Chapter 42

The report came through at six on Friday evening.

Freen was at her desk. The office had emptied out – Heng at five thirty, Noey at six, the associates throughout the afternoon. Becky had left at five forty-five without saying goodnight, which was not unusual this week. The door had just opened and closed and she was gone.

Freen had done the final check and sat back down.

Her phone buzzed. Engfa.

Not a message. A file.

She opened it.

—

She read it once.

Then she read it again.

The intelligence was clean – sources confirmed, cross-referenced, the kind of report that Engfa only sent when she was certain. Surat had moved the timeline forward. The original plan had been closing arguments week – wait until the evidence was fully on the record, then act, and trust that without Becky the prosecution would collapse under a less capable advocate.

He had moved it forward.

The new window was the forty-eight hours before closing arguments.

Which meant six days. Possibly five.

Freen put the phone down.

She looked at the wall opposite her desk. Plain white. A small framed print of something abstract that had probably been chosen by whoever decorated the office and that nobody had ever looked at deliberately.

She thought about Colonel Surat.

She had served under his command for fourteen months. Not closely – she was far below his rank and their interactions had been formal and occasional. But she knew the reputation. She knew the career. She knew the way he had spoken at the unit function about the duty that soldiers owed to the institutions they served and the people who depended on those institutions.

She had believed it at the time.

She sat with the specific cold of that for approximately ninety seconds.

Then she picked up her phone and called Nam.

—

“I got the report,” Nam said. She answered on the first ring.

“When did it come through on your end.”

“Twenty minutes ago. I’ve been waiting for you to call.” A pause. “Five days.”

“Maybe six.”

“Maybe six,” Nam said. “Where do you want to meet.”

“The coffee shop.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“I’ll get chips,” Nam said.

“You don’t need chips.”

“I’m going to get chips,” Nam said. “See you in twenty.”

—

Nam was already there when Freen arrived.

Corner table. Back to the wall. Two exits visible. She had a coffee, a bag of chips open beside her laptop, and – new – a pen and a paper napkin that she had clearly just started drawing on.

Freen sat down.

She looked at the napkin. “What is that.”

“Tactical diagram.” Nam turned it to face her. “This is the courthouse. This is the route Becky uses. These-” she pointed to two small circles drawn in pen “-are the vulnerable points based on the new timeline.”

Freen looked at the napkin.

“You drew this on a napkin,” she said.

“The laptop is for the official version. The napkin is for thinking out loud.” Nam ate a chip. “What did you think of the report.”

“Surat moved the timeline because he knows Becky has his signatures,” Freen said. “Once she delivers the closing arguments the evidence is on the record regardless of what happens to her. He can’t afford to wait.”

“Agreed.” Nam looked at the napkin. “So he moves before closing arguments. Which means the window is-“

“The forty-eight hours before,” Freen said. “When she’s preparing. Off-site if possible. Lower security profile than the courthouse itself.”

“Her apartment.”

“Her apartment,” Freen said. “Or the route between here and there.”

Nam made a mark on the napkin. “He’ll use people who are harder to trace than the parking garage pair. Those two were a test. Seeing how close they could get, whether anyone responded.” She looked at Freen. “You responding the way you did told them something.”

“That she has protection.”

“That she has good protection. Which means Surat adjusts.” Nam tapped the napkin. “He’ll go higher. Better trained. More of them.”

Freen looked at the diagram. The courthouse, the route, the two circles.

“How many do you think,” she said.

“Four minimum. Probably six.” Nam ate another chip. “This is the most informal operation I’ve been part of.”

“We work with what we have.”

“We have chips and a napkin.”

“And each other,” Freen said.

Nam pointed a chip at her. “That was almost sincere.”

“Don’t read into it.”

“Too late.” She ate the chip. “Walk me through what you’re thinking.”

—

Freen took the pen.

She turned the napkin to face her and started marking it up. Nam watched and ate chips and occasionally said *yes* or *and then what* or *that variable’s unstable* and Freen adjusted and kept going.

Three scenarios.

The first: Surat moves on the route between her apartment and the firm. Predictable timing, semi-public, the advantage being that intervention would require Freen to act in the open. She stress-tested it – how many people, what positions, what the response looked like, where the variables were.

Variable she could control: Becky’s route. They could change it daily. Unpredictable patterns made predictable targets harder to hit.

Variable she couldn’t control: if Surat had someone inside the building. Which he might. Khun Malee was gone but that didn’t mean the network had no other point of access.

She noted this. Built a contingency.

The second scenario: Surat moves at the courthouse during the closing arguments themselves. Higher risk for him – more witnesses, more cameras, official security. But if he was desperate enough the risk calculation changed.

Variable she could control: she would be in the courthouse. So would Nam, positioned outside. So would two people Engfa was sending from her own unit – she hadn’t told Freen this was an option and Freen was going to call her about it after this meeting.

Variable she couldn’t control: the courtroom itself. She couldn’t be at Becky’s side in the courtroom. She would be in the gallery. Distance.

She noted this. Built a contingency.

The third scenario: Surat moves the night before. Becky’s apartment. The most dangerous option because it was the most private – fewer witnesses, lower response capacity, higher chance of success from his perspective.

Variable she could control: Becky’s location. She was going to recommend – strongly – that Becky not stay at her apartment for the next six days.

Variable she couldn’t control: whether Becky would agree to this.

She noted this. Wrote *significant variable* next to it.

“She won’t like it,” Nam said. She had been reading along as Freen wrote.

“No.”

“She might not agree.”

“She might not.” Freen looked at the napkin. “Which is why I’m going to ask Charlotte to ask her.”

Nam raised an eyebrow. “Smart.”

“Charlotte manages things. Let her manage this.”

“Charlotte is currently in a difficult moment with Engfa.”

“I know. She’ll still manage this. It’s Becky.”

Nam considered this. “Fair.” She looked at the napkin. “Three scenarios, three sets of contingencies. What’s the primary plan.”

“We control what we can control,” Freen said. “Route variation every day. Nam on surveillance from six in the morning. Engfa’s people at the courthouse. And Becky not at her apartment.” She paused. “And Jeff.”

“Jeff,” Nam said.

“He’s still out there. He doesn’t have the leak anymore but he has what he’s already observed. He knows her patterns.” Freen looked at the diagram. “I want to know where he is every hour of the next six days.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

Nam ate a chip. She looked at the napkin. “You know this plan is good.”

“It’s adequate.”

“It’s better than adequate.” She tilted her head. “The napkin is a joke.”

“The napkin was your idea.”

“The plan underneath it isn’t a joke.”

“No,” Freen said. “It isn’t.”

Nam looked at her. “How are you doing.”

“Fine.”

“Freen.”

“I’m fine, Nam.”

“She didn’t tell you to leave.”

Freen looked at her.

“I have the lobby camera,” Nam said. Not apologetic about it. Just factual.

“I know you have the lobby camera.”

“She didn’t tell you to leave,” Nam said again. “After the courtyard. She went back upstairs and she left the door open a crack.” She paused. “Not all the way. But a crack.”

Freen looked at the napkin.

“Six days,” Nam said.

“Six days,” Freen said.

“Then it’s done and everything else is – whatever it is.”

“Yes.”

Nam ate another chip. She looked at the napkin diagram. “You know what I think.”

“I think you’re going to tell me.”

“I think Surat made a mistake moving the timeline forward.” She pointed at the napkin with the pen. “He thinks moving faster reduces his risk. But it reduces his preparation time too. And it means he’s reacting to her rather than acting on his own terms.” She looked at Freen. “That’s her doing. She’s been so far ahead of him in that courtroom that he’s panicking.”

Freen looked at the napkin.

“Yes,” she said. “She has.”

She thought about Becky in the courtroom. Eight months of evidence laid out with the precision of someone who had known exactly where she was going since the beginning. Four signatures, seven years of documents, a chain that held even when they came for it with motions and applications and parking garage operatives.

She had no idea how much of it had kept her alive.

“Six days,” Freen said.

“Six days,” Nam agreed.

They sat in the corner table of the coffee shop with a napkin between them and a bag of chips and the plan that was going to have to be enough.

Outside the city went about its Friday night completely unaware.