“What’s happening?” Tarlo asked Alic Hogan.

“Columbia’s in there with her,” the Commander said. He looked very uncomfortable.

“Christ,” Renne muttered. “It’ll be the LA fiasco. I was supposed to be chasing the leads from that operation this morning.”

“We all were,” Hogan said. He forced his gaze away from the closed door.

“Did you find anything in Daroca?”

Renne was trying to think what to say; Hogan was very by-the-book.

“It was a standard Guardians operation,” Tarlo said quickly. He was staring hard at Renne. “We left forensics working through the scene.”

“Good. Keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Standard operation,” Renne said scathingly as they walked back to their desks.

“I just saved your ass back there,” Tarlo said. “You can say all that kind of intuition stuff to the boss, but not Hogan. All that little prick is interested in is checkmarks in the box.”

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled.

Paula Myo walked out of her office, carrying her shoulder bag and the little rabbakas plant she kept on the windowsill. A red-faced Rafael Columbia was standing behind her, dressed in his full admiral’s uniform.

Renne had never seen Myo look so shocked. It sent a cold shiver down her own spine; nothing ever ruffled the boss.

“Good-bye,” Myo told the office at large. “And thank you for all the hard work you did for me.”

“Paula?” Tarlo gasped.

She gave him a small shake of her head, and he fell silent. Renne watched Paula Myo walk out; it was like seeing a funeral procession.

“Commander Hogan,” Columbia said. “A word please.” He vanished back into Myo’s office. Alic Hogan almost ran in after him. The door closed.

Renne sat down hard. “That didn’t happen,” she mumbled incredulously. “They can’t get rid of her. She is the goddamn Directorate.”