Page 63 of Dirty Love

He shrugs. “It’s just political meddling. Damning for people who care, but nothing life changing for the masses. Give him an encrypted link to a raw feed, and he can have it all.”

Nobody credible is hunting conspiracies anymore. The crackpots ruined that fun for us, because now there are so many fake conspiracies out there that digging into the real ones doesn’t get any traction. Even Anonymous doesn’t care about shit like that.

Now we’re just watching the world burn and figuring out what the power dynamics will be when we get a chance to rebuild.

Branch, Gough, Nix…even Wilson. Every role I’ve ever adopted has been built on the premise that this destruction of democracy was a given, and I’d need to be well positioned for when it happened.

For the first time in a long time, I find myself wishing it weren’t so.

As the conversation continues, I tune out. It doesn’t matter. They’ll pull their strings. We’ll cut some and tangle others. Some we won’t be able to reach, because nothing is as simple as a gladiator roaring at a beast.

I was fifteen when I went to college. Seventeen when I was expelled. When I came to Washington full of fire and ideals, and realized my government only wanted my skills to fuck up the world on their behalf. So a shadowy international organization backing a narcissistic billionaire in his bid for President shouldn’t surprise me, and it shouldn’t re-awaken that idealistic teenager hacker inside me, but it does on both counts.

I’m still lost in my own thoughts when Tag pauses the video feed, shifting the focus in our conference room to the next question—so now that we know PRISM has a vested interest in the next Presidential election, what do we do about that?

I know what Jason’s going to say, and I’m not wrong. “We can’t interfere.”

“Why the fuck not?” Cole waves his hand at the now frozen image of the PRISM council principals on the screen. “They are.”

“Because we’re better than them?” Tag drawls, clearly amused at the way the conversation has twisted.

“Is that a question?” Cole growls.

“Some days.” Tag shrugs. “Don’t get so distracted by the moral outrage that you miss the long game. If we interfere now, we don’t hurt PRISM at all. We don’t even hurt Best. They pivot and move in a new direction. The only way to actually hobble them is the wait until they’re invested. Until they’ve committed to a plan.”

“You’re talking about letting them take this all the way to the White House.”

“If not him, it’ll be someone else. The Republicans are going to nominate Senator Vance, and she’s going to lose. So yeah. Maybe Best takes the White House. And that’s when we hit him. And if he stumbles in the primaries and doesn’t secure the nomination, then Karma will have done her work for us. But we don’t play with unintended consequences.” He slaps his hand flat on the table. “We all know better than that.”

I’m not sure I do.

I clear my throat. “Speaking of unintended consequences…”

—twenty-eight—

Wilson

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Jason drops his voice, cold as ice, and paces away from the conference table. Tag and Cole’s faces are similarly stony.

Maybe telling them right now wasn’t a great idea.

“It was personal.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And now that there’s a complicating factor that makes part of it not so personal, I shared. Would you rather I have continued to keep silent?”

“You don’t think we would have noticed next week when you get arrested in an FBI sting that arrests a major music industry manager and acandidate for President of the United States of America?”

“When I put the plan together, he was a fringe candidate.”

“Not so fringe anymore.”

“I see that.”

“You knew that last night,” Cole interjected. “When Deacon Webb told you he was being assigned to Best’s detail.”

“Here’s hoping the Secret Service keeps him away from the fight, then.”

“And if they don’t? This is a convoluted way to get your girlfriend out of a messy relationship. Maybe operations planning isn’t your forte.”

“You got a better plan?”

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