The rain in Buenos Aires was relentless, hammering against the windows of the safe house like a thousand tiny fists.
Wayne stood at the window, watching the water cascade down the glass. The city was a labyrinth of ancient streets and modern skyscrapers, a place where East met West and nothing was quite what it seemed. It was the perfect hiding place for the Accord's leaders. But they weren't the real target anymore.
"Jude, what do we have?" he asked, his voice flat.
The analyst was at his tablet, his fingers flying across the screen. "The Accord's leadership is meeting tonight. Location: an old estate on the outskirts of the city. They've been using it as a safe house for months."
"Who's leading them?"
"That's the problem. The Accord doesn't have a single leader. They're a council of
