stared at the screen.
His face changed.
“You modified it.”
I smiled.
“You trained me very well.”
He slammed the laptop shut.
Gunfire erupted.
Cole tackled one guard.
Ryan struck another.
I went for Bishop.
He was sixty-two.
Still fast.
His fist caught my shoulder.
I spun.
He drew a pistol.
I knocked his wrist aside.
The shot struck the ceiling.
We crashed into a wine rack.
Bottles shattered.
He whispered in my ear.
“You still don’t know who the architect is.”
I drove my forehead into his nose.
“Then tell me.”
He laughed through blood.
“It wasn’t me.”
“Halpern?”
“No.”
“Shaw?”
“No.”
“Who?”
A shot rang out.
Bishop jerked.
Blood spread across his chest.
He fell.
Behind him stood General Halpern.
Gun raised.
Ryan shouted.
Halpern dropped the weapon.
“I had to.”
I knelt beside Bishop.
He was dying.
“Who?”
His eyes found mine.
For once, no arrogance remained.
Only fear.
“The architect…”
Blood filled his mouth.
“Was Orpheus subject zero.”
“What does that mean?”
He tried to breathe.
“Your father wasn’t the first Whitaker.”
I froze.
“Who?”
His final word was barely audible.
“Eleanor.”
Then he died.
I looked at my father.
He had returned to the doorway after hearing the shots.
His face had gone completely white.
Ryan stared at him.
“Who is Eleanor?”
Dad said nothing.
I stood.
“Dad.”
He closed his eyes.
Then answered.
“My mother.”
Our grandmother.
The woman who died when I was fourteen.
The woman who taught me chess.
The woman who told me never to trust people who needed everyone else to underestimate them.
Eleanor Whitaker.
And suddenly I remembered something I had forgotten for twenty years.
May you like
A tattoo on her wrist.
Two broken wings.
