DEVTEK wasn’t dealing with a domestic adversary. Devin had guessed as much when the woman had instantly switched from honey-trap to kidnap mode. The two thugs in the stairwell had sealed the deal. A competitive company with similar resources would have hired a firm on par with MINERVA.

A truly professional crew, playing the long game for their client, would have let Chase break off the honey trap. Nothing lost. Nothing gained. On top of that, they would have stood down the moment they detected the inbound direct-action team, promptly deescalating the situation. Companies spied on other companies all the time. It was pretty much expected. They wouldn’t have resisted. They would have taken pictures and video of the team breaking into the room, threatening to press charges—and MINERVA’s DA team would have immediately walked away.

Instead, the thugs in four thirty-four, like the two goons in the stairwell, chose to fight. They showed little restraint, which suggested either an unsophisticated or arrogantly indifferent adversary. Given the complexity of the cyberattacks and effort put into the honey trap, it was hard to make the argument that they were unsophisticated. The fact that they were sitting in Dulles International Airport at five in the morning, waiting to hop on the next flight out of the United States, rang as a damning indictment.

“We should have taken Devin’s lead and sent them all to the hospital,” said Chris Murphy, the direct-action team leader. “Then we’d have all the time we need.”

The entire team laughed, breathing life into the group slumped at the obnoxiously massive dining room table. Devin nodded stiffly, still unsure where his actions tonight landed on the spectrum of tolerability within the organization. He wouldn’t be entirely shocked later if Brendan Shea pulled him aside to praise him for his quick thinking in the hotel, and just as quickly dismissed him from MINERVA, citing exposure issues or something equally nebulous. He’d single-handedly hospitalized three people within the span of a few minutes. All the yelling, zapping, and screaming in room four thirty-four had yielded nothing more serious than a few black eyes and a broken rib or two—on both sides.

“On a related note,” said Shea, pausing to focus on the tablet. “And you’re all going to love this. I’ve just been informed that everyone involved in the hotel side of the operation is on paid leave, effective immediately.”

The room broke into a low-grade chorus of expletives.

“Don’t get all worked up. This isn’t a punishment,” interrupted Shea.

“Kind of sounds like one,” someone muttered, reigniting the grumbles.