Reed opened his eyes, his heart racing. He never napped – especially not during an op. But there it was, 20 minutes gone, the faint impression of his watch against his temple where he’d leaned back on the bed. What time is it? His mind spun until he focused on the clock: still time. His head felt clearer than it had in days but clarity came with a sobering thought. They had no backup plan. Every part of this op hinged on Secretary Kessler. If Kessler didn’t play along what then? Reed swung his legs off the bed and stood up. No margin for error. No plan B. His hand brushed against the camera bag as he moved a gentle reminder of the tools he’d prepared—but even flawless execution wouldn’t matter if Kessler refused to join them.

  Shoving the nagging doubt to the side Reed opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. As he made his way to the meeting room his eyes took in everything. A bellhop lingering near the elevators polishing the same brass panel too many times. A housekeeper’s cart just ahead parked at an angle that partially blocked the hallway. Reed’s heart rate picked up. Coincidence? Maybe. But in PPI’s world coincidences didn’t exist. He tightened his grip on his gear. This was a chessboard, every move calculated—every piece strategically placed. And somewhere Barry Cox was moving those pieces.

  Reed got to the meeting room early glad for the calm before the storm. He set his bag down and checked out the equipment one piece at a time. Cameras, light stands, microphones—each tool serving a dual purpose. The shoot required precision and professionalism but the covert op required something more: subtlety. Every stand, every lens, every cable was examined. He adjusted the hidden microphones in the light stands testing their placement to make sure they covered the room maximally. He repositioned the cameras to make sure they’d capture more than Kessler’s best angles. This wasn’t just a shoot; it was a surveillance op wrapped in artistic disguise. In the lobby Carter blended in like a chameleon, chatting up a security staff member. His easy smile and relaxed demeanor hid the fact that he was taking in every person in his line of sight. He made mental notes: the man in the concierge uniform with the earpiece, the service van parked too close to the loading dock. Nothing overt—but nothing ordinary either. A quick click on his phone and photos of the anomalies went to their shared drive. If Reed had missed anything Carter wasn’t going to let it slip through the cracks.

  Kranch moved through the hotel like a ghost. He wasn’t following Kessler yet but his eyes flicked to exits, bottlenecks and the hidden traps he’d set earlier. The luggage carts were still in the stairwell and the maintenance sign was still in place near the service door. Small obstacles, barely noticeable but enough to buy seconds if things went sideways.

  Reed’s mind was racing as he finished setting up the room. One critical piece was missing: isolating Kessler. Without that they had no op. He rehearsed his approach silently. He’d play the professional—concerned about lighting, angles and aesthetics. That’s how he’d get Kessler away from everyone else. But once they were alone everything would shift. Reed would show his hand, reveal the conspiracy and force Kessler to see the truth. The risk was huge but there was no other way.

  The room was set, the gear was laid out, every microphone and camera in place. Reed allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. The shoot was a powder keg but the pieces were in place. Then the door opened and the calm was shattered.

  Grimes walked in, his eyes wide and nervous. He looked out of place—shaky, out of breath as if he’d seen too much but understood too little. He passed Reed quickly and quietly. “Barry is here” he whispered the words cutting through Reed’s focus. Reed stopped dead, his mind spinning. It was odd. Barry Cox didn’t show up in person—he thrived in the shadows, orchestrating chaos from afar. But on the other hand, it made perfect sense. Given what Reed now knew about how crucial Kessler was to Barry’s plans there was no way Cox would let this play out without him here in person.

  Reed adjusted his stance, his face neutral as Grimes moved further into the room. Inside his mind he was racing. Barry’s presence changed everything. The stakes were huge and the danger was unmistakable. But there was a silver lining. If Barry Cox was here that meant they had the chance to get him on tape linking him to the whole operation. The Architect was stepping into frame.

  He glanced at the hidden cameras, each one a silent witness waiting to record the truth. For the first time Barry’s control played to their advantage. Reed had to fight the urge to smirk. “Alright Barry, let’s see how perfect your plan looks on tape.”

  Reed turned to Grimes. “Where is he?”

  Grimes gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Near the lobby, I think. He’s keeping low—just observing for now. But… he’s here.”

  Reed’s body tensed. The game was on and the board had changed. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Carter and Kranch: Barry in the building. All eyes open. Then he put the phone back in his pocket and knew it wasn’t just about prep anymore. It was about execution.

  As Reed moved across the room his resolve hardened. This was their moment—the moment of truth where everything came together or fell apart. Barry Cox was on stage and Reed was going to make him the star of the show. Reed’s heart beat faster as he approached Kessler’s entourage. The Secretary sat alone, his chief aide standing nearby, watching him. Kessler was deep in thought, a notebook open in his hands. Reed caught a snippet of his mumbled words: “Section 3 needs revisiting. Something about Keystone feels off.” He adjusted his camera strap, taking a deep breath. This had to go smoothly.

  He walked forward with confidence. “Secretary Kessler, I hope I’m not interrupting but I wanted to run something by you about the lighting for the shoot.”

  Kessler looked up, his face neutral. “Is there a problem?”

  “No sir,” Reed said, his voice calm. “But the lighting in the briefing room can be tricky with the window glare. I just wanted to do a quick walkthrough to finalize the angles. It’ll only take a minute and will get the best shot.”

  Kessler hesitated, looked at his chief aide who shrugged. It was a small ask to fit into his busy schedule. After a moment he sighed and nodded. “Alright, let’s get it over with.”

  Reed smothered a sigh of relief as he gestured for Kessler to follow. He led the way down the hallway, moving casually, unremarkably. They entered a small side room Reed had scouted earlier, a private space that passed as a prep area.

  Once Kessler was inside Reed closed the door and locked it. The Secretary raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak, his face unreadable. “Alright Mr. Sawyer, what’s this really about?”

  Reed turned to face him, his face hardening. “I need your full attention, sir. What I’m going to show you isn’t part of the shoot—it’s something you need to see.”

  Kessler’s body stiffened, his instincts on high alert. “What is this, some kind of stunt?”

  “Not a stunt,” Reed replied, his voice firm as he pulled out his tablet. “It’s your life. And the truth about who’s running it.” Reed took a deep breath, calming himself as he turned on the tablet. The room felt smaller now, the weight of what he was about to show pressing down like a physical fog. “Stay calm, Secretary Kessler. This is going to be tough to hear but it’s important.”

  Kessler folded his arms, his expression skeptical but watchful. “You’ve got my attention. Start talking.”

  Reed tapped the screen, brought up images. “Let’s start here.” He swiped through photos he’d taken during his prep—the bellhop lingering by the lobby, the cleaner’s cart near the exits, the earpiece visible on a supposed hotel staff member. “These aren’t accidents or coincidences. They’re PPI operatives and they’ve been following you.”

  Kessler leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the images. “Why would they be following me?”

  “That’s what I’m about to explain.” Reed swiped again, brought up screenshots of encrypted messages from Pro4uM. “These are coded messages tied to your office. The language looks harmless—meetings, travel itineraries—but I’ve decrypted the subtext. They’re coordinating actions, steering decisions that all lead back to PPI.”

  Kessler’s face twisted. “And you’re telling me this is happening under my nose?”

  Reed nodded. “It gets worse.” He brought up another file, personnel profile. “Recognize these names?” he asked, pointing to two entries.

  Kessler’s eyes scanned the profiles, his face hardening. “They’re my aides. Trusted staff. What are you saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I’m showing you the evidence.” Reed zoomed in on a report that revealed the operatives’ true identity. “These two have been on PPI’s payroll for years. They’ve manipulated your schedule, intercepted your communications and positioned you exactly where The Architect wants you.”

  Kessler’s hands clenched into fists. “The Architect? Who the hell is that?”

  Reed’s voice low and deliberate. “Barry Cox. He’s the man behind PPI’s global plan and you’re a key piece of it. You’ve been turned into a pawn, Secretary. But it’s not too late to fight back.” Kessler’s skepticism began to crack but the doubt remained in his eyes. Reed had to deliver the knockout punch. He swiped to an audio file, reordered from his hidden mics and hit play. The room was filled with the cold, calculating voices discussing Kessler like a pawn on a chessboard.

  “...if Kessler doesn’t play along, we have contingencies. The man’s a figurehead, nothing more. His removal would serve the same purpose and Barry’s plan would move forward without a hitch.”

  Reed stopped the recording and looked at Kessler. “Barry Cox is here. Right now. He’s not leaving this to chance. He’s making sure his plan goes off without a hitch.”

  Kessler sat down hard, his face pale but set. “You’re telling me I’m surrounded. My own people, my own aides—part of this... conspiracy?”

  “Yes,” Reed said flatly. “But this is also your chance to expose it. You’re the key, sir. If you help us, we can take down Barry and dismantle PPI’s entire operation.”

  Kessler looked at the tablet then back at Reed, the weight of the decision settling in his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

  Reed leaned in, his voice firm. “Your trust. Your cooperation. And your willingness to take a risk. If we do this right, we won’t just save your career. We’ll stop PPI for good.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Reed barely had time to breathe before Kessler was on him, his tone sharp, his words precise. “Mr. Sawyer, do you realize what you’re saying here? That a small photography institute—a little club with a side gig in security—is somehow controlling me? Controlling the U.S. government?” He laughed, though his eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t know whether to call this ridiculous or insulting.”

  Reed stood his ground, his hands steady despite the surge of irritation. “I’m not here to insult you, Secretary. I’m here to warn you.” Kessler waved the tablet away, leaning back with a look of incredulity. “And betray me? My staff? These are vetted professionals, Mr. Sawyer. Background checks so thorough they make the CIA blush. You think two operatives slipped through because your ‘Picture Protection Institute’ decided to play James Bond? Come on.”

  Reed bit back the urge to roll his eyes at the condescension. “They’re not playing James Bond. They’ve been getting embedded in positions of power for years using Pro4uM as their primary way to stay hidden. It’s not just you, sir. It’s global. This is bigger than—”

  “Save the drama,” Kessler cut in, his voice rising. “We’re the government. We don’t get outsmarted by a group of photographers playing spies. The idea you’ve uncovered something we haven’t is ridiculous. You have pictures and some suspicious messages. Show me something real or let me get back to work.”

  Reed held his breath, reining in his temper. “You want real? Fine.” He tapped the tablet again and pulled up a shaky, grainy video. “This is from this morning. The quality isn’t great—I wasn’t set up right yet—but watch.”

  Kessler leaned forward reluctantly as the video started to play. It was a wide shot, taken from an unstable angle, of two of Kessler’s aides near the lobby corner.

  “Can’t hear a thing,” Kessler muttered.

  “Just wait,” Reed said softly.

  The audio crackled and several words cut through the static: “Kessler… eliminated… expendable… personally.”

  Kessler’s face went white and he sat back slowly, his earlier bravado slipping away. “What… what is this?”

  Reed pounced. “Your trusted aides plotting against you. Now, I can’t say exactly what they’re planning but I don’t think ‘eliminated’ or ‘expendable’ sounds good for you. Especially not when The Architect is involved.”

  Kessler’s eyes were glued to the screen, his mind racing. “How… how did you get this?” “Don’t matter,” Reed said flatly. “What matters is this is just the beginning. You’re wondering how you didn’t see this coming? PPI is a machine built for this kind of infiltration. They don’t just manipulate individuals—they manipulate the narrative. They make sure you don’t see what’s happening until it’s too late.”

  Kessler rubbed his face, visibly shaken but still hesitant. “If this is true—if—then why tell me now? What do you want me to do about it?”

  Reed leaned in, his tone urgent but controlled. “I don’t want you to act impulsively. I want you to listen. To work with me. Because if you don’t, Barry Cox wins. You become a pawn in his game or worse, another casualty.”

  Kessler sat silently for a moment, his face expressionless. Then finally he spoke, his voice firm. “I’ll cooperate. But I have conditions. Strict ones.”

  Kessler began, “First, this stays between us. Absolute discretion.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Both men froze, looking at each other. Kessler raised a hand, signaling wait. “One minute!” he said, his voice steady. He leaned towards Reed, lowering his voice. “We need to move this along.”

  Reed nodded and then whispered. “Second condition?”

  Kessler continued. “Next, anything involving my staff goes through me first. No exceptions.”

  Reed hesitated, knowing how much this would slow them down. “That’ll complicate things but I get it. We need a way to signal if we think you’re in personal danger. A code phrase.”

  Kessler’s skepticism relaxed. “What do you have in mind?”

  Reed whispered. “Two phrases. First, if we get everything we need and your involvement is over the phrase will be: ‘Great shot, you’re all done.’ Second, if you need to get out immediately because the danger is imminent then I’ll say: ‘This shoot is over. Get out from in front of my camera.’” Reed paused, letting the words sink in. He looked at Kessler. “One last thing. This whole operation hinges on a mission code I need to give to you. I don’t have it yet—it’ll come as the shoot begins. My instructions are simple: I’ll ask for your phone, input my contact info and embed the code there. It’s seamless, untraceable.”

  Kessler nodded curtly, his face expressionless. He didn’t elaborate on what the mission code was for and Reed didn’t press. Some things were better left unknown.

  Reed’s pulse steadied, his resolve solidifying. This was their shot, and now as Kessler left the room the Secretary was finally in the game.

  Reed sat back down and typed out a quick text: Kessler in.

  He retrieved the Lyt Meeter, tapped a few buttons and the screen lit up with an interface that looked mundane but held the power to send covert messages.

  “This is where we get creative,” Reed said to himself.

  “Phase Two greenlit. Architect oversight required. Key asset in position for final evaluation.”

  Reed thought, “That should get him.”

  “Barry won’t ignore it,” Reed said under his breath. “He’s too arrogant to sit on the sidelines. He’ll either show up himself or send one of his top operatives to make sure nothing messes up his plan.”

  He set the Lyt Meeter down and stood up.

  What’s Barry’s endgame? Reed thought. Kill Kessler? Frame him?

  Whatever it was, the shoot was the perfect bait. Barry wouldn’t leave Kessler to chance.

  Reed spoke into his earpiece to Kranch and Carter. “Kessler has conditions—absolute discretion and total control over anything involving his staff. It’ll slow us down but keeps him in the game.”

  He paused and then added, “If Barry moves during the shoot we pounce. No hesitation. Don’t let Kessler’s conditions hold you back.”

  “Confirmed,” Kranch said.

  “Confirmed,” Carter echoed. Reed walked outside the ballroom, his mind racing through scenarios like a photographer examining negatives for flaws. Everything was in place—or so it seemed. Kessler was briefed and on board, Carter and Kranch were in position, and the surveillance was as tight as could be. If Barry Cox was going to move, this was the moment.

  Reed looked at his watch. Less than two hours to go.

  His phone buzzed and he hesitated before flipping the screen. A text from Kessler. His gut dropped as he read the words:

  “Meeting moved up. I’ve been summoned to Suite 918. Immediate attendance required. Shoot canceled."

  Reed’s throat closed as the weight of the message hit him. Suite 918 wasn’t on the schedule. In fact, it wasn’t even in the hotel’s directory of meeting rooms. He ran a hand through his hair, his stomach twisting. This wasn’t a hiccup, this was a seismic shift. The shoot wasn’t just delayed—it was over.

  He shouted into his earpiece to Carter and Kranch. “Kessler’s been pulled. Suite 918. And he canceled the shoot!”

  Kessler was walking into the lion’s den. Suite 918. Reed knew it, Barry was there.

  The thought electrified Reed’s gut. Barry doesn’t just run operations, he makes them personal. Kessler isn’t a pawn to him, he’s a liability. And Barry Cox doesn’t leave liabilities to chance.

  They needed Barry—not just in the shadows but out in the open.

  To do that, Reed had to get the photoshoot back on. They needed the photoshoot. They needed Barry to be exposed.

  Carter’s voice came back in his earpiece. “What do we do? If Barry’s there Kessler’s as good as dead. I say we pull Kessler!”

  Reed’s response was low and steady though the tension crackled beneath his words. “No. Not yet.” He breathed slowly, forcing calm into his voice. “We don’t intervene yet. I think I have a way to get this back on track.”

  “But Kessler—” “I know,” Reed said, more sharply this time, his tone final. “We’ll pull him at the last second. Trust me, Carter. Just stick to the plan.”

  Stick to the plan. The phrase echoed in Reed’s mind as he walked into the hallway and headed to the elevators. He was a photographer, he would use what he had, his camera slung over his shoulder as he moved with purpose. Every step felt heavy with meaning; his senses were on high alert.

  Suite 918 loomed ahead, on the opposite side of the hotel, a long walk. As Reed approached the hotel room he could hear muffled voices, rising and falling in a staccato rhythm. One of them was definitely Kessler’s.

  Barry’s voice cut through the air, smooth and measured—the voice of a man who never raised his voice because he never needed to. The Architect. Reed’s heart raced.

  His mind was running scenarios, each one a tightrope of survival and exposure. If I go in too soon, we lose everything. If I wait too long Kessler’s dead. Barry’s not here to intimidate—he’s here to finish this himself. That’s how he operates. That’s how he’s always operated.

  Reed stood up straight, forcing his pulse to calm down as his photographer persona slid into place. Adjusting the strap of his camera, he walked towards the door of Suite 918. The door was slightly ajar. Then he pushed it open and walked in and shut it behind him.

  “Barry!” Reed called out, a perfect blend of surprise and warmth, honed to disarmed. “Well, I’ll be. You didn’t tell me you’d be here. How long has it been—two years? Three?”

  Barry turned, his face expressionless but his body language controlled, his dark eyes calculating. He didn’t smile but there was a flicker of recognition on his face. “Reed Sawyer,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with fake brotherhood. “The man who always gets the perfect shot.” Reed walked in, calm as could be, his camera bouncing lightly against his chest. He glanced at Kessler, seated stiffly at the small conference table, his face pale but composed. Barry stood behind him, his hand resting almost casually on the back of Kessler’s chair—a predator with his prey.

  Reed, still in photographer mode, said, “Now that’s a picture!”

  “I didn’t know you were involved in this shoot,” Reed said, his tone light, almost conversational, while his mind spun. Keep him talking. Make him feel in control. Don’t let him see the trap closing. “What brings you out of the shadows, Barry? This isn’t usually your style.”

  Barry’s smile was thin, his eyes sharp, his tone smooth as silk. “Sometimes, Reed, you have to handle things personally. You know how it is—details matter.”

  Reed nodded, his mind cataloging every movement, every word. Details matter. Yes, Barry, they do—and soon every one of yours will be recorded, Reed thought. He slung his camera into his hand and raised the lens. “Mind if I get a few shots? Always nice to have a behind-the-scenes for the archives.”

  Barry tilted his head slightly, a calculated gesture. “Go ahead.”

  The clicks of the shutter filled the room, hiding the tension. Reed lowered the camera slightly, his voice casual and light. “You know, Barry, it’s funny—I was just thinking about that shoot we did in D.C. Remember? You were so hands-on back then, too. Always right in the middle of it. Always making sure everything went exactly your way. We could really use your expertise today—your experience would be invaluable.”

  Barry’s eyes flickered, the smallest crack in his mask of calm. He looked at Kessler, whose stiff body seemed to be searching for an escape. “Well, sure, I guess I could make an appearance. I’m always detail-oriented. That’s what makes me good at what I do.”

  Reed smiled faintly, his voice dropping just low enough for Barry to hear. “Funny thing about details, though. They always leave a trail.” Barry didn’t change expression but Reed saw the flicker of understanding in his eyes—the realization that this wasn’t a coincidence. But his ego wouldn’t let it end here. Things had to play out.

  Reed straightened, backing away from the door with a smile. “Well, I won’t keep you, Barry. You and the Secretary have a lot to talk about. See you downstairs in an hour.” He glanced at Kessler, his eyes locking with the Secretary’s for a beat. The relief on the Secretary’s face was obvious, but so was the tension simmering beneath it.

  As Reed stepped into the hallway, his heart was racing like a drumbeat propelling him forward.

  A soft chime from the elevator at the far end of the hallway caught Reed’s attention. A woman with a clipboard emerged, her heels clicking against the floor. Two men flanked her, their movements precise. Reed’s gut twisted with fear. Was this Barry’s inner circle? His hit team?

  Reed nodded as he passed them. He wondered if they were there to kill the Secretary. But Reed had changed things and plans had changed. Having a photo of Barry and the Secretary together undoubtedly saved the Secretary’s life. But time was running out and Kessler’s life was still on the line. Hopefully now the original plan was back in motion.

  As Reed walked out of the elevator, the Lyt Meeter vibrated softly. He pulled it out of his bag and the screen flashed a coded confirmation message: Architect oversight confirmed, Barry.

  Reed tapped his earpiece as he walked away from the elevator, his voice low and urgent. “Carter, Kranch—we’re live. Everything’s back on track. One hour. Be ready.”