Eric Manheim studied Dynamic Solutions’ sprawling company retreat as the helicopter banked over Wilkes Island, skimmed the tops of the towering evergreens, and began its descent to the stone helipad below. Bright sunlight gave way to shadowy feathers of green as the trees closed around them. From the air, the retreat looked perfect for their agenda. Remote. Secluded. Empty.
According to Link, the small island, one of the smallest in the San Juan chain in Puget Sound, was completely self-sufficient and sequestered, accessible only by boat or air. As a company cresting the wave of technological breakthroughs, privacy was of paramount importance to Dynamic Solutions. A technological leak could cost the company millions of dollars. To keep their research safe, Leonard Embray, Dynamic Solutions’ chief stockholder and CEO, had outfitted the island with multiple privacy shields. Unwelcome eyes and ears found it impossible to access the compound. Listening devices picked up nothing but static, while digital images were fragmented and warped.
This confidentiality was essential to the success of their current project.
Link emerged from a white-pebble-studded path and halted at the edge of the stone circle, waiting for the helicopter to settle.
“You’re good to go, sir,” the pilot said into Eric’s headset.
Eric pulled the headset off and set it on the dashboard, wincing as the scream of the rotor sank into his ears. With a light shove, the cockpit passenger door opened and he climbed out, joining Link at the edge of the stone pad. Sunlight washed the helicopter silver as it took to the sky again.
“Everything went as planned?” Link asked once the helicopter had traveled enough distance to make hearing possible again.
“As far as I’m aware,” Eric said, stretching. “With the exception of your pilots, nobody knows I’m here.”
“The staff is paid extraordinarily well to protect the company’s interest, which includes preserving our guests’ identities.” Link turned, moving to the side of the white-pebble path so Eric could walk beside him. “What of your man? Has he made contact yet?”
“The meet-up should happen soon. He’ll alert us once Amy Chastain takes possession of her sons.”
He glanced at the tall, thin man beside him. Was it his imagination, or had Link lost even more weight since their last consultation—which had been a mere three days ago. His trousers and Fendi blazer hung from his skeletal frame like donated fashions in a thrift store.
Was the weight loss guilt induced? Regret over betraying Embray, the legend who’d pioneered Dynamic Solutions, and by all accounts Link’s closest friend since childhood? Was the treachery eating at him, or more accurately preventing him from eating? At what point did the council need to worry whether their associate’s guilty conscience would bring repercussions down upon all of them?
It was a fine line to navigate. Link was privy to reams of incriminating information. Material that wouldn’t just take down the council, but would spell disaster for everyone tied to the endeavor. They couldn’t allow a guilt-induced return to morality to sway him from their agenda. They’d have to excise such cancerous possibilities from their ranks well before it metastasized into dangerous territory.
However, it behooved them not to jump the gun. Link had proved damn near indispensable over the past year. The cutting-edge technology he’d provided had reeled their agenda forward by years. Bloody hell, even the tracking technology they were employing to catch Mackenzie and his crew was Link’s baby. Finding the SEALs without it had proved impossible.
He frowned. While it was in the council’s best interest to keep a close eye on their Dynamic Solutions partner, it would be wise to keep his suspicions to himself for the time being. Coulson, for one, would act precipitously if he suspected Link of backsliding.
“Is the data stream still live?” His future rested on Link’s biological tracker performing as expected.
“It’s working at a hundred percent efficiency,” Link assured him. “However, the signals have been stationary—or rather, the deviance in the signal has been minimal for the past hour.”
Eric nodded. “Our contact was told to wait at a park for directions.”
“Ah, that explains it,” Link said absently. He increased his pace slightly and stepped in front of Eric to open an ornately carved wood door.
They stepped into a cool, shadowy hall with banks of windows running down the left side, offering a tranquil view of huge moss-covered boulders and large knotted tree trunks.
“If you’re hungry, the housekeeper left us a plate full of sandwiches before leaving for the mainland.”
“I ate on the plane,” Eric said, curbing his impatience.
Link shrugged as they stepped into a large room with leather couches and armchairs facing a television riding the mantel of a rock fireplace.
Eric glanced around the room for the electronic tracker. “The device?”
“In the library.” Link led him through a door to the right.