The diary was huge, an entry for almost every day of the last fifteen years. It took him hours just to skim them all. Zoe beat and pounded and drummed against the outside window of his office as he worked. More than once he looked up, wondered if he should go somewhere more physically secure, somewhere without windows.

But no. These were armored glass, impregnated with layers of carbon mesh. They’d stop high-powered bullets. Surely they’d keep the storm at bay?

He stayed and toiled as Zoe raged just feet from where he sat. And bit by bit, Holtzmann distilled entries from 2032 – eight years ago – into a story. A story that terrified him.

March 9th – discussed formation of red cell again, under false flag. bad idea.

March 18th – false flag discussed again as means to entrap potential terrorists. CP killed idea.

June 12th – false flag raised again. twin goals: entrap terrorists, generate public support for ERD mission.

June 16th – false flag moving forward. PLF as name. will claim credit for some incidents, launch plots that fail.

August 23rd – false flag on hold pending prez election.

November 18th – false flag happening. lead agent MB, code name zara. see <file>. i’ve protested as much as is safe – maybe more. time I forget and keep head down.

Holtzmann stared at the pieces he’d put together. He opened the linked file. And there it was. A classified memo detailing the creation of the PLF. An undercover operation that would take credit for terrorist activities, would lure in potential transhuman terrorists, send them off on missions that were sure to fail, letting the FBI and ERD foil most of those missions… Letting others missions “succeed” in a controlled manner, with no loss of life…

A false flag indeed. One that would capture transhuman terrorists. And keep the public afraid.

So what happened?

He scanned back, and an entry caught his eye again.

false flag happening. lead agent MB, code name zara.

MB.

Maximilian Barnes.

Special Policy Advisor to two presidents.

And now Acting Director of the ERD.

Holtzmann’s heart was pounding hard now. This was too much. Too much. He’d had his fears, but this… This?

He needed to get these files to the right people. Anonymously. Not from his workstation.

He moved to copy the files to his phone instead, found that his workstation couldn’t see the phone.

Fear crept up Holtzmann’s spine. He turned to the workstation again, pulled up a random site on the net.

Network failure. System offline.

Oh no. Oh no. Holtzmann stood as calmly as he could. He had a bad feeling about this.

He opened his briefcase, unplugged the kludgy foil reader he’d constructed, the foil still in it, and shoved the whole mess in. Then he picked up his cane and limped to the door. He had the data. He could finish this from home. From anywhere. Not here.