FIFTY-FIVE

Back in the Pavilion, Pierce was exhausted. Too much made little sense. The NI had power, but so did Influentials. Whatever they might get from Everett about the knife attack Melvin had mentioned to Caitlyn, would take days if not weeks. Even answers about the hospital records. All Everett would do if pushed would be to get a team of lawyers as a buffer.

Pierce couldn’t make sense of Razor, either, or the kid’s motives. Pierce’s first hunch said he was the adopted son named Timothy Ray, a rich kid slumming it, using his power and money to give him an advantage while he posed as just another Illegal. But a search of all official records showed only T. R. Zornenbach, the Elite in his late seventies. Except for the notes on official adoption and the required photograph that went with it for facial recognition software, the son of the same name was like an erased ghost nowhere in the system. Holly was working on banks to release some records, including the facial ID attached to those records, but given the system and privacy accorded to Influentials, that was still a couple of days away.

Maybe Pierce could learn something helpful from what Holly and Jeremy had pulled up on Hugh Swain and downloaded to the op-site.

Pierce sat in front of a laptop screen at the small office desk in the corner of the room, pot of room service coffee beside him, and began to review it.

He made it through two cups of coffee before realizing what bothered him about the report. That there was nothing to bother him.

Not only had Hugh Swain had an entirely bland life, but there were no chronological gaps of missing information. All bank accounts were displayed, with no unusual deposits or withdrawals. His occupation was listed as accountant. Marital status single, no dependents. Military record showed five years as desk jockey overseeing supplies issues. The list went on and on. Normally it would take days to compile everything in front of Pierce. He’d received it in less than two hours.

As if the information had been packaged and waiting for the day government intelligence might come looking.

He knew what it suggested.

Some sort of witness protection. A relocation. New identity.

But the guy was tied to this.

Easy enough to guess that Caitlyn had sent Razor to Swain. But why?

Pierce knew himself well enough to realize that if he tried to sleep, no matter how tired he was, he’d stare at a dark ceiling and futilely try to come up with answers.

He also knew that waking someone else from sleep for questions would catch them at their most vulnerable.

So he made a team decision.

Without the team.

And was out the door in less than a minute.