Page 3

THREE

Hatch stepped into the quiet café. The comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the soft murmur of morning conversations. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting warm streaks across the tables. She spotted Banyan sitting in the back, near the window, casually sipping his coffee.

"My treat," Banyan said, sliding a cup of coffee across the table as Hatch approached.

She sat down, letting the warmth of the café envelop her. The muted hum of conversation and the faint hiss of the espresso machine filled the air, a welcome contrast to the sharp tension that seemed to cling to Banyan. Hatch wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, savoring the heat that seeped into her palms.

Banyan leaned back in his chair with a sigh, his usually easygoing demeanor replaced by something heavier. His gaze lingered on the tabletop, the furrow in his brow deepening. Hatch took a sip, her eyes never leaving him as she waited for him to speak.

She studied Banyan’s averted gaze. "Still figuring out what you have to tell me?"

Banyan leaned forward, his usual grin replaced by something far more solemn. "Figured it best to deal with all the stuff with Thorne first. This … this is more of a ‘coffee-shop confession’ kind of thing."

Hatch raised an eyebrow. "You’re dancing around something. Out with it."

Taking a slow breath, his eyes shifted to the window before locking back onto hers. "I’ve been offered a new role. Head of advanced technologies at Talon."

Hatch’s brow furrowed. "Advanced technologies? What exactly is that?"

"It’s something I pitched to them after Omnisphere. The listening device system we test ran in Arizona.”

“You mean the unauthorized test run,” she corrected.

He offered a shrug of indifference. “Either way. The brass got wind and apparently liked what they saw. They asked me if I wanted a change of pace."

Hatch studied him, sensing something deeper beneath the words. "Change of pace how?"

"No more fieldwork," Banyan said, stirring sugar into his coffee. "I’ll be a regular nine-to-five kind of guy."

“Please tell me you’re not going to start wearing a suit and tie?”

“Never. Board shorts and flip-flops for life.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted it, to be honest. Didn’t want to leave you out there all alone.”

Hatch leaned back. “I’m a big girl.”

Banyan hesitated. "I know. It’s just?—"

“Seriously, don’t give it another thought. You’ve gotta do what’s right for you. And remember, I’m the one who wanted to work alone, anyway.” She shrugged. “Guess now it’s official.”

Banyan’s grin returned, softer now. “I’ll always have your back. Just a phone call away.”

"You’re going to be like Q from the Bond movies now."

“Guess that makes you 007.”

“Hatch. Rachel Hatch,” she said, putting on her best Sean Connery impression.

Banyan chuckled, but the lightness faded seconds later.

"You’re a good operator. You sure Talon won’t miss you out here?"

" I’ll miss it, for sure," he admitted after a beat. "But I’ve been thinking a lot about my family. It’s time to stop putting them on the back burner."

Hatch understood the pull of family all too well. The weight of responsibility to others had a way of shifting priorities.

Banyan reached into his jacket pocket. “Got something for you.” He set a small, matte-black case on the table between them.

Hatch raised an eyebrow. "What’s that? A retirement gift?"

“Something like that.” Banyan flipped the case open to reveal a small, circular patch. "This, my friend, is the future."

Hatch gingerly picked up the patch, turning it over in her hand. It felt smooth and rubbery. "What does it do?"

Banyan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "It’s a modern-day cyanide pill. Inside that patch is a tiny ampule. Press it, it breaks, and it releases a chemical that slows your heartbeat to undetectable levels. For all intents and purposes, you appear dead."

“Dead?” Hatch raised her brow. "And then what?"

"It wears off after about ten minutes. Enough time for the bad guys to move on and for you to make your escape."

Hatch stared at the patch, considering its potential. "Playing possum was never my thing," she muttered. After a pause, she added, “But … how’s it work exactly?”

Banyan’s eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of an engineer explaining his masterpiece. "The patch contains a bradycardic agent—a synthetic version of the venom from the blue-ringed octopus. It dramatically slows your heart rate and respiration, just like the venom does."

Hatch smirked. "Octopus venom? You’ve gotta be kidding."

“Dead serious,” Banyan replied, his voice dipping back into the solemn tone. "It mimics death. Drops the pulse to an undetectable level. Blood circulates just enough oxygen to keep a person alive. Combine that with a vasodilator to lower blood pressure further, and you're clinically dead, as far as anyone else can tell."

She studied the patch a little more closely. "And how do you come back?"

“A time-release antidote kicks in after ten minutes, restoring your heart rate and blood pressure. I’m still working on increasing the time between doses, but that’s the best I’ve got right now.”

Hatch let the information settle. The soft clatter of cups and the low hum of conversation provided a fragile sense of normalcy, at odds with their world. "Is it safe?"

Banyan’s face grew serious. "It’s not without risks. The dosage is calibrated for your specific weight and physiology, but there’s always a chance of an adverse reaction."

Hatch set the patch back in the case, snapping it shut. "But it’s been tested?"

"Extensively," Banyan said. "On animals and controlled human trials. It’s ready for the field."

She pushed the case back across the table, but Banyan stopped it halfway, nudging it back toward her. "Consider it a parting gift."

She hesitated, then thought more on it. First rule of preparedness: Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. She pocketed the case. "I guess you can never be too prepared."

“With you, that’s the understatement of the century.” Banyan raised his cup in a toast. "Here’s to playing dead."

Hatch clinked her mug to his. "And to coming back to life."

Her phone rattled against the tabletop as she took a swig. It was Tracy again. Hatch answered.

“You’re up,” he said. “Op just came in. Solo.”

“I’m sure the General will be happy about that.”

“Order came from him.”

Hatch furrowed her brow and downed the remainer of her coffee. “You think it’s a test?”

“Maybe. He’s a hard man to read. Could be a way of saying water under the bridge.”

“Or putting me out to pasture.”

“Looks like a softball contract. You’re just adding some extra muscle to a protective detail,” Tracy said. “Wheels up in an hour. Grab your gear. I’ll meet you at the hangar and give you a full brief.”

Hatch glanced at Banyan, who raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the change in her demeanor. “See you then.”

“And Hatch…” Tracy paused. “Dress warm. You’re heading to New Hampshire.”

The line went dead. Hatch set the phone down, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen, the weight of the call lingering.

Banyan had an expectant look. “Everything alright?”

Hatch exhaled slowly. “Guess we’ll find out.”