Reed blinked awake, his heart pounding. He never napped—especially not mid-operation. But there it was, 20 minutes gone, the faint imprint of his watch against his temple where he’d leaned back on the bed. What time is it? His mind raced until he registered the clock: still enough time. His head felt clearer than it had in days, but clarity came with a sobering thought. They had no backup plan. Every piece of this operation hinged on Secretary Kessler. If Kessler didn’t cooperate, what then? Reed swung his legs off the bed, standing and pacing. There was no margin for error. No plan B. His hand brushed against the camera bag as he moved, a grounding reminder of the tools he’d prepared—but even flawless execution wouldn’t matter if Kessler refused to join them.
Shoving the nagging doubt aside, Reed opened the door and stepped into the corridor. As he made his way toward the meeting room, his eyes cataloged every detail. A lingering bellhop near the elevators, polishing the same brass panel too many times. A cleaner’s cart just ahead, parked at an angle that partially blocked the hallway. Reed’s pulse quickened. Coincidence? Maybe. But in PPI’s world, coincidences didn’t exist. He tightened his grip on his gear. This was a chessboard, every move calculated—every piece strategically placed. And somewhere, Barry Cox was the one moving those pieces.
Reed stepped into the meeting room early, grateful for the calm before the storm. Setting his bag down, he checked out the equipment one piece at a time. Cameras, light stands, microphones—each tool serving a dual purpose. While the shoot demanded precision and professionalism, the covert mission demanded something more: subtlety. Every stand, every lens, every cable was scrutinized. He adjusted the hidden microphones embedded in the light rigs, testing their placement to ensure maximum coverage of the room. He repositioned the cameras, ensuring they would capture more than Kessler’s best angles. This wasn’t just a shoot; it was a surveillance operation wrapped in artful disguise.
Out in the lobby, Carter blended in effortlessly, chatting up a member of the hotel’s security staff. His easy smile and relaxed demeanor masked the fact that he was sizing up every person in his periphery. He made mental notes: the man in the concierge uniform with the concealed earpiece, the service van parked suspiciously close to the loading dock. Nothing overt—but nothing ordinary either. A subtle click on his phone sent photos of the anomalies to their shared drive. If Reed had missed anything, Carter wasn’t about to let it slip through the cracks.
Kranch, meanwhile, moved through the hotel with customary military precision. He wasn’t shadowing Kessler yet, but his eyes flicked to potential exits, bottleneck points, and the subtle traps he’d planted earlier. The luggage carts were still stacked in the stairwell, and the maintenance sign remained firmly in place near the service door. Small obstacles, barely noticeable, but enough to buy precious seconds if chaos erupted.
Reed’s mind worked double-time as he finalized the room’s setup. One critical piece remained: isolating Kessler. Without that, their plan wouldn’t even reach the starting line. He rehearsed his approach silently. He’d play the professional—concerned about lighting, angles, and aesthetics. That’s how he’d pull Kessler away. But once they were alone, everything would shift. Reed would show his hand, reveal the conspiracy, and force Kessler to see the truth. The risk was enormous, but there was no other way.
The room was ready, the gear meticulously arranged, every microphone and camera precisely placed. Reed allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. The shoot was a powder keg, but the pieces were set. Then the door opened abruptly, and the fragile calm shattered.
Grimes shuffled in, his wide eyes darting nervously across the room. He looked out of place—unsteady, out of breath, like a man who’d seen too much but understood too little. He passed Reed quickly, his voice low but urgent. “Barry is here,” he hissed, the words sharp enough to slice through Reed’s focus.
Reed froze for a moment, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts. On one hand, it was strange. Barry Cox wasn’t the type to show up in person—he thrived in the shadows, orchestrating chaos from a distance. But on the other hand, it made perfect sense. Given what Reed now knew about how crucial Kessler was to Barry’s plans, there was no way Cox would let something this significant play out without his direct oversight.
Reed adjusted his posture, his expression remaining neutral as Grimes shuffled further into the room. Internally, his mind worked furiously. Barry’s presence shifted everything. The stakes had skyrocketed, and the danger was noticeable. But there was a silver lining. If Barry Cox was here, that meant: they had the chance to record indisputable evidence linking him to the entire operation. The Architect was stepping into the frame—literally.
He glanced toward the hidden cameras, each one a silent witness ready to capture the truth. For the first time, the thought of Barry’s meticulous control played to their advantage. Reed had to suppress a dark smirk. “Alright, Barry,” he thought. “Let’s see how perfect your plan looks on tape.”
Reed turned back to Grimes, his voice measured but firm. “Where is he?”
Grimes gestured vaguely toward the hallway, sweat beading on his brow. “Near the lobby, I think. He’s keeping low—just observing for now. But... he’s here.”
Reed’s body tightened. The game was officially in play, and the board had changed. He reached for his phone, sending a quick, coded text to Carter and Kranch: Barry in the building. All eyes open. Then, slipping the phone back into his pocket, he knew it wasn’t just about preparation anymore. It was about execution.
As Reed crossed the room, his resolve hardened. This was their moment—the tipping point where everything either came together or fell apart. Barry Cox had entered the stage, and Reed was determined to make him the star of the show.
Reed’s pulse quickened as he approached Kessler’s entourage. The Secretary sat alone, his chief aide standing nearby, keeping a watchful eye. Kessler appeared deep in thought, a notebook open in his hands. Reed caught a snippet of his murmured words: “Section 3 needs revisiting. Something about Keystone feels off.” Adjusting his camera strap, Reed took a deep breath, steadying himself. This had to go smoothly.
Stepping forward with practiced confidence, Reed nodded respectfully at Kessler. “Secretary Kessler, I hope I’m not interrupting, but I’d like to run something by you regarding the lighting setup for the shoot.”
Kessler glanced up, his expression neutral but attentive. “Is there an issue?”
“Not at all, sir,” Reed said, his tone calm and professional. “But the lighting in the briefing room can be tricky with the window glare. I wanted to suggest a quick walkthrough to finalize the angles. It’ll only take a minute, and it’ll ensure we capture the best shot.”
Kessler hesitated, glancing at his chief aide, who offered a noncommittal shrug. It was a small request, one that fit neatly into the routine of his busy schedule. After a moment’s pause, the Secretary sighed and nodded. “Alright, let’s get it over with.”
Reed suppressed a flicker of relief as he gestured for Kessler to follow. He led the way down the hallway, keeping his movements casual and his demeanor unremarkable. They entered a small side room Reed had scouted earlier, a private space with just enough plausibility to pass as a prep area.
Once Kessler stepped inside, Reed quietly shut the door, turning the lock with a soft click. The Secretary raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak, his composed demeanor unbroken. “Alright, Mr. Sawyer, what’s this really about?”
Reed turned to face him, his expression hardening. “I need your full attention, sir. What I’m about to show you isn’t part of the shoot—it’s something you need to see.”
Kessler’s posture stiffened, his instincts clearly on high alert. “What is this, some kind of stunt?”
“Not a stunt,” Reed replied, his voice firm as he reached into his bag and pulled out a tablet. “It’s your life. And the truth about who’s controlling it.”
Reed took a deep breath, steadying himself as he powered on the tablet. The room felt smaller now, the weight of what he was about to reveal pressing down like a leaden fog. “I need you to stay calm, Secretary Kessler. This is going to be hard to hear, but it’s critical.”
Kessler crossed his arms, his expression skeptical but watchful. “You’ve got my attention. Start talking.”
Reed tapped the screen, pulling up a series of images. “Let’s start here.” He swiped through photos captured during his preparations—the lingering bellhop by the lobby, the cleaner’s cart strategically placed near critical exits, the earpiece barely visible on a supposed hotel staff member. “These aren’t accidents or coincidences. They’re PPI operatives, and they’ve been shadowing your every move.”
Kessler leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied the images. “Why would they be following me?”
“That’s what I’m about to explain.” Reed swiped again, revealing screenshots of encrypted communications pulled from Pro4uM. “These messages are tied directly to your office. The language might look harmless—codes about meetings, travel itineraries—but I’ve decrypted the subtext. They’re coordinating actions, steering decisions that all lead back to PPI.”
Kessler’s jaw tightened. “And you’re telling me this is happening under my nose?”
Reed nodded, his tone sharp. “It gets worse.” He pulled up another file, this one detailing personnel profile. “Recognize these names?” he asked, pointing to two entries.
Kessler’s eyes flicked over the profiles, his face hardening. “They’re my aides. Trusted staff. What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m showing you the proof.” Reed zoomed in on a report that outlined the operatives’ real identities. “These two have been on PPI’s payroll for years. They’ve manipulated your schedule, intercepted your communications, and positioned you exactly where The Architect wants you.”
Kessler’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “The Architect? Who the world is that?”
Reed’s voice dropping to a measured, deliberate tone. “Barry Cox. He’s the man behind PPI’s global agenda, and you’re a critical piece of his plan. You’ve been turned into a pawn, Secretary. But it’s not too late to fight back.”
Kessler’s skepticism began to waver, but the doubt lingered in his eyes. Reed knew he had to deliver the final blow. He swiped to an audio file, reordered from his hidden microphones and hit play. The room filled with the sound of cold, calculated voices discussing Kessler like a piece on a chessboard.
“...if Kessler doesn’t fall in line, we have contingencies. The man’s a figurehead, nothing more. His removal would serve the same purpose, and Barry’s plan would proceed without a hitch.”
Reed paused the recording and locked eyes with Kessler. “Barry Cox is here. Right now. He’s not leaving this to chance. He’s ensuring his plan is executed flawlessly.”
Kessler sat down heavily, his face pale but set with determination. “You’re telling me I’m surrounded. My own people, my own aides—part of this... conspiracy?”
“Yes,” Reed said firmly. “But this is also your chance to expose it. You’re the linchpin, sir. If you help us, we can take down Barry and dismantle PPI’s entire operation.”
Kessler looked at the tablet, then back at Reed, the weight of the decision settling in his eyes. “What do you need from me?”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Reed leaned closer, his voice resolute. “Your trust. Your cooperation. And your willingness to take a risk. If we do this right, we won’t just save your career. We’ll stop PPI for good.”
Reed barely had time to breathe before Kessler launched into him, his tone sharp, his words precise and measured. “Mr. Sawyer, do you realize what you’re suggesting here? That a small photography institute—a glorified club with a little side gig in security—is somehow manipulating me? Manipulating the U.S. government?” He let out a derisive laugh, though his eyes held a glint of anger. “I don’t know whether to call this absurd or insulting.”
Reed stood his ground, hands steady despite the spike of irritation running through him. “I’m not here to insult you, Secretary. I’m here to warn you.”
Kessler waved the tablet dismissively, leaning back with an air of incredulity. “And betray me? My staff? These are vetted professionals, Mr. Sawyer. Background checks so thorough they make the CIA blush. You think two operatives slipped through because your ‘Picture Protection Institute’ decided it wanted to play James Bond? Come on.”
Reed suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the condescension. “They’re not just playing James Bond. They’ve been embedding themselves in positions of influence for years, using Pro4uM as their primary network to stay invisible. It’s not just you, sir. It’s global. This is bigger than—”
“Spare me the drama,” Kessler cut in, his voice rising. “We are the government. We don’t get outplayed by a group of photographers moonlighting as spies. The idea that you’ve uncovered something we haven’t is beyond laughable. You’ve got pictures and some questionable messages. Show me something real or let me get back to work.”
Reed exhaled through his nose, reigning in his frustration. “You want real? Fine.” He tapped the tablet again, pulling up a shaky, grainy video. “This is from earlier today. The quality isn’t great—I wasn’t set up properly yet—but watch.”
Kessler leaned forward reluctantly as the video began to play. It was a wide shot, taken from an unsteady angle, capturing two of Kessler’s aides standing near a corner of the lobby.
“Can’t hear a thing,” Kessler muttered, his skepticism evident.
“Just wait,” Reed said quietly.
The audio crackled faintly, but several words cut through the distortion with chilling clarity: “Kessler… eliminated… expendable… personally.”
Kessler froze, his face draining of color. His jaw tightened, and he sat back slowly, his earlier bravado slipping away. “What… what is this?”
Reed seized the moment. “It’s your trusted aides plotting something behind your back. Now, I can’t say exactly what they’re planning, but I don’t think ‘eliminated’ or ‘expendable’ bodes well for you. Especially not when The Architect is involved.”
Kessler’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen, his mind racing. “How—how did you even get this?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Reed said bluntly. “What matters is that this is just the beginning. If you’re wondering how you didn’t see this coming, it’s because PPI is a machine built for exactly this kind of infiltration. They don’t just manipulate individuals—they manipulate the narrative. They make sure you don’t see what’s happening until it’s too late.”
Kessler rubbed a hand over his face, visibly shaken but still hesitant. “If this is true—if—then why tell me now? What do you expect me to do about it?”
Reed leaned in, his tone urgent but measured. “I don’t expect you to act rashly. I expect you to listen. To work with me. Because if you don’t, Barry Cox wins. You become a pawn in his game, or worse, another casualty.”
Kessler sat silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice firm. “I’ll cooperate. But I have conditions. Strict ones.”
Kessler began, “First, this stays between us. Absolute discretion.”
A faint knock sounded at the door. Both men froze, exchanging a glance. Kessler raised a hand, signaling silence. “One minute!” he called, his voice steady. He leaned toward Reed, lowering his voice. “We need to move this along.”
Reed nodded, then whispered. “Second condition?”
Kessler continued. “Next, understand, anything involving my staff comes through me first. No exceptions.
Reed hesitated, knowing how much this would slow them down. “That’ll complicate things, but I get it. We’ll need a way to signal if we feel you are personally in danger. A code phrase.”
Kessler’s skepticism softened. “What do you have in mind?”
Reed’s voice was steady. “Two phrases. First, if we get everything we need and your involvement is over the phrase will be: ‘Fantastic shot, you are all done.’ Second, if you need to leave immediately because the danger is imminent, then I’ll say: ‘This shoot is over. Get out from in front of my camera.’” Reed paused, letting the gravity of the words sink in.
He locked eyes with Kessler. “One last thing. This entire operation hinges on a mission code I’m supposed to pass to you. I don’t have it yet—it’ll come just as the shoot begins. My instructions are simple: I’ll ask for your phone, input my contact info, and embed the code there. It’s seamless, untraceable.”
Kessler gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. He didn’t elaborate on what the mission code might be for, and Reed didn’t press. Some things were better left unknown.
Reed’s pulse steadied, his resolve solidifying. This was their shot, and now, as Kessler left the room the Secretary was finally in the game.
Reed leaned against the edge of the table, firing off a quick text: Kessler in.
Retrieving the Lyt Meeter, Reed tapped a few buttons, its screen lighting up with an interface that appeared mundane but housed the power to send covert messages.
“This is where we get creative,” Reed said to himself.
“Phase Two greenlit. Architect oversight required. Key asset in position for final evaluation.”
Reed thinks, “That should bait him.”
“Barry won’t ignore it,” Reed says under his voice. “He’s too arrogant to stay on the sidelines. He’ll either show up himself or send one of his top operatives to ensure nothing derails his plan.”
He set the Lyt Meeter down and straightened, his mind racing.
What’s Barry’s endgame? Reed thought. Kill Kessler? Frame him?
Whatever it was, the shoot was the perfect bait. Barry wouldn’t leave Kessler’s fate to chance.
Reed spoke into his earpiece, addressing Kranch and Carter with a steady but firm tone. “Kessler has conditions—absolute discretion and total control over any moves involving his staff. It’ll slow us down, but it keeps him in the game.”
He paused briefly, then added, “That said, if Barry makes a move during the shoot, we pounce. No hesitations. Don’t let Kessler’s conditions hold you back.”
“Confirmed,” Kranch replied, his tone sharp and prepared. Carter echoed the acknowledgment without hesitation.
Reed paced outside the ballroom, his thoughts running through scenarios like a photographer scrutinizing negatives for hidden flaws. Everything was in place—or so it seemed. Kessler was briefed and on board, Carter and Kranch were positioned, and the surveillance setup was as airtight as they could make it. If Barry Cox was going to act, this was the moment.
Reed glanced at his watch. Less than two hours to go.
Suddenly Reed’s phone buzzed, the faint vibration sending a jolt through his chest. His fingers hesitated before flipping the screen, a sinking feeling already forming in his gut. A text from Kessler. The words on the screen made his heart lurch:
“Meeting moved up. I’ve been summoned to Suite 918. Immediate attendance required. Shoot canceled."
Reed’s throat tightened as the weight of the message hit him. Suite 918 wasn’t on the original schedule. In fact, it wasn’t even on the hotel’s directory of meeting rooms. He ran a hand through his hair, his stomach twisting in knots. This wasn’t just a logistical hiccup; this was a seismic shift. The shoot wasn’t just delayed—it was gone.
He shouted in his earpiece to Carter and Kranch. “Kessler’s been pulled. Suite 918. And he canceled the shoot!”
Kessler was walking straight into the lion’s den. Suite 918. Reed just knew it, Barry was there.
The thought coiled in Reed’s gut like a live wire. For Barry, this isn’t just about running an operation—it’s personal for him. Kessler isn’t just a pawn to him; he’s a liability. And Barry Cox doesn’t leave liabilities to chance.
They needed Barry—not just in the shadows, but exposed, in the act.
To do that, Reed had to get the photoshoot back on. They needed the photoshoot. They needed Barry in the open.
Carter’s voice crackled softly in Reed’s earpiece. “What should we do? If Barry’s there, Kessler’s as good as done. I say we pull Kessler!”
Reed’s response came low and steady, though the tension thrummed beneath his words. “No. Not yet.” He exhaled slowly, forcing composure into his voice. “We don’t interfere just yet. I think I have an angle to get this back on track.”
“But Kessler—”
“I know,” Reed cut in, sharper this time, his tone decisive. “We’ll pull him at the last second. Trust me, Carter. Just stick to the plan.”
Stick to the plan. The mantra echoed in Reed’s mind as he slipped into the hallway, and headed to the elevators. He was a photographer, he would use what he had, his camera slung casually over his shoulder as he moved with purpose. The weight of every step pressed into his consciousness; his senses hyperaware.
Suite 918 loomed ahead, completely opposite of the elevators, a considerable walk. As Reed closed in on the hotel room he could hear muffled voices, rising and falling in tense cadence. One of them was unmistakably Kessler’s.
Barry’s tone cut through the air, smooth and measured—the voice of a man who never raised it because he never needed to. The Architect himself. Reed’s heart pounded.
His mind raced through scenarios, each teetering on the edge of survival and exposure. If I go in too soon, we lose everything. If I wait too long, Kessler’s dead. Barry’s not here to intimidate—he’s here to finish this himself. That’s how he operates. That’s how he’s always operated.
Reed straightened, forcing his pulse to steady as his photographer’s persona slid effortlessly into place. Adjusting the strap of his camera, he walked toward the door of Suite 918 with calm, measured steps, the door was slightly ajar. Then, without hesitation, he pushed it open, walked in, then shut the door behind him quickly.
“Barry!” Reed’s voice rang out, a perfect blend of surprise and warmth, honed to disarm. “Well, I’ll be. You didn’t tell me you’d be here. What’s it been—two years? Three?”
Barry turned, his expression unreadable but his body language controlled, his dark eyes calculated. He didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of recognition on his face. “Reed Sawyer,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with feigned brotherhood. “The man who always gets the perfect shot.”
Reed walked in calmly, as though he belonged, his camera swinging lightly against his chest. His gaze flicked briefly to Kessler, seated stiffly at the small conference table, his face pale but composed. Barry stood behind him, his hand resting almost casually on the back of Kessler’s chair—a predator at ease with his prey.
Reed, still in photographer mode, said, “Now that’s a picture!”
“I didn’t hear you were involved in this shoot,” Reed continued, his tone light, almost conversational, while his mind raced. Keep him talking. Make him feel in control. Don’t let him see the trap tightening. “What brings you out of the shadows, Barry? This isn’t usually your style.”
Barry’s smile was thin, his eyes sharp, his tone perfectly at ease. “Sometimes, Reed, you have to handle things personally. You know how it is—details matter.”
Reed nodded, his mind cataloging every movement, every word. Details matter. Yes, Barry, they do—and soon, every one of yours will be recorded, Reed thought. He swung his camera easily into his hand, and casually raised the lens. “Mind if I grab a few shots? Always nice to have a behind-the-scenes perspective for the archives.”
Barry tilted his head slightly, a calculated gesture. “By all means.”
The soft clicks of the shutter filled the room, masking the charged silence. Reed lowered the camera slightly, his voice measured and light. “You know, Barry, it’s funny—I was just thinking about that shoot we did in D.C. Remember? You were so hands-on back then, too. Always in the thick of it. Always making sure everything went exactly the way you wanted. We could sure use your expertise today—your experience would be invaluable.”
Barry blinked, the faintest crack in his polished composure. He glanced toward Kessler, whose rigid posture betrayed his rising fear, like a trapped animal searching for an exit. “Well, sure, I guess I could make an appearance. I’ve always been detail-oriented. It’s what makes me good at what I do.”
Reed smiled faintly, his voice dipping just enough to be heard by Barry alone. “Funny thing about details, though. They always leave a trail.”
Barry’s expression didn’t shift, but Reed caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes—the subtle realization that this wasn’t just a chance encounter. But his ego wouldn’t let it end here. Things needed to play out.
Reed straightened, stepping back toward the door with an easy smile. “Well, I won’t keep you, Barry. I’ll let you and the Secretary finish your... meeting. See y’all downstairs in about an hour.” His gaze flicked to Kessler, locking eyes with him for a brief, steady moment. The relief on the Secretary’s face was unmistakable, but so was the tension lingering just beneath it.
As Reed stepped into the hallway, his heart pounded like a drumbeat driving him forward.
A soft chime from the elevator at the far end of the hallway caught Reed’s attention. A woman with a clipboard emerged, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Two men flanked her, their movements precise and deliberate. Reed’s stomach knotted fearfully. Was this Barry’s inner circle? His execution team?
Reed nodded as he crossed them. He wondered if they were there to take out the Secretary. But Reed had now shifted things and plans had changed. Having a photo putting Barry and the Secretary together undoubtedly saved the Secretary’s life. But the clock was ticking, and Kessler’s life was still hanging precariously in the balance. Hopefully, now the original plan was back in motion.
As Reed was exiting the elevator, he felt the Lyt Meeter as it vibrated softly. Retrieving it from his bag, the screen flashing a coded confirmation message: Architect oversight confirmed, Barry.
Reed tapped his earpiece as he moved out of the elevator, his voice low but urgent. “Carter, Kranch—we’re live. Everything’s back in motion. One hour. Be ready.”