“And what type would those be?” Rosa stared at her through narrowed eyes.
“ReMastered.” Rachel twisted her rings. “George? Okay, message.” She waited for the voice mail intro to finish. “I have a suspect in the murder of Maureen Davis, Muscovite embassy.” She paused. “They’re here. A cell. Infiltrating us.” A frown wrinkled her forehead. “Probably the rogue faction, but I’m not sure.” She glanced at MacDougal. “Can you find out if she ever attended a function with a woman name of Steffi Grace, aka Miranda Katachurian? In the past year or so?”
“You’re saying this is related to a murder case?” asked MacDougal, as the door opened for Building Security, and a buzzing swarm of concern erupted into the room.
“More than one,” Rachel said grimly. “And they’re still happening.” What’s going to become of us? she wondered dully and, just for a moment, longed for the clear-cut certainties of a madman with a home brew nuclear device. But something told her that this one wouldn’t go away at the sting of a police wasp: indeed, it was only just beginning.
And outside the office — still hundreds of light years away — the Iron Sunrise continued to expand in its silent and deadly splendor, bearing down upon an Earth shrouded in comforting darkness.