“I know. I’d appreciate it if you’d take care of it. Personally. Tell them all we know is we lost contact. No reason for alarm.”

“I’d be alarmed.”

“I’m not worried about you. Anything else?”

“Yes. I assume you’ve talked to Eric.”

“Not within the last hour.”

“Okay. The press conference is scheduled for ten.”

“Good. I’m going to want Eric to keep it short. Just read them a statement and maybe take no questions. What do you think?”

“Michael, we can’t get away with that. Not in this kind of situation.” She pointed to the coffeemaker, and the AI turned it on.

“Okay. Maybe you’re right. I hope he’s careful out there. I’m not sure you shouldn’t do it.”

“If you change the routine, you just ratchet things up. Eric’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

“Michael.”

“Yes?” He was wishing the situation would go away.

“After I talk with the families, I’ll want some time with you. Are you on your way in?”

He sighed. “I’ll be there.”

Hutch was in her sixth year as director of operations. She’d had to make these sorts of calls after the losses at Lookout, and when the Stockholm had bumped into the dock at the Origins Project and killed a technician. In past years, talking to families had been a duty assumed by the commissioner, but Michael had delegated it to her, and it was just as well. She squirmed at the prospect of wives and kids getting bad news from him. He was a decent enough guy, but he was always at his worst when he was trying to be sincere.

SHE CALLED PETER first, but he still hadn’t heard anything. So she started making the calls. Get it done before the press conference begins.

It was painful. In all five cases, as soon as she identified herself, they knew. Two were in the NAU, where it was still an ungodly hour, and that alone screamed bad news. The others were across the Atlantic. They took one look at her and eyes widened. Fearful glances were exchanged with whoever else was present. Voices changed timbre.