The first thing I do after she disappears again is waste money.
An obscene amount of it.
Private security firms. Intelligence contractors. Former government analysts who don’t ask questions as long as the wire transfer clears. I assemble them like pieces on a board, men who pride themselves on finding what doesn’t want to be found.
None of them understand what they’re walking into.
“She didn’t vanish,” I tell them in the briefing room, voice flat. “She withdrew.”
Blank looks.
“That means she planned this long before she left,” I continue. “You’re not tracking a fugitive. You’re chasing a strategist.”
Someone clears his throat. “Sir, no one disappears completely anymore.”
I look him dead in the eye. “She did.”
The room quiets.
Good.
***
The first week yields nothing useful.
Ban
