Nine frowns at me. “All right, John. I’m gonna focus my ass off for the rest of this car ride.”

“Good.”

Sam flashes me a grateful smile and I nod. Part of me really does think we should be thinking about the impossible odds we’re facing, but another part of me just doesn’t want to hear any details about Sam and Six. I’m happy for them, I guess. Glad they could find some comfort together. But I can’t get over the feeling that Sam is going to end up with his heart broken. I remember my vision of the future, the way Sam screamed right before the Mogadorians executed Six. Maybe that’s why I get the sinking feeling this is going to end badly.

Or maybe I’m just jealous. Not because Sam hooked up with Six, but more because the love of my life is miles away. Of course, there’s no way I’m expressing any of that in front of Nine, or Walker and the silent FBI-guy driving the car. Yeah, let’s focus on the mission.

We’re driving up I-95, from Washington to New York. Malcolm stayed behind at Ashwood Estates to finish going through the Mogadorian archives, hoping to turn up something else that might be useful. The vast majority of Walker’s renegade agents stayed back, too. They’re holding down the fort, using it as a base of operations to coordinate their efforts to undermine MogPro. I still don’t entirely trust Walker’s people, and I probably won’t ever reach that level after everything the government put us through, so I left behind our five remaining Chimærae with orders to protect Malcolm at all costs.

Besides Walker and our driver, there’s another SUV filled with agents following along behind us. That makes a grand total of six agents, plus me, Nine and Sam. Not much of an army. But then, the war hasn’t started yet. Maybe, if everything goes according to my plan, it won’t start at all.

“Secretary of Defense Sanderson is staying at a hotel in midtown Manhattan, close to the UN,” Walker says. She glances down at her phone, which she’s been typing away on all morning. “I had a mole on his security team, but . . .”

“But what?”

“They were pulled this morning,” Walker replies. “All his bodyguards, replaced by a new team. Pale guys in dark trench coats. Sound familiar?”

“Mogadorians,” Nine says, grinding his fist into his palm. “Keeping their pet politician safe before his big sellout speech.”

“I think it actually works to our advantage,” Walker says, looking at me. “My people weren’t looking forward to fighting through their own on the way to Sanderson. I mean, some of these guys are just doing their jobs.”

“Yeah, we aren’t in the habit of fighting humans either,” I say, giving Walker a pointed look. “Unless they make us.”

“So, that’s the whole plan?” Sam asks, skeptical. “We go to his hotel, fight our way through a bunch of Mogs and then kill this Sanderson guy?”