If anyone slipped through his fingers now, the fallout would land squarely on his head.
Franklin Foster stood in the forecourt of the Park Sub-commission building, watching the iron gate roll shut with a heavy metallic groan. The evening air carried a damp chill off the lake, but the cold barely registered against the tension that held every nerve taut. He had to keep these people locked down, especially the names flagged as priority targets, and not one of them could be allowed to vanish into the night. This was about holding the line for everyone who had staked something on this moment.
In the past, he would never have dared to move against them. Shane Sterling and Gareth Quinn had been untouchable, and Franklin had lacked the leverage to raise his voice in their presence. But now Ambr
