Chapter 93 - The Gray Syndicate
Just yards before collision, Naomi yanked the wheel hard to starboard. Her interceptor swept alongside Bravo’s craft, the steel gunwales colliding with a deafening screech of grinding metal and flying sparks.
Naomi launched herself over the railing, breaching the deck of the enemy vessel with a low forward roll.
Nine-Bravo was waiting.
There was no hesitation, no wasted movement. Bravo struck with a palm thrust aimed at Naomi’s throat—a textbook disassembly blow taught exclusively in the third tier of the Red Chamber. Naomi blocked it with the ridge of her left forearm, the impact vibrating through her collarbone like an iron bar.
They traded five strikes in under two seconds. Each block was an identical reflection; each feint was instantly recognized and neutralized. It was like fighting a mirror that possessed independent lethality.
"You took three years off to play housemaid for the Whitmores," Bravo hissed, sweeping a kick aimed at Naomi’s knees. "I spent those three years in Berlin, Geneva, and Tokyo. I assassinated four prime ministers while serving tea from silver trays. You are obsolete, Naomi!"
Naomi ducked beneath the sweep, pivoting on her heel to deliver an elbow strike to Bravo’s sternum. Bravo caught the elbow in her palm, absorbing the shock, but Naomi utilized the momentum to twist her body, driving her heel into Bravo’s shoulder.
Bravo stumbled back against the console, her mouth bleeding. The Apex Ledger lay wedged beneath the radar display, its brass lock glowing with an amber LED indicator.
"Who opened the ledger?" Naomi demanded, keeping her center of gravity low, her breath cold and even.
Bravo wiped the crimson from her lip and laughed. "Julian thought he had the master key. The fool didn't know the ledger is synced to the council's central mainframe. The moment his bio-signature touched the casing, the global ping went out. Every sleeper agent in every elite household in the Western Hemisphere has been activated."
Naomi’s blood ran cold. "The sleepers... they're all like us?"
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"Three hundred of us," Bravo smiled, her gray uniform taut across her shoulders. "Standing behind every CEO, every senator, every old-money dynasty. Smiling. Holding trays. Waiting for the silver bell to ring."
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