She held the flexible screen up as it began to play security camera video from within Building Twenty-Nine—just before the entire place was obliterated by a massive demolition charge. The scene showed Philips, Ross, a man known only as “The Major,” and several black-clad Korr security guards, standing near body bags in the gaming pit. The Major was officially the Daemon Task Force’s Department of Defense liaison—although, he’d also been connected with the Special Collections Service, a section of the CIA. At present, neither organization acknowledged his existence and his identity remained classified, even to her.

On-screen The Major was aiming a Glock 9mm pistol at Philips’s face. Jon Ross rushed to stand between them.

She felt torn at the sight of Ross’s handsome face. Seeing him stand in harm’s way for her.

In the real world Loki waved a gloved hand and froze the image. He pointed at The Major. “You remember this asshole?”

She nodded.

Loki pulled at the air with his gloved hand and the image zoomed in. The quasi-DOD liaison officer wore a tan sports jacket with a dark green button-down shirt. “A great many people have not forgotten him.”

Another wave of his hand and the image switched to a high-def video of a mortally wounded Roy Merritt lying in the middle of an industrial street. Blood covered Roy’s torso. He was panting and staring at two small photographs in his hand. A flash appeared in the doorway of a helicopter in the distance, and Merritt’s head exploded.

Philips recoiled in horror. Remorse flooded over her again. She glared at Loki with hatred. “This is what you wanted me to see? Do you find some twisted enjoyment in this?”

“It’s car camera video from my AutoM8. The cameras are part of the navigation system. I uploaded these videos to the darknet, and the crowd soon found the answer.” He pulled at the air with his black gloves, and the video screen in Philips’s hands zoomed in on the shooter in the helicopter doorway. The HD image looked grainy at this magnification, but the hooded figure in the doorway was clear enough. The shooter was wearing a tan sports jacket and a dark green button-down shirt. Loki waved his hand again and the screen split in two, with the earlier image of The Major holding a pistol to Philips’s head alongside the image of the shooter in the doorway of the helicopter. They were dressed identically. They were the same person.

Philips lowered the flexible screen and stared into space. “The Major.”

“Yes, The Major. Didn’t you wonder why no second helicopter arrived to pick you up? You’re not supposed to be alive, Doctor.”

She nodded absently. “They don’t want to stop the Daemon. They want to control it.”

“Which makes you pretty much the only person still trying to stop it. Your own side doesn’t want you to succeed.” He nodded toward Merritt’s casket. “And they didn’t want Roy triggering economic Armageddon before they could shift their investments.”

“The Major . . . killed Roy. . . .” She could barely get the words out.

“And they’ll finish you yet.” He pulled the screen out of her hands. “I’d watch your back, if I were you.”

She looked up suddenly. “Why are you telling me this, Loki?”

“Where is The Major?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

“He’s my problem, not yours.”

Loki tucked the scroll-screen back into his coat. “That’s where you’re wrong. The Major is everyone’s problem.”

Philips gestured to the operatives moving among the mourners. “Is that why they’re here?”

“Like I said, they’re not with me. Although, a million darknet operatives want vengeance for the Burning Man. I’m guessing they’ll tear apart heaven and earth to get it. There’s a high-priority Thread queued just for The Major. We have his biometric data from Building Twenty-Nine’s security system to help. His fingerprints. His iris scan. His voice. His face. His walk. We will find him, Doctor. But if you help me, I’ll see that you’re treated with leniency.”

She knew he was mocking her now. “I want nothing to do with you. We have laws in this country, and I intend to make sure The Major faces justice and that you face justice.”

“Justice? That’ll be difficult when you might be facing disciplinary charges yourself.”

Philips felt the rage building again. She didn’t know whether he was guessing or actually knew. The disaster at Building Twenty-Nine had indeed been laid at her feet. The Major wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the after-action reports. It was as if he never existed.

Loki turned back toward the funeral service. “If you find The Major, let me know, and the swarm will take care of him.”

“You know I won’t do that.”

“You might be surprised what you’ll do. Especially when you discover what they’ve done with your laws.” Loki narrowed his eyes at something in the distance.

Philips followed his gaze toward the edge of the funeral crowd.

A scuffle of some sort had broken out there. She could see at least one person being grabbed by plainclothes officers about half a football field away.

Loki watched with his shimmering eyes. “They never disappoint, do they? Leave while you can, Doctor.”

“Loki, don’t. There are hundreds of innocent people here.”

He ignored her, already manipulating unseen darknet objects with his gloved hands. “They just couldn’t resist. . . .”

She stood between Loki and the distant scuffle. “This will be a bloodbath. Please, Loki. Don’t do this!”

He spoke while looking through her; his hands moved frantically. “Did you know your friend, Jon Ross, joined the Daemon’s darknet recently, Doctor? I thought you might want to know.”

She stopped—unsure whether to believe him. The news hit her hard. She backed away from Loki and tried to contain her emotions. First she lost Merritt, now Ross, and now she felt she could trust no one. She felt the tears coming again. Not Jon.

Loki spoke to some unseen person. “Fuck waiting. I’ve dropped Angel Teeth. Everyone clear the area.” A pause. “I don’t give a shit.”

Philips turned away from Loki and ran toward the disturbance. He didn’t try to stop her. Fifty yards away, among cemetery headstones, she could see men in suits trying to overpower several people she assumed must be Daemon operatives. One of the agents held aloft a pair of sports glasses as more agents converged on the site. They were already securing a perimeter.

The mourners Philips passed by had begun to turn toward the scuffle. She noticed small children with many of them and shouted, “Evacuate the area!”

Several responded by saying, “I’m a police officer,” and followed her.

In half a minute Philips had pushed her way up to a dark-suited man with a radio earpiece. He was part of the security cordon around the still-struggling knot of two dozen men.

Philips displayed her NSA credentials and spoke calmly but firmly. “I’m a federal officer. You must evacuate this cemetery as soon as possible. These mourners are in great danger.”

The thick-necked agent didn’t bother to examine Philips’s credentials. He just looked at her. “Stand clear, ma’am.”

“Damnit, let me speak with the agent in charge! I have firsthand knowledge of an impending attack!”

He smiled humorlessly and spoke with an indistinct accent. “We’ve got it under control. Thanks.”

Suddenly gunshots crackled in the cold air. People in the crowd screamed and ducked. The mourners began to flee like a spooked herd—except for the dozens of police that remained behind, drawing weapons and heading toward the shots. Philips knew they’d be agents from the FBI, DSS, DEA, ATF, and a host of state and local police. Scores of them advanced using the tombstones for cover.

Philips faced the approaching agents and police and held up her credentials. “Stay back! Stay back! You’re in danger!”

The first wave of officers had already reached her, their various weapons pointed upward but ready. A distinguished-looking man in his fifties, a take-charge type without a weapon, came right up to Philips. “What the hell is going on?”