“We got people inside, but…” Olafson shrugged. “No one returned. Either they’ve been brainwashed and turned, or they’re rotting in a prison somewhere. About two years back, the order came from the top to stop trying until we knew more. Your team was the last to get out.”

“Not my team,” she said, almost choking on the words. “Just me. And I barely made it.”

Shit. No wonder the agency needed time to prepare. They didn’t have a working strategy for gathering intelligence in that region. A solo mission into a blackout, deep in the heart of enemy territory: What were the odds she’d return with the evidence they needed? If she came back at all.

Espionage had gone the way of silent films after the ubiquitous deployment of microdrones, but the Maghreb remained the one unobserved place in the world. High-resolution satellites showed only a riot of colorful drapes over the public spaces in the empire. They obscured enough to prevent human or WAI analysts from deciphering the activities within. The Machinehood couldn’t pick a better place to hide.

Welga scratched the back of her neck and winced as her new skin protested.

“I feel like we’re still missing something,” she said. “We have a lot of theories, but none of them fit the caliph perfectly. He’s never operated this openly before. And if he’s dead… that changes the entire game.”

“That’s why we need you to get in there and find out, Ramírez. You’ve been lucky in your first two encounters. I hope the third time’s the charm and you get out with the intel we desperately need. If you can find a DNA match or extract one of their modded soldiers, or hell, copy the designs for their biotech—any of those would prove to the world that the al-Muwahhidun is behind the Machinehood. It would give us sufficient reason to send a major force to invade their borders. That’s what we all want, right?”

Welga had a vivid memory of being cut off from everything and everyone as they crossed the front line. No agent. No news feeds. No murmur of family or friends. Nothing in her visual but the basic heads-up display of her armor. Walking around the office had a similar feel, though you could attach to a terminal and connect with the world’s information. In the Maghreb, you had nothing but your voice, eyes, and ears. Any radio communication would give you away.

Total network blackout. A situation where no one knew what to expect. Where violence went untracked. Where you left your fallen behind and hoped they’d be there when you returned. Except that you never did.

WELGA