Tomorrow, he would go back to integrating the Merge into the U.S. military, not entirely sure of its full capabilities, its security, or the purpose of the mysterious Division D. And worse, he’d know how the technology was developed. It was strange how his life had come to be built around the motto “The end justifies the means”—a philosophy he didn’t really subscribe to.

Maybe it was time to leave this life behind. There were a number of universities after him, including one in Cape Town that had all kinds of interesting possibilities. Let someone else save the world.

His phone started ringing and he ignored it, knowing it would be Marty for the fifth time that hour. Right now, the idea of talking to the manic computer wizard was about as appealing as a brick to the side of the head.

“Who keeps calling?” Randi asked.

“A guy I play racquetball with.”

She tried to sip calmly at her drink but started fidgeting noticeably. “So you’re just going back to work?”

“After I shake off the hangover I’m working on, yes. I’m going back to my life. We both are.”

“Your life passing out Merges to our soldiers.”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe that Antarctica post is still available. Who would have ever thought that it would sound attractive? Or maybe a leave of absence. A real one this time. I have a friend setting up an expedition to Borneo to look for a new butterfly species. He needs a team doctor.”

“Butterflies?” she said. “That’s an interesting mental picture.”

Another silence stretched out between them.

“This is bullshit,” Randi said finally.

“Here we go.”

“Fred’s getting played and you know it. By Whitfield, by Dresner, by the president…”

“Trust me, Randi. Fred Klein doesn’t get played. He knows what’s happening. He just doesn’t feel he can do anything about it.”

“So we’re going to let our military—and the rest of the world—get completely reliant on a technology that was secretly developed using human test subjects. What could possibly go wrong?”

“We’re done, Randi. We have direct orders to walk away.”

“Orders from Fred.”

“Yes.”

“Covert-One doesn’t exist, Jon. And orders from an organization that doesn’t exist aren’t binding.”

This just wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. His phone rang again and he reached for it, hoping for a diversion. But it was just Marty for the sixth time.

“Man,” Randi said. “Your friend must really like racquetball.”

“Nuts for it.”

A moment later a different ringtone sounded, this time from the kitchen. Randi’s.

Her eyebrows rose a bit and she crossed the room to answer it. Smith only half listened to her side of the conversation, already knowing what would be said.

“Really? You’ve been trying to get in touch with him all night?”

She sat down again and switched to speaker.