Page 75 of The Atlas Maneuver

“I’m not sure our goals are aligned.”

They rode for a few moments in silence.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

From the Gospel of John.

Good advice?

Hard to say.

CHAPTER 40

CATHERINE CARRIED HER PRIZED GOSHAWK OUTSIDE INTO THEmorning air. The bird sat balanced atop her gauntleted wrist. The sight in her mind always conjured images of medieval nobility exhibiting notions of dignity, wealth, and status.The sport of kingswas how history described falconry. But it had actually been much more widespread. Its main purpose had been for food. Like fishing today, the birds were a way to obtain fresh game. What differed was the birds used. Where a saker falcon would be owned by a king, the masses might use a kestrel. Back then the birds were all caught in the wild, then trained. Today most were bred from captivity and she employed several falconers who maintained and nurtured hers. The goshawks were her favorite. Humans had never successfully domesticated the species. Too wild. Not to mention they were capable of doing serious harm with their sharp beaks and talons. Only licensed zoos and falconers could legally possess one in Luxembourg.

She owned four.

Opinions varied as to the best ways to train them. Some preferred to take the bird away from its parents as a chick, rearing it so it thought itself human. But she disagreed with that approach since it made a natural predator needy for human company andcaused it to screech more than it should. She kept the young with their parents for the first few months. That way they knew they were hawks. Gradually, they were weaned away until fully independent.

She surveyed the impressive bird.

Dark feathers streaked its back and the top side of its wings, with lighter-colored feathers on the bottom of the wings and underbelly. The red eyes, like blood dots, set them apart from other hawks, along with their size, about a full kilogram with a wingspan a meter across. Goshawks were so successful at hunting that falconers called them the cook’s hawks, because they provided so much food.

They have a spy in your midst. They know all about the Atlas Maneuver.

Kelly’s words. Said to rattle her?

Throw her off guard? Maybe.

But they could also be true. And something told her they were. Which begged a question. If there was a spy, then who?

She’d quickly clicked down the list of likely suspects. Of course the consuls knew all of the details regarding the Atlas Maneuver. But there was little danger of any of them being a traitor. All were compensated based on performance, and what they were about to do would be the first steps in making them the most powerful and richest people on the planet. Outside of the board only she, herself, Kelly, and Lana Greenwood knew the full story. Others within the bank worked blind, thinking they were simply selling the advantages of bitcoin over dollars or euros. Lana had been brought in out of necessity. Somebody had to lead the charge with the various governments as point person, and that person had to know what was at stake. Lana was the natural choice. So she’d been told. And she’d done her job.

Masterfully.

Catherine stood outside before the rookery. The building lay about half a kilometer from the main house, near the northern border of her estate. Stone-built, square, constructed on highground that looked out over an immense span of firs and conifers broken periodically by small meadows. She’d driven over to prepare herself for what was to come.

She hated these unpleasantries.

So unnecessary.

What happened to friendship, loyalty, and trust?

Those qualities seemed to have vanished, replaced by betrayal, lies, and greed. The old Italian proverb was right.Big mouthfuls often choke.Then there was the more simplistic approach.Many have too much, but none enough.

Of course, all of those wise words could apply to herself.

She was worth hundreds of millions of euros. More than enough for her to spend over several lifetimes. She’d never had the desire to marry or have children, which she knew disappointed her mother. Instead the bank served as both her spouse and child, and she intended to see it grow into full adulthood. This was not about money.

At least not for her.

This was about changing the world.

About time somebody stepped up and did that.

She removed the hood from the hawk and loosened its jesses. The bird flung its wings wide and rose into the morning air, climbing, becoming black, then ghostly white, finally golden in the sun. Goshawks claimed their prey with short bursts of amazingly fast flight, often twisting among branches and crashing through thickets. They liked grouse, crows, squirrels, rabbits, snakes, even insects. A determined predator.

Like herself.