Page 23 of Cipher: Lethal Algorithm

“They would.” I complete the core routing algorithm. “If I was sending it from this IP.”

I execute a secondary script. A heavily modified routing node I built two years ago for a problem in Caracas.

“I’m wrapping the freeze request in a DOJ administrative shell.” I map the vector. “I’m routing the command protocol through the Eastern District of New York’s automated server. The sequence goes from Macau, cleanly into a federal server in Brooklyn and executes on the Zurich node wrapped in legitimate Department of Justice credentials.”

Ivy watches my screen. I don’t need to look at her to know she tracks the code exactly as fast as I build it.

“You’re using a federal server as a proxy to launch a legally binding freeze order.” She traces the line. “Without a judge. Without oversight.”

“A judge would slow me down. We don’t have three weeks.” I hit enter. The terminal flashes white, then green. The protocol compiles flawlessly. “I have eleven lines of authority that say I can protect the Kincaid witness. Freezing the asset pool that pays the hitmen falls under protective measures.”

A mechanical ping sounds from my speakers.

EXECUTION CONFIRMED: ZURICH NODE IN LOCKDOWN.

I lean back in my chair, folding my arms. “The account is frozen. The DOJ just did it. And neither the Consortium nor the DOJ has any idea how it happened.”

I look at Ivy.

She stares at the green text on my screen. The reflection of the terminal casts a sharp, cool light across the high curve of her cheekbone. She isn’t horrified by the flagrant breach of protocol. She’s captivated.

“That’s beautiful.”

The word hits me quietly, precisely under the ribs.

I look at the code on her screen—the reckless, intuitive tunnel she built into the Zurich holding shell twenty minutes ago. I almost say it back. I almost tell her that watching her method was the most compelling thing I’ve seen in three years.

I look at her mouth instead. Just for a second. An entirely deliberate, unforced failure of my operational discipline.

I stay silent. I turn back to my desk.

My phone vibrates on the heavy wood surface. The caller ID displays a single, encrypted alphanumeric string.

“Hutch.” I pick it up.

“Tell me you didn’t just launch an unsanctioned freeze order through my Brooklyn server.” Hutch’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble over the secure line.

“I tested the latency of the emergency response protocol.” I ensure my tone is smooth. “The system functioned perfectly.”

“The Swiss are going to lose their minds on Monday.”

“Then I suggest the DOJ take credit for being proactive. It’s good optics.”

A heavy sigh on the other end of the line. Hutch is the Director of Task Force 9. He operates in the permanent space between legality and results. He tolerates my methods because my architecture doesn’t collapse.

“Where are you?” Hutch’s voice is flat over the encryption.

“Secure. Off-books location.”

“You made contact with the target.” It isn’t a question. “Does she have the HSM?”

I glance at Ivy. She’s watching me, her head tilted, tracking the cadence of my conversation. She knows exactly what he just asked. Defiance hardens behind her eyes—she’s bracing for the federal demand.

“Working on it.”

“Work faster.” Hutch’s tone is hard. “The Consortium’s Southeast Asia cell isn’t searching for her anymore. They localized her signal. If she’s holding that ledger, they won’t hesitate to burn the entire block down to get it back.”

“Understood.” I check the time on my monitor. 06:48 local. “I need forty-eight hours of radio silence. No satellite tracking over Taipa. I want a clean operational ceiling.”