“Entering the western wing,” she murmured, trusting the concealed microphone to pick up on her whisper. “Good luck,” Carlos’s voice responded through the tiny earpiece inserted in her right ear. “All’s clear out here.” “I’m really glad the security pass I programmed for you actually worked,” Xin added, a whimsical tone in her voice. Zara was glad, too. She had a solid plan; two of her finest associates backed her up—Carlos Sanchez waiting in the car concealed off road outside Pioneer Labs, and Mu Xin poised in front of a computer in her Alexandria home—but she had a list of a half-dozen things
