Page 72 of Cipher: Lethal Algorithm

She types a single command, initiating a new database architecture.

“Marta.”

She names the file directory.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a tracking matrix.” She pulls up a secondary string of code, her fingers flying across the keys. “I’m cross-referencing every medical visa the Gemini Foundation processed against the global missing persons database. Every person they moved. Every name. I couldn’t save Marta, but maybe I can save the next one.”

I look at the complexity of the query string. She’s going to hunt down every single ghost the Consortium created.

On the deck, she told me what Marta was to her. The girl who remembered everything. The one who kept the pieces of her that Ivy erased to survive. Marta was her memory, her past, her history, and the Consortium liquidated it. So Ivy is building another one—a memory that never drops a name, that nobody can erase.

Pulling the chair out next to hers, I sit. I open my terminal and sync my network access to her server. Initiating a federal encrypted routing tunnel, I begin building the support architecture to feed the data directly into Task Force 9’s secure servers.

Ivy stops typing. She looks at my screen. She looks at me.

“It’s load-bearing.”

She stares at me for a long time. The ghost is gone. The woman sitting next to me is fully alive, terrifyingly brilliant, and perfectly rooted in the world.

She reaches across the space between the keyboards and takes my hand. Her grip is strong.

“Yeah. It is.”

The terminal chimes. A sharp, singular alert cuts through the quiet morning.

Ivy’s hand tightens over mine. She drops her gaze to the primary monitor. A single red node pulses against the blackscreen, expanding rapidly. The tracking matrix didn’t just build the architecture—it instantly caught a live wire.

“Anomaly.” She pulls her hand away to drop her fingers back onto the keyboard. “Massive capital migration. Someone is attempting to overwrite a primary structural cluster before the DOJ freeze hits the international grid.”

I lean in, tracking the data cascade. “Location.”

“Southeast Asia.” She strips the proxy layers in real time, hunting the signal down to its physical origin. “They dump assets into a centralized node in Thailand. A human trafficking corridor. Whoever runs that cell is trying to liquidate the human infrastructure and vanish.”

I don’t hesitate. I grab the secure phone resting on the edge of the table and hit the speed dial.

Hutch answers on the second ring.

“Ivy’s matrix caught a bleeder.” I bypass the greeting. “Southeast Asia cell. They liquidate physical assets and cover tracks in Thailand. If we don’t put eyes on it now, the targets disappear permanently.”

The silence on the line lasts exactly two seconds. Hutch processes the tactical geometry.

“Send me the coordinates.” Hutch’s voice is resolute. “I’m deploying Dax. He’s wheels up in twenty minutes.”

I look at Ivy. Her eyes are locked on the pulsing red node, the ghosts of the Consortium suddenly taking physical shape.

“Tell him to pack heavy.” I keep my voice flat. “He’s hunting a live one.”

I sever the connection and drop the phone.

The war isn’t over. The architecture is just changing hands. But this time, we hold the map.

Loving the US Marshals Task Force 9?

Some monsters don’t hide in the dark. They wear bespoke suits, wield global power, and corrupt everything they touch.