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The Best Laid Plans 

Greg’s day had been very long. And his night had been too short. The meeting had gone very well, but was exhausting. The private celebration he had arranged for himself with some local talent, charged to his discretionary fund, had also gone well and was also exhausting, albeit in a much more satisfying way. He had been ready for sleep when the phone had rung, and everything had started to fall apart. 

“You’re telling me that they are gone,” he said, his voice perched on the edge of fury. He listened. “If you are implying that the intelligence I extracted from Sanderson was faulty… No, I’m sure you weren’t.”

Greg got out of bed and moved to the wet-bar. Poured a drink. 

“So Cube must have tipped them off… Which means he’s made Agent Light…”

He took a sip. Something was wrong. 

“Except that Theory planted that coverstory, about the infection, so that Cube would sever contact with the experiment… Would he really have risked it?”

He took a gulp. This was the wrong time for the situation to be moving so far outside parameters. The result of today’s meeting was that the backers were ready for the project to move to Phase Three. Except that thanks to Cube they had lost the project, then found it, and now lost it again. 

“No, of course you don’t. Fine. It’s time to cancel Light’s involvement. Use one of the Sanction Roster. It’s time this gets sorted out. I want a report on my desk by the time I return tomorrow.”

Greg sat on the edge of the bed. He could see himself in the mirror on the wall. Here, alone in the room, backstage, out of the spotlight, he looked tired.