Arthur Vance’s eyes narrowed, his fingers locking onto the edge of the granite table:
“What cryptographic root key?!”
“The micro-circuitry embedded within Compound V-09,” I revealed, every syllable falling like an eighty-ton iron dead-weight onto his coffin:
“The patch wasn’t just a chemical delivery matrix, Arthur.”
“It was an un-indexed biometric recording node designed to synchronize with the National Military Command Center under the **Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) Bio-Telemetry Protocol**.”
Arthur’s breath hitched in his windpipe:
“What does a pharmaceutical patch have to do with DARPA?!”
“Everything, Arthur,” I said softly:
“Because when your sister Patricia brewed that tea every morning… she wasn’t just administering a neuro-inhibitor.”
“She was activating the acoustic recording transmitter.”
I tapped the brass die:
“For eleven months, Arthur, every word spoken in the kitchen at 44 Shadow Ridge Drive…”
“Every phone call Daniel made to your private chambers…”
“Every wire transfer routing number you dictated from Zurich…”
