I’d just reached the bottom of the steps when the knocks came. They had a pattern: three raps, a brief pause, and two more. It was The Guardians' cadence. Reed opened the door.
Eamon stepped inside with two hard cases.
“Afternoon. I feel a bit like Security Santa. I come bearing gifts.”
I took the cases and led Eamon to the parlor. He immediately surveyed the space. “Cabot and Priest?”
“Upstairs in their bedrooms,” I said.
“Bring them down. Most of this is for them.”
I set the cases on the coffee table and flipped the latches. They contained two hardened laptops, matte black, with no branding.
“Guardians routing,” Eamon said. “Direct line through us. If you go off-network, I’ll know inside thirty seconds.”
He drew a small handset from his jacket and set it beside the laptops. “This is paired. It will allow five minutes of traffic. After that, it goes dark, and we replace it.”
Wiley entered the parlor, and he immediately focused on the handset. “Can I call Samuel?”
“Yes, and I have an update,” Eamon said. “We’ve moved him to a low-profile property in Newton. It’s one of ours. Vega is staying with him. She’s solid.”
Wiley reached for the handset. “How long do I get?”
“Five minutes,” I said.
“That’s not—“
“It’s what you get.”
His mouth opened and closed. “Fine.”
He moved into the hallway, dialing as he went.
I didn’t listen for specific words; I listened for the shape of the sound.
His voice was low and even. It came out with a rapid cadence at first, but then the pauses between statements lengthened.
The five minutes passed quickly. Cabot joined us in the parlor, and Eamon showed him one of the laptops.
Wiley reappeared. The color had drained from his face, and his eyes were red around the edges.
“You’re done,” I said.
“I’m done.”
He set the phone on the table and pointed at a laptop. “These are for us?”
“Yes,” Eamon said.
Wiley sat on the couch and opened the laptop. He disappeared into the digital world.
Cabot looked up from his computer. “How many of them are out there?”
“We don’t know yet,” Eamon said. “Which is why I brought this.” He pulled a small camera from inside his jacket.
It was a matte gray cylinder no longer than my thumb. Eamon set it on the coffee table beside the laptops and pulled a coil of adhesive backing from his pocket.
“Where do you want me to mount it?” I asked.