The bird was a medium-range radar-deflecting surveillance drone originally designed for the Russian military. Plans and prototypes were stolen by an Arklight hit team. The designer, his staff, and eight soldiers were killed in that raid, and one of Annie’s tapeworms was introduced to the computers and internet to hunt down and completely erase all traces of that line of research. It was later learned that Putin’s security officers placed the blame on a traitor within their own ranks. He denied it, of course, all the way up to the moment when a bullet punched through his brain. That he was innocent of that particular bit of internal espionage was outweighed by actual crimes for which lives had been lost. Annie and Lilith had no sympathies. Not a shred.

“Where is he now?” asked Violin.

“Heading out of town, it appears,” said the driver.

“Catch him,” said Toys as he, Violin, and Harry Bolt climbed into the car.

“Ma’am?” the driver asked of Violin, and she nodded.

“Catch him as fast as possible.”

The car peeled away from the curb, but before it could go half a kilometer, Violin’s cell rang. The caller ID was a steeple.

“Hello,” she said warmly.

“Are you on the ground yet?” asked Church.

“Yes, we’re following Stafford.”

“Change of plans,” said Church. “We know where Outlaw is going, and there’s every chance he’s going to need backup.”

CHAPTER 92

DAS VERARBEITUNGSZENTRUM

WANNSEE, BOROUGH OF STEGLITZ-ZEHLENDORF

BERLIN, GERMANY

I tapped my Scout glasses to switch from outside sensors to a floor plan of the processing plant. It was a big oblong building that was laid out for prisoner isolation rather than the standard prison cellblock structure. Lots of small hallways leading to dead ends, and offices, crew quarters, the mess hall, ops center, and other key areas used as buffers between the cells. The idea was to prevent prisoners from ever making contact with one another. Even the walls were baffled to suppress screams and yells. All of which was fine for me, since I neither wanted to be seen nor heard.

I removed two different kinds of tiny drones made to look like bees. They had unfortunate nicknames hung on them by Doc Holliday—Busy-Bees and Killer Bees.

The Busy-Bees were designed to extend MindReader’s scanning range in order to hack internal surveillance, and they had good cameras and mics. I activated two dozen of them and tossed the whole bunch into the air. Their wings began buzzing, and off they went, flying fast down the corridors, staying high near the ceiling.