Under Dr. Gilden’s microscope, MC Ian looked no bigger than a grain of rice.
Up close, he was something else.
Gilden had built him to be attractive, adaptable and dangerous. His core processor could read a room in seconds. His memory held decades of popular culture. His voice had been tuned to trigger familiarity. His clothes looked expensive without looking new. Around his neck hung a double-cross medallion.
Gilden cut the last wire connecting Ian to the training screens.
A spark popped.
Ian grabbed his head. “Damn!”
“Minor laser nick,” Gilden said.
Jocko climbed onto the workbench. “And what exactly is this one meant to do?”
Gilden lifted the matchbox containing Ian.
“MC Ian is an infiltrator.”
“Catchy.”
“He will enter Hood County, build relationships and give us a pipeline to the gold warehouse.”
Jocko looked toward the monitor.
“And after that?”
“More infiltrators.”
Gilden’s eyes brightened.
“Different faces. Different professions. Different reasons to be trusted. We don’t conquer Hood County from outside. We teach Hood County to open the door.”
Ian launched from the workbench, nearly struck a lamp, corrected himself and flew into the ventilation system.
Gilden raised both arms.
“Fly, my little reaper of ruin!”
Jocko watched Ian disappear.
“You do realize that sounded insane.”
“History rarely appreciates genius in real time.”
“Neither does psychiatry.”