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“Would you be proud to be outwitted by a child, Simmons?” Madam Director asked.

Simmons swallowed. “No, ma’am.”

“Which subject was this again?”

“It was animal H-1094, sir — I mean, Madam Director. The one we call Chipper. He was not working out, which is why I was going to inject him, to end his life functions, which would allow us to remove all the hardware and install it in another subject without risk of damaging it.”

“Not working out? Refresh my memory.”

Simmons struggled for an explanation. There was a long one, about how the animal’s original instinctive functions were not interfacing satisfactorily with the circuitry, how the software was not successfully overruling some of the dog’s natural tendencies, how the dog was unable to reliably commit to mission objectives.

But there was a simpler explanation.

“Chipper liked to play,” Simmons said.

Madam Director shook her head. “And is it true that this Chipper actually used your security card to make his way out of the building?”

Simmons cleared his throat. “Yes, that is what he did. In some ways, however, that is evidence of just how successful the program is, that a dog could be smart enough to understand—”

Madam Director cut him off with a wave of the hand. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Simmons.”

“Yes, Madam Director. But we’re doing everything we can to recover the animal. Just before I came in here I heard that they had it cornered in a subway car. It’s only a matter of time before we have it back.”

“Hmm,” said Madam Director, who pushed back her chair and stood up. In four-inch heels, she was taller than he was; her eyes stared down into his. “And what sort of orders have been given to those in pursuit?”

“To get the dog back, even if it means the hardware is compromised. If the only way to get the dog is to destroy the dog and everything that has been implanted in it, then that is acceptable. It’s totally understood that we do not want the dog to come into anyone else’s hands.”

“I should think not,” Madam Director said. “That would be nothing short of catastrophic. Do you realize how few people are even aware of the work we’re doing?”

“I have a pretty good idea, yes.”

“Were you aware that not even the President of the United States knows of the work we are engaged in?”

“Yes, Madam Director,” Simmons said.

“The billions of dollars that have been channeled to our research don’t even show up on the books,” she said, stepping away from her chair, slowly coming around the desk. “We are so secret that even the people who are supposed to know about us don’t know about us. But when you let that dog outwit you, you put all that in jeopardy. You run the risk of having everything we do here exposed.”

“I, uh, am deeply sorry about that,” Simmons said.

Madam Director stood directly in front of Simmons, close enough that she could smell onions on his breath. Her right hand was closed into a fist, hiding something.

“I can assure you that nothing like this will happen again,” he said.

The woman nodded. “No, it will not.”

There was a long, awkward pause. Finally, Simmons said, “Is that all, Madam? Because I’m eager to return to supervising the recovery mission.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Madam Director said. “I’ve already put someone else in charge.”

Simmons’s eyebrows went up. “But I can handle that.”

Madam Director smiled. “I think Daggert is more the man for the job. I have something else for you.” She opened her right hand to reveal a dark, marble-sized item. It was a beefy, salty treat, just like the one Simmons had given to H-1094.

Madam Director held it up a few inches away from Simmons’s lips.

“Eat this,” she said.

“What?”

“Eat. This.”

“Madam Director, really, there’s no need to—”

Behind him, he heard the door to Madam Director’s office retract into the wall. He spun around and saw a man standing there. He wasn’t wearing a white coat like most of the others at The Institute. He was decked out in a black business suit, with a crisp white shirt and black tie. On his feet were black shoes that reflected the lights recessed into the ceiling. He was tall and thin, and one had the sense of being watched by him, even with his eyes obscured by sunglasses.

“Daggert,” Simmons said. “Just back from the Matrix?”

The man called Daggert said nothing. But Simmons noticed that he held, in his right hand, a syringe.

“Look at me,” Madam Director said.

Simmons looked at her and gulped. “I’m very, very sorry about what happened.”

“Eat this,” Madam Director said for a third time.

Simmons looked at his boss, then at Daggert and the syringe in his hand. He took the treat, and with great reluctance, placed it in his mouth and grimaced.

“You’re thinking that maybe you’re just as smart as the dog,” Madam Director said. “That you can just hide it in there.” She smiled. “Chew it up.”

Simmons’s jaw did not move.

“Come on now, Simmons. I’m doing you a favour. You won’t feel a thing. Any other way is going to be much more painful.”

“But...  but you need me. I’m invaluable!”

Madam Director looked past Simmons to Daggert. “Who’s invaluable, Daggert?”

“Only you,” he said.

She smiled. “There you have it. Start chewing, Simmons.”

His jaw slowly began to move. Madam Director leaned in close to hear crunching within the man’s mouth.

“That’s good. Eat that up.”

“Please,” Simmons said as he continued chewing. “I’m going to make this right. I am. You don’t have to...  put me...  to sleep.”

Madam Director waved a finger in his face. “It’s not nice to talk with your mouth full.” She smiled. “As you’ve probably guessed, that little morsel is a lot more powerful than the one your dog failed to eat.”

Simmons could already feel himself growing weary.

“Swallow,” she said.

Simmons chewed the last of the treat and allowed it to move down his throat. The room began to sway. He reached for the desk to try and steady himself.

His legs grew weak and he collapsed to the floor. Daggert strode further into the room and knelt beside Simmons. He tested the syringe, shooting a couple of drops out the end of the needle, then plunged it through Simmons’s white sleeve and into his arm.

“Thank you, Daggert.” Madam Director returned to her chair. “Remove him. He clashes with my décor. And Daggert?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“We have people in the field already, but I’m putting you in charge of getting that dog back. Take Bailey and Crawford with you.”

“With pleasure,” he said, dragging Simmons from the room.

Five

Chipper remained crouched under the seat in the subway car, wondering when they would start moving again. He knew the car couldn’t sit in the tunnel indefinitely.

The train began to move.

Chipper thought back to what had been said over the intercom. When they came into the next station, the doors would not be opening immediately. That meant the authorities would be able to board the train and go through it car by car, looking for him.

He had to get off the train.

The wheels squealed and the lights flickered.

That voice came on again.

“Attention, passengers. We are almost at the station. Please remain seated. We will be opening the doors one car at a time while security moves through the train. Please do not be alarmed. This is a standard security precaution.”