This did not, however, mean Sword was without physical resources in the event things got rough. Comprised of hundreds of men and women who had been carefully screened by Nimec, and hired away from police and intelligence agencies around the world, its security arm could aggressively do whatever it took to handle dangerous, and even violent, situations. The organizational and operational framework upon which Nimec had built this force was clear, consistent, and almost elegant in its simplicity: for maximum secrecy and effectiveness, regional offices were to be established separately from UpLink’s corporate locations; members of the group were to be based in areas with which they had close personal or professional familiarity; and field teams were to abide by the laws of the nations to which they were assigned, employing non-lethal weapons whenever possible.

Right now, Nimec was thinking that his local section chief, Tony Barnhart, had followed every one of those guidelines to the letter, giving him high confidence that their operation would go off according to plan in spite of the wicked nor’easter that was slamming the area.

The turn-of-the century meat packing factory that had been converted into Sword’s New York headquarters was inconspicuously tucked away between Hudson and Dowar streets in Soho, a part of downtown Manhattan whose name not only reflected its position on the city map—which was south of Houston Street—but was also a nod to the renowned London theatrical district from the neighborhood’s large artsy population. In the old days, before the onslaught of the high-rises, someone looking out the French doors that gave onto the building’s third-story terrace could have seen the Washington Square Arch amid the twisting streets of Greenwich Village, and Gramercy Park to the north, and farther uptown the Empire State Building towering resolutely above an agglomeration of more modern—and less graceful—basalt-and-glass sky-scrapers. These days, however, the old landmarks were invisible, all but buried in a sea of newer, taller buildings.

Tonight even this skyline had been blotted out by the storm, and Nimec saw nothing but thick curtains of mixed rain and snow charged with pyrotechnic lightning.

Turning from the balcony, he let his eyes tour the room where Barnhart and his teammate, Noriko Cousins, were quietly engaged in last-minute preparations, with fitted black tactical hoods pulled back behind their necks. The room had been done up in shades of gray and white, the fireplace surrounded by marble tiles, no mantel or hearth, very sleek and spare. The crackling flame threw a soft orange glow across the pile carpet, the plump white sofa, and the wall panel that had fulcrumed open at the touch of a hidden button, revealing the equipment cache from which Nimec had extracted the tools and weapons they would be using on their break-in.