She gestured to Sergeant Brooks, who stood beside her. "Sergeant Bethany Brooks will head the division, hand-picking seasoned and responsible officers to deal with this pertinent issue. She will now update you on the matter and field your questions."
Ronnie took a step back so that Brooks could take the podium, face pale with nervousness. But after swallowing hard, she stood tall and withstood the media bombardment. Ronnie glanced over at Isaac, whose approving expression would be impossible to read for anyone but her. But she knew his thoughts as if he spoke the words aloud.
Nice work.
She glanced down when her holoband buzzed. Stepping away, she took the call. A garbled voice spoke over the line.
"Captain Banks."
"Who is this?"
"Call me Castle. Listen closely: the Furies are about to be permanently transferred out of your jurisdiction. They'll be as good as dead if you don't do something."
"How do you know that? Who is this? Hello? Hello?"
There was no response as the call went dead. Shutting down her holoband, she glanced at Sergeant Brooks, whose commanding presence continued to absorb the limelight. Ronnie jerked her head at Isaac, who dutifully followed in her footsteps as she turned and inconspicuously entered the precinct.
"What's up, Ronnie?"
"Anonymous tip. They're shipping out the Furies."
"What?"
"I know. Which can only mean one thing: they know something that can hurt someone up the ladder."
"You sure you wanna open that box, Ronnie? You told me that the Commissioner is riding you hard right now."
"Are you kidding? I'm not dancing on anyone's strings, Isaac. We're getting to the bottom of this right now."
Descending to the prison section, she strode into the Deputy Warden's office. Jeremy Bullock looked up and groaned when he saw her.
"I knew it."
"Knew what — that there was a shady transfer going down today or that I'd find out about it?"
"Take your pick."
"Whose signature?"
"Commissioner Miller's. Which means I can't do anything for you, Captain."
She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Jeremy."
He screwed his eyes shut. "Don't say it. Please."
"You owe me."
"Yeah, but—"
"You wouldn't even have this cushy job if I didn't stick my neck out for you, remember?"
He sighed. "Yeah. I remember."
"A few minutes with Alex. That's all I'm asking."
Jeremy threw up his arms. "Fine. But it's on your authorization, Captain. Okay? They ask, and I'm gonna get real ignorant about how you got access."
"Do what you gotta do, Jeremy. So long as I get a few minutes alone with my CI."
"You got a ten-minute window, Ronnie. After that, you gotta be out."
She smiled. "I was never here."
Alex's head jerked up when Ronnie entered, crimson eyes flashing in the dim light. "What kind of games are you playing, cop? You didn't say nothing about being transferred this quick."
Ronnie took her time sitting down at the small metal table opposite Alex, who wore an orange transfer jumpsuit and cyber-dampening manacles around her wrists. A thin metal halo encircled her head, programmed to shut down her access to her backup systems.
Ronnie shrugged. "What can I say? Someone wants you off the premises in a hurry. If I was the suspicious type, I'd think it was to keep you from talking to me."
Alex studied her, a sneer on her lips. "This is just the type of shit you pigs pull. Head games, trying to knock me off balance. Well, you can just—"
Ronnie slammed a hand on the table. "Does it look like I'm playing around? You don't have a choice, Alex. Right now, you and your sisters are about to be placed in the hands of people who don't want you running your mouths. I don't have to tell you how that could end for you, because I think you know the possibilities. Just last year, a key witness was shot down while in RCE custody. Today, it could be three bodies. It will be called a tragedy, but there won't be any real investigation. Just another incident swept under the rug. There's absolutely nothing I can do for you once you exit the premises. So right now, I might be the best friend you have."
Alex's eyes flicked back and forth as she weighed her options. Finally, she nodded.
"If I talk, you can stop the transfer?"
"Give me something, and I'll do you better. You've got warrants in Los Diablos, California. A sovereign state outside of the jurisdiction of the United Haven. Sure, you'll have to face the charges, but you and your sisters will stay together and, more importantly, stay alive. I can authorize the transfer change right here and now, but what you give me better be a case-breaker."
Alex hunched over the table, looking uneasy for the first time. "I can only tell you what Khan was into and who he was dealing with."
"Better hope it's enough."
"He was working with Janus."
Ronnie froze. "The Janus?"
Alex nodded. "The man who runs Diabolis. It's all tied to the memory laundering operation: Haze parlors, Immersion pods, and memory drugs."
"Cerberus."
"Right. Most of the operations are a front for the real deal. Some secret society of elites, some from the Haven, some from outside. They run Diabolis and oversee the whole operation. But from what I hear, they're some kind of cult with their eye on life extension or something."
"Who are they?"
Alex gave a furtive glance over the room as if searching for surveillance.
"The room is clean."
"Says you. You don't know what I know. These guys — they know everything. They've infiltrated every aspect of the city and have eyes and ears everywhere. They're tied into the cameras, have Sentries stalking the streets, are jacked into everyone's data."
"You haven't answered my question."
Alex leaned even closer, dropping her voice to a near-inaudible whisper. "I don't know who they are. But they run the city. You can't trust anyone above your head, Captain. You can't trust anyone around you. Diabolis is everyone, and they're no one. All I can give you is a word: the one thing that ties it all together."
"What's the word?"
Alex licked her lips nervously. "Styx."
Ronnie's eyes widened.
Tim LeBlanc never carried a weapon, preferring to trust his ability to talk his way out of any bad situation he found himself caught up in. In his brief stint as the resident Troubleshooter, he never had to resort to violence, something he understood was a rarity in his line of work.
But as he entered his tiny shipping container apartment and caught a whiff of cigar smoke, he suddenly wished he had a more lethal option at his disposal.
Raising his hands, he slowly entered. "Look, if you're here to mug me, then the joke's on you. I'm sure you've checked out my pad and found out I'm not exactly a high-roller."
The lantern beside his floor mattress clicked on. A man sat in the only chair in the apartment: white hair and mustache, physically fit for his age. He was dressed in all black: sturdy collarless shirt, flak jacket, thick belt, cargo paints, military-grade boots. A wide assortment of firearms, bladed weapons, and cyber-gear was attached to his person. The room was slightly hazy from cigar smoke, but the man's eyes were sharp and alert when he scrutinized LeBlanc.
"I'm not here to rob you, LeBlanc."
"Then why are you here?"
"To talk about a mutual friend."
"I don't have any friends."
"Let me rephrase — a mutual ally. Don't make me say his name. Listening ears are everywhere."
LeBlanc shifted nervously. "Let's say I understand who you're talking about. What does that have to do with you and me?"
"Our friend is a soldier, and that's fine. But a one-man war will end in the death of that man if he doesn't have a coalition to back him up. I'm part of that coalition. We're a small group but looking to expand. I'm here to see if you want to be a part of that."