They had a job to do and couldn’t afford any distractions moving forward. As last night had clearly demonstrated, the difference between life and death in Karl and Rich’s world could be defined by fractions of a second. Devin had managed to respond quickly enough to salvage the initial situation, but he couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been paying better attention, he could have bypassed the roadblock altogether by turning into the park.

Instead, his only real option had been to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision, which had forced them into a lopsided gun battle. If Rich’s team hadn’t arrived when they had, neither of them would be sitting here munching on breakfast. He finished the last few bites and started to put the Branson file back together. Rich was making the rounds, and it sounded as though they were about to kick off their first planning session as a group. Devin guessed the file would be a key part of any discussion regarding their next move.

“Need anything before we get started?” asked Devin before standing up.

“Coffee? Maybe one of those Nespressos?” she said, accepting a lift off the floor.

“Coming right up,” he said.

Devin dropped the file off next to his mother’s desk, which had been converted into Graves and Gupta’s workstation. Their fingers had been clacking on three laptops all night, their screens mirrored on a fifty-inch curved screen that spanned the desk to make it easier to highlight their findings. On the floor next to the desk, they had set up a proxy server to filter all data traffic sent and received through the satellite dish they had mounted outside the kitchen window. Devin got the distinct impression that they’d done this hundreds of times in support of Rich’s operations, in much tighter and less accommodating spaces.

When he returned with the coffees, everyone had gathered in a stretched semicircle behind the desk. A few sitting cross-legged, Graves and Gupta in chairs off to the side with laptops. The rest standing. Everyone nurturing a cup of coffee like it might be their last. He squeezed behind the group and stood on the edge, next to Marnie. She took the paper cup and gave it a try.

“Lives up to the hype,” she said, giving him an approving look.

“My mom always loved her coffee,” said Devin. “I feel like we’re dishonoring her memory by serving that other stuff.”

She nudged his arm with her elbow, as she’d done countless times before, but it now felt infinitely more distracting. He was going to get them killed if he didn’t focus better.

Rich nodded at him. “Ready?” he asked.

“It’s your show,” said Devin before turning his head to acknowledge Karl Berg. “And Karl’s.”