Chapter 228
Raven
"You see, Doctor, my husband and I didn't build our fortune by being stupid. You're asking us to hand you the most valuable object in human history. Something worth more than oil, more than gold, more than entire nations' GDP combined." I leaned forward, letting the gun barrel follow my movement. "What's to stop you from taking it and then... disposing of the witnesses?"
Around the table, I saw understanding dawn on the other investors' faces. Maria's hand drifted unconsciously to her throat. Even Chen Wei shifted uncomfortably.
"So here's my proposal," I continued. "We need collateral. Real collateral. The kind that proves this is a partnership, not a suicide mission."
"What kind of collateral?" The words came out carefully controlled.
"The same kind you're asking from us." I met his gaze without flinching. "You want our heart, Doctor? We need your brain."
Nash's hand found mine under the table. Not restraining this time. Supporting.
"The formulas," I said. "Synthesis-47's complete molecular structure. The neural interface protocols for your clones. Everything that makes this empire work." I paused. "Call it... mutual destruction insurance. We betray you, you have soldiers who'll hunt us to the ends of the earth. You betray us, and every intelligence agency in the world gets a gift basket full of your deepest secrets."
The room went dead silent.
Chen Wei's champagne glass froze halfway to his lips. Maria Santos's hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Chandler actually took a step backward.
She just signed their death warrant.
The guards tensed, fingers on triggers.
The Surgeon stared at me for twenty seconds of suffocating silence.
Then he threw his head back and laughed.
"Balls." Pure appreciation dripped from the word. "Actual, genuine balls." He slapped the table. "Do you know how long it's been since someone had the spine to negotiate with me like an equal?"
He turned to the room. "Everyone out. Mr. and Mrs. Goodman and I have private business to discuss."
"But—" Maria started.
"Now."
They fled. Chandler practically dragged the others toward the exit, casting nervous backward glances.
When the door closed, The Surgeon's smile sharpened.
"You want to see the foundation of my work?" He gestured toward the laboratory's depths. "Follow me."
The guards lowered their weapons.
Nash and I exchanged a glance. His expression said Did we just...?
Mine said Don't celebrate yet.
We followed The Surgeon deeper into the yacht's belly, past the experimental chambers, past the clone tanks, to a door I hadn't noticed before. Black metal, no handles, just a biometric panel that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie.
"Voice authentication," The Surgeon said clearly. "Wells Edelstein, access code Prometheus-Seven-Seven-Theta."
A retinal scanner descended.
"Retinal scan confirmed."
A needle emerged. He pressed his palm against it without hesitation.
"DNA verification complete. Welcome, Doctor."
The door opened with a pneumatic hiss.
Beyond lay something I'd never expected to see outside of a government black site. Wall-to-wall servers, holographic displays, and in the center—a terminal that radiated importance like a dark sun.
"Everything," The Surgeon said, almost reverently. "Every formula. Every protocol. Every fail-safe and backdoor in my global network. Three hundred locations across seventy countries. Twenty thousand test subjects. A trillion dollars in infrastructure."
He gestured to the terminal.
"I'm giving you the keys to burn it all down. Because you're right—if you can destroy me, I know you won't betray me. Mutually assured destruction. The only currency that matters between gods."
Holy shit. He's actually doing it.
I moved toward the terminal, Nash flanking me. My hands trembled—just slightly, just enough for Marianne Goodman to sell the moment—as I reached for my phone.
"Just need to... verify some of these sequences," I murmured. "Make sure it's all legitimate before we agree to anything."
The Surgeon's laugh was sharp and dismissive.
"By all means, Mrs. Goodman. Take all the photos you want." He gestured magnanimously at the wall of data. "In fact, I insist. Document everything. Every formula, every coordinate, every protocol."
I paused, phone halfway raised. "You're... allowing this?"
"Why not?" His smile was pure condescension. "Do you have any idea how much information is stored here? Terabytes of biochemical data. Thousands of molecular chains. Geographic coordinates cross-referenced with operational protocols." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Your phone's memory might hold a fraction of it. Your brain even less."
Oh, you magnificent idiot.
I raised my phone, angling it like I was taking photos.
Click. Flash.
The Surgeon watched with that patronizing smile. Like a parent watching a child try to count to infinity.
But my eyes weren't on the phone.
Synthesis-47 base compound: 2,3,5-trimethyl-1,4-benzoquinone with gamma-aminobutyric acid antagonist clusters at positions 7, 12, and 19...
My brain captured it. Filed it. Perfect recall.
Clone neural matrix: quantum-entangled electrode arrays, frequency 0.3-0.7 Hz, synaptic response 0.0003 seconds...
Done. Next.
Facility Alpha-Prime: 47.6062°N, 122.3321°W, Seattle Port Authority, Container Yard 7, Access Code Thanatos-9-9-Echo...
Bangkok production site: 13.7563°N, 100.5018°E, "Lotus Pharmaceutical Import/Export", Contact Dr. Anan Sirisena...
Global network: 47 operational sites, 23 shadow facilities, 12 mobile labs, 50,000 units monthly...
My fingers kept tapping the phone while my eyes devoured data streams. Screen after screen. Every formula. Every location. Every dirty secret burned into my consciousness with perfect clarity.
The Surgeon glanced at his watch, already bored. "Finding what you need?"
"Almost done." I bit my lip, playing overwhelmed. "Just... wow. This is a lot."
"Precisely my point."
Keep underestimating me, Doctor. It's working beautifully.
Nash leaned over my shoulder, ostensibly checking the data. His breath ghosted across my ear.
"Got it all?" The whisper was nearly subvocal.
I gave the tiniest nod.
"Then let's close this deal before he changes his mind."
I straightened, turning to face The Surgeon with my most winning smile.
"Alright, Doctor. You've convinced us. But for an operation this sensitive, this dangerous..." I glanced at Nash. "We'll need appropriate compensation."
"Name your price."
"Three hundred million. Cash. Transferred before we leave this yacht."
The Surgeon didn't even blink.
"Done. Anything else?"
"Three days," Nash said. "We'll need at least seventy-two hours to plan the extraction, gather equipment, and neutralize Raven Martinez without triggering her obvious security protocols."
"Seventy-two hours," The Surgeon agreed. "But I want updates. Every twelve hours. And if you're not back with Satan's Heart by hour seventy-three..." He smiled, cold and promising. "I have a very particular set of skills when it comes to making people regret broken promises."
"Wouldn't dream of disappointing you." Nash extended his hand.
The Surgeon shook it.
And just like that, we'd infiltrated the most dangerous criminal network in the world, stolen its complete operational database, and gotten paid three hundred million dollars for the privilege.