He clamped down on this mind, told it to pull down another panel, started to sift through its recent memories.

Images, thoughts, words. They came thick and fast. He absorbed them at faster than real-time, straining the link between their minds, the Nexus in each of them.

PLF. Assassination attempt. Team of four. Miranda Shepherd. Daniel Chandler. Explosives. Thousands at risk.

Jesus.

This wasn’t the boss. The code had come from the other man, Breece, who had passed it on from the PLF’s leaders. This one, Hiroshi, had taken that code, fixed bugs, added features, improved on it.

I have to go deeper, Kade realized. I have to get to the bottom.

There was Nexus here. In Hiroshi’s kit. Syringes of Nexus. Yes.

Kade steered Hiroshi’s body to the kit still out by his terminal. He placed the body between Breece and the gear. Then he reached into the bag, opened the insulated case inside, and pulled out a syringe already loaded with silvery Nexus.

He turned. Breece was still happily taking down mesh panels. Faraday cage panels. He understood now.

It didn’t matter. They’d opened their cage and let him in. And now they were his.

Kade pulled the cap off the loaded syringe, held it behind Hiroshi’s body, then walked casually up to Breece’s turned back, the sense of power rising in him.

Yes, he was going to stop these bastards.

He was going to stop them once and for all.

Breece stepped up onto the stool to reach the connectors at the top of the next panel. Carl Orff was running through his head, the epic chants and drums of “O Fortuna”.

Snap. Snap. Snap. The panel was halfway off when something alerted him.

He half turned and out of the corner of his eye Hiroshi was there, something glinting in his hand, swinging towards him.

Breece blocked reflexively, threw up his hand to ward away the blow. Something sharp penetrated his forearm. He jerked away, spinning, and the needle of the syringe broke off, still embedded in his arm. Silvery liquid Nexus spurted from the broken syringe Hiroshi still held.

“What the fuck?” Breece yelled.

Then Hiroshi was on him, punching clumsily at his head with a wild roundhouse.

Had Zara bought him?

Breece stepped inside the swing of the blow, turned, grabbed, and spun, throwing Hiroshi over his hip and into the ground.

His friend scrambled clumsily to get up, nothing like the deadly grace of the real Hiroshi.

Then Breece understood. This wasn’t Hiroshi any more. This was someone else.

Breece let the hacker come at him with his friend’s body again. This time he stepped to the outside, trapped the arm, twisted it around behind his friend, pushed him against the wall, locking him there, the arm levered up near to breaking. With his other hand he pulled his gun, held it to his friend’s temple.

Would pain work? Would threats?