Elliot actually looked impressed. “Well, yeah. That’s what we’ve all wondered, too. The working theory is that there’s some kind of connection between the two that goes beyond a business arrangement—”
“Enrique thought so, too,” said Anthony.
“Of course he did! He actually talked to us on occasion—”
“Here it is,” said Anthony suddenly.
The holographic image changed to a grainy black-and-white video. Two dark rectangles framed either side of the video, an indication that whoever had filmed it had been in hiding. The image showed an extremely fancy office, with large picture windows that were almost whited out because of overexposure. There were two people visible—one seated at an oversized desk, his hands covering his face, as if bemoaning his fate in life.
The other was Cicero, though he appeared strange, as if he was a hologram.
“Wait, what is this?” began Elliot. “When was this taken? I don’t remember seeing it.”
“Because I didn’t turn it in,” said Anthony, still typing on the board.
“What? You got video of Cicero and you didn’t—”
Anthony pressed play before Elliot finished. Instantly, Cicero leaped to life in the video, pacing back and forth in front of the desk, agitated and angry.
“I’m the only one with the launch capabilities! I’m the only one with the codes! Not even your precious Anthony Dare can stop me this time—and if he tries? I’m the only one of us who has the guts to stop him.”
The seated man glanced somewhere off camera, as if looking at a third person in the room, though they weren’t visible in the video. “I know you are,” he said, wearily. “But can we please focus for a minute longer?”
“That’s Archibald O’Leary,” whispered Elliot, as shocked as if he hadn’t been claiming the two were in cahoots the whole time.
“I know,” said Anthony, unable to help sounding smug.
Cicero kept talking. “He’s been a thorn in my side for too long, and I’m tired of playing the game. I’m taking him out—for once and for all.”
Elliot gasped at that. Anthony had felt a chill then too, the first time he’d seen the video.
Then again, knowing that Cicero feared him was a pretty good ego boost, too.
“Oh, Syl,” said O’Leary. He sounded strangely weary. “You know that’s not how the game is played.”
Anthony observed Elliot—but though Elliot’s frown deepened, he didn’t seem to recognize the name O’Leary used for Cicero any more than Anthony had the first half dozen times he’d watched the video.
“He’ll stop you. He always does,” continued O’Leary.
“I’d like to see him try. I really, really would,” said Cicero, as if relishing the idea.
Then the person off camera spoke, finally. “I can’t let you do that, Cicero.”
The voice was strange, almost robotic with a metallic edge, as if the speaker had used several calibration devices in an effort to disguise themselves.
“Who is that?” asked Elliot, startled.
“I don’t know,” admitted Anthony. “Enrique took the video but didn’t have time to explain before he was killed. I didn’t even see this until after I’d turned in my report.”
“For fuck’s sake, Dare,” groaned Elliot. “This is why you get all the information before you write—”
“Shut up and watch,” said Anthony sternly—and to his great surprise, Elliot did.
Cicero was still talking to the person off camera. “—you said Anthony Dare wouldn’t be a problem! You said, I’ll take care of him. Well, he’s still around, isn’t he? You had one job.”
“Slightly more than one, I think,” said the robotic voice calmly.
“Well, I’ve got a job too. Don’t send your pet spy after me if you want to keep him, Mastermind. Or do. I’d quite like to include him in my final plans. He and I have a few things to... discuss. And by discuss, I really mean eliminate. And by things, I mean his life.”
The video froze on Cicero’s face as the video ended, but his eyes were still clearly narrowed in what was probably anger, annoyance—and determination.
Anthony glanced at Elliot, wondering what he was thinking. It wasn’t hard to tell—Elliot stared at the frozen image, shocked and horrified.
Anthony knew Cicero considered him his arch-nemesis. The feeling was very mutual. After all, Cicero had spent the better part of two decades trying to destroy Anthony, while Anthony’s only goal was to stop Cicero from implementing whatever plan was next on his list. He was quite used to hearing Cicero rage and threaten his life.
But surely, this would shock anyone else. Particularly someone who had recently been assigned as Anthony’s field partner. Knowing that he, too, was now in Cicero’s line of sight. That his life, too, was on the line...
“I tried to convince Bea to keep you at Headquarters—” began Anthony.
“Huh,” said Elliot, still staring at the video. He didn’t sound scared at all.
“—to keep you out of this... what?” Anthony cocked his head, confused. “What do you mean, huh?”
“Well,” said Elliot, “he rarely threatens to kill you.”
“What are you talking about?” said Anthony, irritated. “Of course he threatens to kill me. Half his plots involve trying to kill me.”
Elliot rolled his eyes and reached up to the video. “Yeah, that’s why he makes you sit there while he monologues at you for half an hour instead of just shooting you and being done with it.”
“He likes an audience!” protested Anthony, watching in amazement as Elliot stretched out his hand and with a competent flick of his wrist rewound the video. “Wait—how do you know how to do that?”
“I watch a lot of movies,” said Elliot, which wasn’t an explanation at all. “What’d they call this other guy—Mastermind?”
Elliot released the video, and it played forward again, this time the part when he and Anthony had been talking.
“I can’t let you do that, Cicero,” said the mysterious Mastermind.
Cicero snorted derisively. “Don’t like the idea of me harming your little pet, do you? Well, tough. I’ve been dancing to your fiddle for long enough. I can’t do this, I can’t do that. You spent so much time telling me what I couldn’t do—you never once included what I could. POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT! This is not a foreign concept, you crazy old bat! It’s a highly recommended method of dealing with problematic adversaries!”
O’Leary sighed, as though exhausted. He looked it, too. “Oh, Syl.”
Cicero, however, rounded on him. “You can’t tell me you enjoy having that masked lunatic hold us back, Archie!”
Elliot tapped the pause button. “Ha!” he crowed with delight. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?” said Anthony, trying not to sulk. Why was it the analyst who suddenly knew how things in the field worked? Honestly, the nerve!
Elliot tapped the video to pause it, then used both hands to enlarge the screen. He tapped both O’Leary’s and Cicero’s faces—somehow, both of them enlarged even further—and rotated them, as if they’d always been 3-D. Anthony’s mouth dropped open in shock.