A tilt-rotor V-280 Valor approached the Midland Spire, once called the Sears Tower, to land on the 109th-floor platform. Multiple spotlights projected a white-blue icon with the capital letter M superimposed onto the low cloud cover, a sort of light flag one could see for miles around. As the plane fought against Lake Michigan gales to land on the aerie, wind barriers automatically rose to form a revetment. Ground crews rushed forward to place stoppers against the wheels and a step-down ladder underneath the fuselage main door.

Men and women in suits waited nearby for the one passenger to disembark, careful to stay outside the starboard tilt-rotor as it powered down.

Once the cabin door slid aside, the aides snapped to at the sight of Her Excellency, Devlin Augustine.

The Governor Regent of Illinois walked past them into the elevator. At the 98th floor, the young desk secretary jumped up when he saw her.

"Morning, Madam!"

Augustine nodded. "Has DeWitt returned?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Locate and send him to my office."

"Right away."

Inside her spacious quarters, Augustine tossed her coat on the couch, a holo-placard following her wherever she went.

Not long after, a chime sounded.

"Madam, Mr. DeWitt is here."

The double doors slid aside as Harry DeWitt entered alone.

"Welcome back," Augustine said. "I hope it was what you expected." Augustine waved at him to sit out of habit. He would have taken it without her offering him.

He settled into a wraparound seat, his hands resting on the armrests. The seat's electronics recognized the occupant and adjusted to form fit better.

"It never happened."

"Oh? "

"A no show." Harry shrugged. "He's going elsewhere for a buyer."

"Then it's out of your hands. What a relief."

"I could try to reengage."

"You don't take rejection easily, do you?"

"I'm afraid what the tech could do in his hands."

"I take it you know this headhunter?"

"He was my student long ago."

"Ah, now the student is teaching the master a thing or two. Let it go, Harry."

"As you say, ma'am," Harry said. "So what have I missed in my absence?"

"Most of our Regents voted to pare down Red City." She shook her head dejectedly. "And TexPax is dumping theirs as well. We're in a dumping race who can sway New York faster for Conclave."

"And Vargas is leading the charge?"

"Who else?" she curled her lip and jabbed a finger his way. "Red City is the key to the entire Mississippi column, from the Delta to the Lakes. And he wants to give it up to block TexPax from becoming the PIP again."

"Not a good trade?"

"Half a dozen solid companies going over to New York, in exchange for votes -- that's near 50 billion in annual revenue we gave up, reducing our Red City holdings to just under 38%. Is it a good deal, you tell me?"

"Maybe this is what the Chairmark had in mind, reduce profit for peace with TexPax," Harry said, frowning. "What did the Chairmark say -- 'losing growth for stability is a good trade?'"

"Carlyle is ancient; I lost count, maybe a hundred and fifty-seven or more, though he has a new body. You can sharpen a knife only so much before you run out of metal."

"You're no spring chicken yourself," Harry jibed.

Augustine flashed him a look of annoyance. "Scientists can replace every piece of the human body. But the mind. Perhaps his has become dull after so many years." She shrugged, then lowered her voice. "These concessions either stop or . . . We look for a new Chairmark."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"You mean his sons?"

"God forbid."

"The Carlyle House will always be apex in Midland; it's tradition."

"Tradition is a jailer of new ideas."

"I never thought I would hear that from you."

Augustine got up from behind her desk and walked toward the glass wall facing the shimmering waters of Lake Michigan. With privacy mode deactivated, she allowed cold moonbeams to bathe her office in a bluish wash. To the east, she had a commanding view of the twinkling forest of glass towers. The low cloud cover that rolled in from Lake Michigan lay at her feet.

"You should have heard the meeting," Augustine said, contempt etched on her face. "Vargas running the negotiation and our Regents cowering before him like a mad prophet. And I looked at them and wondered if I had stumbled into some Jonestown with the Kool-Aid in front of me."  She sighed.  "Pathetic. And if I could see their meekness, surely they'd see my revulsion of them."

"What will you do, resign?"

"Resign?" She wheeled about and chuckled, "Not a chance." Then returned to her long gaze through the window. "How to sink TexPax's chance at becoming PIP again without giving away Red City -- that's the trick."

"You're on a crusade."

"Ha!" she scoffed. "You were too young -- How could you remember what it was like before all this?" She sighed. "Before Conclave, this continent was mired in bipartisan poison. People hated each other. They riot, they corrupt. Wars were fought between nation-states because governments had stopped functioning and became problems unto themselves. Then all that changed with the Cataclysm -- systems collapsed; nations everywhere failed. It was the paramountcies who rose to assume control and took over every aspect of society. We," she patted her chest, "saved civilization. No more central governments after that. No more state-sponsored conflicts. Stability now exists because of a responsible fief system that works. But after twelve years of the same PIP in the White House, we risk returning to the past. Time will make a desert of us."

"A proverb?"

"A warning," she said. "That's why I need something to give us leverage."

"I brought you Moreau, but that wasn't enough?"

"Moreau was toxic. As I suspected, Dallas-Austin had him targeted -- we almost stepped into the same bear trap."

Harry sighed, looking at his hands. "That error was mine. I should have locked down Moreau while we had the chance."

"Don't beat yourself, it's water in the sewer." She sighed. "It's over."

"Hum, no. We're still in the game," Harry said, stretching the words out, causing Augustine to raise an eyebrow. "What if I were to tell you we have in our care the Marlboro woman."

"Who?"

"The woman on that video."

Augustine's face brightened at first, then waned just as quick. "Can you connect her to TexPax? I don't see how."

"Maybe I can, maybe I can't, but it might rattle them to know we have her."

"Your insights always impress me. How did you manage that?"

Harry took a deep breath before explaining. "She and her team were scheduled for liquidation, but we intercepted at the one-yard line -- with luck and lots of carats."

"Carats?"

"I authorized it, under your name."

"Why am I not surprised?" she gave him a hard expression.

"It's worth it, trust me," Harry said.

"Then tell me."

"Story goes -- the feds were doing a purge the same time our good Director decided to take Carnivora. It didn't take much to put Moreau on top of the target list . . . But we have the second best thing -- Alexis Marlboro."

"I've underestimated the PIP, nasty people over there in DC." The GR clapped her hands with delight. "But you get an A-plus, Harry."

"Well, before you pop the champagne, there're a couple of snags."

The grin on Augustine waned. "There always are."

"Marlboro's unhinged in the worst way. She's unstable. She lost someone close when they went after her."

"Help her, give her what she wants."

"She wants blood."

"Blood, money, position, title, land, whatever a girl desires."

"Well, that brings us to our next problem."

"Why do you always hand out problems piecemeal like they're candy? Dump it."

"She's dying."

"You're being metaphorical?"

"Not at all," Harry said. "Apparently, Moreau didn't mention that his volunteers had to stay on an immunosuppressant regimen or else the hemonanites multiply out of control. Engineered cancer."

"Ghastly," Augustine said. "Can our people reverse it?"

"There's little anyone can do. I doubt our labs can arrive at the molecular phenotype in time."

"Meaning?"

"She doesn't have long. Besides, you can't control a bomb that's about to go off. No one can."

Augustine stared off elsewhere, her mind churning with dark machinations. She said at last, "No, but we can steer it."

"What?"

Augustine's face held no emotion. "We direct the bomb to its intended path -- and step back. Let bombs do what they're best at."

Harry pondered for a second. "I see."

"We can't prove TexPax's shenanigans but then we don't have to. Let the media do the heavy lifting -- 'see, the chickens have come home to roost.'"

"And the hen house will need a proper washing," Harry said with a crooked grin. "Yes, it might work. I'll get on it."

Leaving Augustine's aerie, Harry DeWitt tried calling Porsche to let her know of the new play. As of 9 PM CST, she hadn't picked up. He had left three messages and by now he was beginning to suspect something was wrong. And in his business, that usually involved death.

Ten minutes later, he had Midland's Security Intelligence Division do a sweep of her RFID signal. Nothing. Her Atlas was either suppressed or deactivated, her whereabouts unknown. He began to think about the impossible. Would Lockheart go after her? It'd make no sense, too provocative and without purpose . . . But a black heart was capable of anything.

DeWitt quietly directed his snoopers to check the twenty-plus metropolitan morgues back East for any young Caucasian female recently admitted in the last forty-eight hours. There were plenty, but none of the corpse photos matched Porsche's profile. However, it didn't take long before Midland's AI-driven search software produced high probability hits -- that she was in a hospital in AEL-controlled territory.

Jane Doe 112963 fitting Porsche's description had been brought in from a crash two night ago and was admitted to intensive care. DeWitt scoured the triage assessment log and read Jane Doe's conditions: deep lacerations to the inguinal ligament, in the anterior groin region. Patient 112963 suffered from acute hypovolemia and anemia resulting from the severing of her femoral artery and remained in a coma. Furthermore, Jane Doe 112963 was under police guard, secured inside D Ward, wanted for questioning for the murder of another female in a stabbing death.

As soon as she woke.