"Two hundred and eighteen million dollars?"
Jason Tate stepped closer and worked the figures himself. After a minute he exhaled. "Yeah. Two hundred and eighteen."
He hissed softly. "Bloody hell—Ellingson is ruthless."
The worm Ellingson was running was insane—over two hundred million siphoned already, and this was only a slice.
"This is just part of it," Dade said, jaw set. "Total skim's going to clear five hundred million at least."
Cole felt the number in his bones. In the network era, a real hacker could nudge the global bloodstream and no one would feel the cut—at scale, only someone like Dade could pull this off.
"He's setting you up as the fall guy," Cole said, patting Dade's shoulder, a dry smile at the edge of his mouth.
Dade nodded. The worm had doubled its pace. That acceleration would trigger attention soon. When it did, someone would need to take the blame—who better than Zero Cool, the most notorious hacker alive? Only he could plausibly have built a worm The Plague "failed" to detect. Joey didn't have the chops; Dade did. No wonder The Plague hadn't killed him.
"What do we do now?" Kate asked, finally catching the shape of the trap. At this rate the worm would be discovered in a day or two.
"We need the complete files and the destination accounts before the worm disappears or gets spotted," Dade said.
"Then we go to Ellingson," Cole said, calm and light.
"But if Ellingson's been chewing on online finance this long, their security will be brutal. We'll have to hit the core server," Kate said.
"Even with passwords, I'd still need ten minutes to fully break the system," Dade added, grimacing. "And then I'd still have to dig for the money trails. It's too long."
"I've got a plan," Cole said, clapping his hands once. "And we'll pull Joey out while we're at it."
He stepped into the bedroom, "took" what he needed, and came back with the IMF 3D scanner and an implantable tracker from his kit.
"If time's the problem, we go in as The Plague."
"Give me your hand."
Dade, puzzled, held it out. A quick sting.
"What the—?" Dade jerked. "What did you do?"
"Implant tracker," Cole said, already opening a phone app. A dot pulsed on the map: Dade's location, live. The three of them leaned in—modern trackers, hidden under skin, invisible and precise.
"Set up a meet with The Plague tomorrow," Cole said, handing over the IMF scanner phone. "Use this to get a full facial scan."
Tomorrow night, Cole would walk into Ellingson as The Plague. He'd extract Joey and reroute every skimmed dollar the worm had stacked—into a different account.
His.
The seed capital for their team.
"Okay," Dade said, no fight left in the choice. "I trust you."
"One more thing," Cole added. "Ellingson's skim belongs to me now. Can you wash it—clean, end-to-end?"
"A piece of cake," Dade said. Handing the money to Cole didn't bother him. If Cole ended the crisis, it was a fair trade. The cash had been vacuumed in dustings from millions of accounts; any single loser was out cents, maybe a few dollars. If the authorities seized it, it would just disappear into evidence coffers. Better to give it to Cole.
"It's on you tomorrow," Cole said. "Succeed, and we're golden. Fail, and I go loud."
Dade nodded, serious now.
With the plan set, Cole picked up his phone and called Owen Shaw.
"My dear brother," Owen's voice came smooth over the line, "you don't ring often."
"Owen, I'm in a tight spot and need help," Cole said, skipping preamble. He needed protection on Dade's mom—right away. For that, Owen's people were the best choice; he ran a mercenary apparatus that could put bodies on doors faster than anyone. As for wiping Dade's federal heat, that was Mum's lane. Queenie had stepped away from the Service, but she still had pull. If that failed, Cole would go to Mr. Church directly—the handler who had once sent Ross and the Expendables to Vilena Island.
"You're my brother," Owen said without asking for details. "Of course I'll help. I'll send a team."
"Thanks, Owen."
Of the Shaws, he and Owen had always been the closest. Deckard and Owen butted heads on pride by default. With Cole, Owen's edge softened.
"I'll have someone contact you tomorrow," Owen said, and the line clicked off.