Walker nods. “The Mogs claim their genetic augmentations will only get better with time. A lot of the good old boys in Washington want to stick it out and stay the course. They’ve never seen a human being disintegrate, I guess. Guys like Sanderson and some of the other high-ranking MogPro cronies, they’ve already started receiving more advanced treatments. All the Mogs want in exchange is our continued cooperation.”

“Cooperate how?”

Walker raises an eyebrow at me. “If you haven’t figured that out yet, then I’ve definitely picked the wrong side and we are well and truly screwed.”

“Maybe if you’d picked the right side years ago instead of helping to hunt down children—” I catch a look from Six and check my anger. “Whatever. We know they’re coming. No more hiding in the shadows or the suburbs. They’re coming in force, right?”

“Right,” Walker confirms. “And they expect us to hand over the keys to the planet.”

Malcolm returns from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. He hands one to Six and one to Walker, the agent looking surprised but grateful.

“Excuse me, but how will that work?” Malcolm says. “In a first-contact situation, there’s certain to be widespread panic.”

“Plus, they look like pasty-faced freaks,” Six adds. “People are gonna lose their shit.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Walker replies, and gestures with her mug to the folder I’m still holding. After flipping through a couple more pages, I come to a set of photographs. Two guys in suits are eating lunch in a fancy restaurant. The first is a guy in his late sixties with thinning gray hair and a face like an owl I recognize from Mark’s website; he’s Bud Sanderson, the secretary of defense. The other, a handsome middle-aged guy who looks vaguely like a movie star, I’ve never seen before. There’s something hanging around his neck, mostly hidden by his suit and the bad camera angle. It stirs some recognition in me, so I hold the picture out to Walker.

“I know Sanderson,” I say. “Who’s this other guy?”

Walker raises an eyebrow at me. “What? You don’t recognize him? I’m not surprised. Guy has a couple of different looks, apparently. Me, I didn’t recognize him when he was destroying you kids at Dulce Base, big as a goddamn house, with some flaming whip. Actually, I guess that was about the time I decided MogPro wasn’t for me.”

My eyes widen and I take another look at the picture. The actual pendants are hidden beneath his suit coat, but the man clearly wears three chains around his neck. “You’re kidding me.”

“Setrákus Ra,” Walker says, shaking her head. “Sealing the deal for Mogadorian-human peace.”

Six comes around the couch to take the picture from me. “Damn shape shifter,” she says. “He’s been doing all this while we’ve been on the run. Setting all this up while we scrambled around.”

“He might be ahead, but it isn’t over,” Malcolm says.

“Well, that’s some heartening optimism,” Walker says, and sips her coffee. “But it will be over in two days.”