Page 88 of Black Reign

By nine, I have changed identities twice.

Jenny handles setup.

A brown wig replaces the black one during a bathroom break.

Different contacts.

Different posture.

Jenny becomes someone attached to event rentals.

Nobody notices.

Why would they?

People see uniforms before faces.

The tiny camera I brought is no larger than the decorative hardware hidden along my clothing seam. It captures still images, not continuous video. Less data. Less risk.

Getting anything out is harder.

The event's communications lockdown is excellent.

Almost.

Nothing is ever completely closed.

I wait.

Observe.

Find the smallest gap.

Then use it once.

No repeated pattern.

No trail worth following.

I move toward the ceremony lawn.

The arch is finished.

White flowers against blue Pacific.

Beautiful.

Almost offensively romantic.

I stand low beside a stack of folded linens, angle my body as though checking placement, and capture the photograph.

One image.

I send it into NULL.

Then whisper in Italian, barely loud enough for myself to hear.

“Chi è il vero fantasma adesso?”