short and sweet. You’re going to do exactly as I say, and in exchange, I won’t toss your ass off the tenth-story balcony myself. Does that work for you?”
“You can’t do that.”
Foley leaned on the chair, got right in her face. “Just fucking try me.”
Watson blanched.
“What do you want me to do?”
Foley stood. “Do exactly what you planned to do. Meet the other three, collect their bids. But then tell them this: The winner will receive a text tonight to come to a London location at a specified time, and that’s when you’ll hand over the algorithmic key. Are we clear?”
“Clear.”
Foley called over her shoulder. “Jack?”
Jack stepped over and wired Watson up with a Bluetooth ear device that doubled as a video/audio unit.
Jack touched his earpiece. “Say something.”
“Something.”
Jack nodded. “Loud and clear.”
Foley said, “If the mic and camera go dead, you’re dead. Give us up, and you’re dead. Do anything stupid and give yourself away, you’re screaming-in-agony dead.”
“I won’t screw it up. You’ll see.”
“Yes, I will,” Foley said. “Now move your sorry ass.”
* * *
—
An hour and a half later, Watson was back in Gavin’s room, seated in the same chair. The others were gathered around Gavin’s laptop, scrubbing through Watson’s first-person video. They’d seen it all live but wanted to review just to be sure Watson hadn’t pulled a fast one.
“Well?” Watson asked.
“You think you sold them?” Foley asked.
“I sold you, didn’t I?”
Foley’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, I guess you did. You sold a lot of us.”
“I’m thirsty. Can I have a water or something?” Watson asked.
Jack grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge and handed it to Watson. She cracked it open.
“Why’d you do it?” Foley demanded.
“Does it matter?” Watson took a swig.
“Humor me.”
“Multiple reasons.”
“Starting with?”
“First of all, because I could. The idea of outsmarting the entire western IC seemed like an immensely satisfying exercise.”
“Was it? I mean, until we caught you red-handed?”
“Yes, entirely.”
Foley turned to Clark. “If I ask for your weapon, turn me down. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why else?” Foley demanded.
“Elias Dahm.”
“What about him?”
“While he was out banging teenage interns on his boat, I was building his goddamn company. Everybody knew Elias Dahm. He was the rock star. I never got invited to an owner’s box at the Super Bowl or asked to toss out the first pitch at a Giants game, or hang out with Oprah in Maui. Instead, I got hit with questions all the time. ‘Where’s Elias? What’s he like?’ ‘Can you tell him “hi” for me?’ ‘Can you tell him I’m a big fan?’ Made me want to puke.”
“You used to be in a relationship with him.”
“Yeah, for a while. Talked me into walking away from my dream NSA job by offering me his bed. But then, after I got fenced in, he moved on to greener pastures.”
“You mean younger ones,” Jack said.
“You’d risk the security of the United States because your feelings got hurt?” Clark asked. Jack watched his face redden.
“Why’d you stay around?” Foley asked.
“The stock options, mostly. I mean, CloudServe really was my company. I did most of the important work. Elias was just a salesman. Like I told you with Fung, Elias kept us all on a tight leash by keeping our stock options in escrow for five years after we left in order to guarantee the NDAs and noncompetes we signed. So if we left under bad terms, we couldn’t earn a living and we’d lose everything we’d worked for.”
“Your stock options must have been worth tens of millions.”
“Try hundreds.”
“But doing this would kill the company, and your stocks would crash.”
“That’s why I needed the auction. I could destroy the company and get rich, all at the same time.”
Foley asked, “Any other reasons?”
“My brother.”
“The Ranger? Killed in the line of duty?” Jack asked.
“He was my hero, my life. And Ryan killed him.”
“How did the President kill your brother?” Foley asked.
Watson’s icy composure melted away.
“What the hell was my brother doing fighting in Ukraine? Or Afghanistan, Iraq, Niger, the Philippines?”
Her rage escalated. “Why does Jack Ryan think America needs to fight everybody else’s stupid wars? Wars that we cause to begin with? I’m sick of all the patriotic, flag-waving bullshit. It just gets good people killed. And for fucking what? Tell me why, goddamn it!”
“Your brother was a soldier,” Clark said. “He swore an oath. He obeyed his orders. Maybe he didn’t even agree with them. Hell, most of us in uniform don’t agree with them, at least not all the time. But that’s the job. And your brother