Chapter 6: Almost Undamaged

In the larger affairs, the minor are forgotten.

The first thing he was aware of was water. It flooded quickly, already ankle-deep, as it mixed with debris. The next was Holiday. She was already standing, eyes alert and already on his.

"You okay?" He could see that she was, and that his arm had shielded her face from the flying glass of the display case.

She nodded, doing her own once-over of him, stopping briefly at his arm. "Cesar?"

His ears rang a little, and while she broke name protocol, he was more worried of being caught in the sinking lab. They both turned towards the lab door, seeing at once that the frame was nearly half-submerged.

"I got him," Six said. "You head out."

He feared she would object, and there really wasn't any time for it, but she was on her way out when he turned back to her. Good.

"Cowboy, Doc's coming your way. I'll get the other two."

"Affirmative."

He waded to the doorway, forcing himself to ignore the cool water rushing up to his chest. The floor underneath him started to give and he treaded the rest of the way to the darkened room. A hand gripped the doorframe suddenly and Cesar pulled himself through, supporting Nyquist with the other arm. Blood ran down the left side of the scientist's face from a gash above his hairline.

"I'm fine," he said but inclined his head at the other man. "He's injured though."

"Bad?"

Nyquist nodded, and even in the darkness he could see his pallor. "My arm's broken."

"C'Mon."

With Nyquist and Cesar now, he gave the order for everyone to get back to the hotel. "Everyone hightail it back to the farm. Do not be seen."

"Won't it look suspicious I'm not there?" Holiday pointed out.

Shit, he forgot about that detail. She was very high up on the list of suspects that was probably being made because she represented Providence. He could think about that later. Priority was returning back to the hotel, after that, well, they could sort this landslide then.

"You want me to take her?" Callan asked.

"If you can. If you think it's too hot, get out."

"Roger."

The three of them made it to the doorway, and Nyquist's wound gave way to other problems—his suit was breached, torn by the protruding bone of his humerus. Six gritted his teeth. The man would go into shock soon. Luck was on his side, because the blast had knocked out most of the lights on the walkway.

Halfway to the hotel, Six stopped them on the pier and pulled them onto a water taxi docked in the shadow of the surrounding buildings.

"Get his bleeding under control," Six instructed Cesar. He pulled up the compartment in the flooring near the captain's chair in search of a first aid kit—what any smart boat owner would be sure to have onboard. On public transportation, a guarantee. Immediately he found it, scrounging through it for a container of any kind and handed the bag to the men.

Out on the pier again, he scooped up seawater and spilled it along the dock to clear off Nyquist's blood. It would be stupid to dodge the bombing only to leave a trail of blood all the way back to their doorstep. At least it would be the only thing they did right; this mission couldn't have been fucked up even more. He paused to listen to the night, the stillness of earlier filled now with approaching sirens and screams. The symphony of chaos. This used to be his world, his song. He reveled in it once, now it disgusted him. It was raucous, it was noise.

He returned to Nyquist and Cesar who had done a decent job of a sling to stabilize the broken limb.

"Good?" Six said.

"Good enough," Cesar answered.

He nodded. "Head back. I'll clean up."

The two slipped out beside him, and once he was sure they were out of the boat, he set to work. Drawing his swords, he plunged them into the paneled bottom, slicing until a large section slipped into the dark water, allowing the vehicle to quickly flood. It was more collateral, but it was the quickest way to get rid of biological evidence.

He continued down the pier, catching up to them in two strides—this return trip felt like a marathon. They reached the back stairwell without any difficulty, although chatter was echoing throughout the building, reactions to the explosion and frenzy in the canals. It was extreme luck on their part they had been given the suite on the end of the hotel because it meant the rest of their path would be empty. They reached the room, and he quickly did a scan to count heads. Callan and Holiday were in the count.

"It was a hornet's nest," she explained, moving to examine Nyquist. "The chair," she directed the men.

"No problems getting back?"

"None," Callan answered. "But people are beginning to fill their balconies for a good look into the action."

"And you?" he asked of Beasley, Wade and Valenza. They had the closest vantage point.

"No, sir."

"How is he?"

Holiday's mouth was thin as she examined the wound. "Compound fracture. He has to go to a hospital."

Six exchanged a grim glance with Callan. They all knew that was not an option. Not with his injury coinciding with the explosions.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Nyquist was looking poorly by the minute.

From the corner of the room near the lamps, Valenza began firing in rapid Italian into a cellphone. Who the hell was he talking to? He'd find out when he had solved this dilemma with Nyquist. One problem at a time.

"I'm at a five," he said calmly. "In my shoulder. I can't feel anything below it."

Lack of sensation, pain or otherwise, meant nerve damage. He really did need medical attention they couldn't provide very quickly. He glanced at Holiday who glanced at Nyquist. "Do you want anything? Meds? Wine?" she joked weakly. "I can't do much else."

"I'll take whatever you got, Doc."

"Can you take thirty minutes?" Valenza interjected, off the phone. Everyone looked skeptically at him. "My cousin is a nurse at a hospital in Venezia on the Mainland. She works with a doctor who is sympathetic to Providence-Rex cured her aunt-and she is willing to be discreet."

Six was stunned for a full two seconds. "Can you guarantee that?"

Valenza nodded firmly, absolutely sure. Six would have shown his appreciation, had the situation not been the snafu that it was. He had just become his most invaluable agent tonight.

"Alright. I'll have you lead this side quest. Take Wade with you. Dress like civilians." He glanced at Nyquist again—the man couldn't lift his arm without damaging it further. He grimaced. "If you have to, cut him out of his suit." Another item for the growing collateral list.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me just yet. It's going to be a long night." He locked eyes with Holiday briefly before she returned to attending to Nyquist.

Callan turned on the television, putting it on Ultimate Exposure, and they all turned their attention to it. Diane Farrah and her crew had exclusive broadcast rights at the Gala, and now that translated to exclusivity in the first moments of this attack. He estimated it had been around ten minutes since the initial blast, and they had continued broadcasting live since the event.

There had been three explosions, two at the lab and one report of a water taxi in the vein of a car bomb. Naturally, it was chaos, and the guests, with the unnatural limitation of Venice, piled onto the only available walkways that connected the buildings to one another. Sirens wailed and people pushed, but Farrah had managed to get out quick and stabilize on a corner to give an account of the events.

"…again, not much information has come forth yet, but it appears the blasts have ended. As you can see and hear, it is absolute chaos right now. The hearing in my left ear is diminished from the explosion, and it's becoming apparent that many other guests are experiencing the same thing…"

She was visibly shaken, and there was a darkening bruise on her cheek, but he had to give her credit for her nerves.

"Terrorist or Haven?" Callan asked.

Six pursed his lips and glanced at Beasley. "When Sgambelluri was heading back from the lab, how was his demeanor? His clothing?"

Beasley shrugged. "Immaculate. Time of his life."

"Hrmm," Six intoned, and his thoughts were back to the numerals on the bodies. Unless they were hired externally, he had an underlying fear he knew exactly who was responsible. "Too early to tell. Terrorist is the most likely. There's three right off the bat that are here we can name, easy to pin an inside job on one of them or Haven."

"Too easy," Callan replied, and Six met eyes with him briefly, remembering that he had also seen the numerals. He shook his head once. Not now.

Luckily, Holiday was still preoccupied helping Nyquist slip on a button-down shirt. For a moment the room was filled with several agents in various states of undress, shedding their suits and putting on plain clothes. Were this a casual mission, a quip here or there to lighten the mood would have been said, but not tonight. They sat watching the continuing chaos until the hustle of getting Nyquist on his feet and Wade and Valenza out the door became louder and it was just uneasy quiet again, Farrah's voice and sirens filling the room.

Holiday exhaled, peeling the kevlar vest off her, dumping the wet weight onto the the floor with the rest, finding her suit all at once constricting.

"Beasley, help me with these, man," Callan said, taking a cue to leave Six and Holiday alone. He wasn't responsible for Cesar, but the scientist remained locked on the television.

Six watched the men gather the suits and move them into the bathroom of the adjoining suite, turning his head to find Holiday standing next to him, dropping the zipper of her suit past the base of her throat. He made an effort to keep his eyes on her face, remind himself that Callan and Beasley had done the same, that he knew exactly what lay under the wet material and that she truly was a welcome sight in the midst of this snafu. He looked to the television again, ignoring how her hair clung to her neck, still damp from sweat and seawater.

"They'll check the obvious suspects first."

"Then scrutinize all of our alibis," she added.

He glanced sidelong at her. Hers might be the one that was dissected the most. If it came down to it, they were not interrogating her. Not while he was alive.

Her fingers gently wrapped around his wrist and he looked down at the contact.

"Let me look at it," she said quietly

"Later," he replied, although the sudden attention to his arm again made him acknowledge the pain he had pushed in his mind.

"When it's infected?" she countered. Technically, protocol stated she outranked him when medical needs were concerned, but she'd already won the argument regardless. He needed to take off his suit for her to see to him properly, but Polizia's pending arrival would be soon.

He nodded at the bathroom in her suite. "Get changed first. Polizia."

She nodded, squeezing his hand gently before leaving. While she changed, he conveyed the message to the other men.

"Make sure you take care of that," he said of the gash that was still open on Cesar's head.

"I got it," Callan tossed, fetching the first aid supplies from the other equipment.

Six nodded peeling his own vest from his suit and adding it to the pile. "I'll need that when you're done," he said, but Callan took alcohol, gauze, sutures, and handed him the bag.

When he got to Holiday's room, he rapped on the door. "It's me."

"Come in."

For the second time this evening, he caught glimpse of her bare back as she pulled a blouse over her head. There was no coy smile or glance; her face was set and stern as she led him to the bathroom. Strange as it was to see her in such casual clothes—jeans—he thought she looked even more lethal, more in control of the situation than even he was.

She took the medical bag from him wordlessly, taking out what she needed, laying them neatly on a clean towel on the sink counter. Before washing her hands, she waited expectantly for him to peel the top portion of his suit to get to his hand.

"It's easier to cut it, but we could still slip it off."

He nodded. Best to salvage as much as they could with the suit.

It was the most exposed he'd been around her, but the only indication she gave of his partial nudity was a quick sweep over his torso to check for more injuries.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" Holiday glanced at him, waiting for the truth, and he was not going to lie to her this evening.

"No."

Her eyes paused on a deep faded scar under his ribs—she looked painfully at it before her clinical detachment returned, as did her attention to his arm.

She sighed. "There's not too much glass or blood. Fingers," she commanded, and he moved them to show her his dexterity. Luckily, most of the shrapnel had embedded in the deep muscle away from the tendons. He was confidant the moderate pain he felt was referred.

For several minutes, she worked to remove the glass. Her even breath over his skin and intense concentration gave him something to focus on before everything that happened tonight returned full force in his mind. After she was done, she sterilized, closed, and wrapped his arm.

"We'll check it properly when we get back to HQ," she said, standing up, then after a moment, smiled. "Thank you," she murmured.

He grabbed her hand with both of his, sharing the moment.

There was a distant knock at the door, and for a split second her true emotion flashed across her face before she steeled and squeezed his hand. "I'll handle them while you get dressed."

The familiarity, the domesticity of her statement strengthened him. He gave her a nod, the most affection of any sort he could continue to give until the situation had passed.

Six got dressed as quickly as he could, ridding and disguising any trace of the operation they were so heavily involved in.

He tied his shoes at the door to catch glimpse of the conversation.

"—We ask that you all remain in your rooms until the situation has passed."

"Is everyone accounted for? There are eight of you," a second voice clipped.

"Yes, we are aware," Holiday said evenly, though there was a hardness to her voice. "You might know before we do. I just got off the phone with them ten minutes ago. They were mugged earlier in the evening and are heading to the hospital."

"Which one?"

He took this as his cue, removing his cellphone from his pocket for the deception. "Angelo." Shot in the dark, but assuming his information was still correct—and it was- Ospatale de Angelo was the nearest, obvious choice.

The Polizia regarded his entrance, one writing in a notepad, surely notating the information. The other, Ponce, regarded all their faces, as he did theirs. There were three assigned to be their handlers, two Polizia, Mascarella and Santeccia, both outstanding men in their division, and Ponce, who was Carabinieri, Italian special forces. He'd looked up her personal record—twenty-two confirmed kills. He was actually impressed Italy thought them a nuisance enough to warrant decent attention.

"That is unfortunate, Doctor," Ponce said, her own voice steeling. "Our apologies. The city is home to many guests tonight. Some have outstayed their welcome."

No one on his team said a word, thankfully, and Six nodded.

"Rest assured," she continued, "we are working at full capacity to figure this out."

"Let us know if there is any way Providence can provide assistance." Of course, they always extended the gesture, but even more so tonight, he had to throw off their scent.

"You can assist us, Agent, by providing your statements." Her words were sharp, authoritarian, not at all comforting as it would be with other, well-liked guests.

He nodded. "Shall we?" As head of operations, he was required to go first, but primarily, he wanted to set a story straight, though he was confident his team would be on the same page.

Ponce nodded as well, gesturing for him to go to the corner. From there, she could keep an eye on her team and his, and she ordered Mascarella and Santeccia to begin recording Callan and Cesar's statements.

"We last checked in with you two hours ago. 18:00. Explain what you were doing until then."

"Preparations, ensuring Dr. Holiday's safety. Captain Callan personally escorted Dr. Holiday to the gala entrance. He then fell back to passive surveillance, while I remained up here, overseeing them with Dr. Salazar."

"Just one man stationed?"

"Captain Callan is my best man."

"You were also given an invitation, why did you not attend?"

"I prefer to focus my attention solely towards Dr. Holiday's protection than entertaining guests. I'm sure you understand."

Ponce grunted, watching her companions slowly navigate the room.

"As you can see, we were able to do perform our jobs."

That brought her attention back to him.

"Please explain Dr. Salazar's injuries. We have no record of him attending, despite his invitation."

At this, he let his annoyance appear because it was genuine. Cesar had insisted he come along, despite expressing disinterest in the gala. "Dr. Salazar," he chose his worlds carefully, "decided to attend after originally declining. He got caught in the ensuing panic."

That seemed to placate Ponce. She glanced over Cesar and nodded. "Grazie." She took two steps to her left and Six knew she was measuring the line of sight to the gala. "Anything unusual?"

"All the world's top organizations together in one place."

"Hrmm," she agreed.

His phone buzzed, and Ponce looked both equally annoyed and inquisitive of it.

Shit. He knew it was White. Damn his timing. "I have to take this call."

"We're finished."

He nodded and stepped into the bedroom to answer.

"Six."

"Usually I'll glance over an explosion or two," White started. "But last time I checked, Rex is actually being a normal teenager for a change. What the hell is going on over there?"

He breathed evenly. He hated non answers. He hated that he had an answer and not a suspicion.

"Someone got to the lab before we did."

"Well that's disappointing. Tell me you at least know who."

His lips thinned. "Polizia is here right now. Our current focus is making sure that it's not us."

White's jaw ticked. "Be very sure." The call ended.

Six breathed slowly, keeping himself level. They were so very involved in this mess and he hated that everything was out of their favor. He needed to return to Holiday, protect her first, then Providence.

He stepped out again, wishing he had kept Valenza around to catch the chatter.

Ponce nodded at him. "I trust you're familiar with protocol, Agent Six," she said before giving the suite one last sweep with her eyes and left.

After the door shut, Holiday shook her head. "They said it smelled like sea water in here. Which," she gritted, "is not unusual with the balcony open."

"Gauging us. Standard procedure," Callan said.

"Expect their return. In the meantime," Six said, nodding at the television, "Let's try to get our bearings."

Callan set about pulling up real time feeds on their laptops and called Wade.

Cesar was riveted once more to the news and Holiday stood in the midst of it all, absorbing everything she could.

Six took it all in as well, but he knew it was a mess. A goddamn mess that he had set in motion. Forget Moses' code, he had to make sure Providence wasn't implicated for terrorism, and after, take care of those that did. Because it had to be him, no one else.

The Numbers were predictable; Dos, Trey, IV, Five, he knew how they fought, how they planned, but unknowns vying for his spot? He didn't know who or even how many. That alone left a bad taste in his mouth. He looked at Holiday. He would have to tell her everything. She couldn't be involved in this, he wouldn't let her. He wouldn't let them drag her into this.

As if sensing his gaze, she glanced over her shoulder at him, perhaps for reassurance, perhaps studying him. To deflect her attention, he addressed the room.

"What's the chatter?"

"At this moment," Callan muttered, "It's a fucking mess."

Six agreed.

"Theories are wild, the usual suspects have come up, but nothing so far on us."

"Yet," Holiday said. Everyone looked at her.

Callan shrugged. "We're lucky most of the evidence is underwater. As long as our alibis hold up."

Six replayed it again mentally, as he was sure they all did in that silence. Cesar was enroute to the Gala, explaining his injury. Wade, Valenza and Nyquist were out and about as tourists, victims of a mugging. Callan and Beasley were out in the field—within Providence's allowed reach in Italy's borders. Holiday was placed at the Gala, and even Sgambelluri could vouch for her twenty minutes before the explosions, but if she was spotted outside of the gala or that guard she encountered was still alive, she was in trouble.

"Except we're not exactly in friendly territory. More enemies than friends," he said then realized he had drawn Callan and Holiday's attention back to the very real issue of his association with the Numbers and the fuck up tonight.

"If it's alright with you, I'll see what I can do with my friend in Interpol," Beasley said, unaware of the tension.

"Do it."

Callan wisely busied himself with the feeds again. "I'll try mine as well."

Having two Interpol contacts would help. They could cross-reference and maybe he'd get in touch with his contact and figure out if the Numbers were trying to pin this on Providence or if it was meant as recruitment.

Holiday gave him a lingering glance before she joined Cesar and Six wished it was neither option or even worse, if it was both.

Six walked back out to the balcony for a second, scanning rooftops and shadows. How many eyes were watching him? He gripped the stone railing, feeling a bit of his old self welling within him. If he didn't have Providence to worry about—and really, he could give a shit about them right now because Holiday was his real concern—he'd take care of business his own way.

He peered down at the police boats and what was left of the docks and shops that surrounded Sgambelluri's lab before slipping back into the room.

For the rest of the night they watched the news and gathered data from their contacts and feeds. Sometime after 3 am, Valenza, Wade, and Nyquist returned. Valenza had managed to falsify hospital records and police reports with a story about a tourist trap, which in their favor, happens so often enough, polizia doesn't do much unless they personally know the victim or they were American.

"Any problems getting back?" Six asked. In the living room, Holiday and Callan fussed over Nyquist and his new needs.

Valenza shrugged. "Lots of questions from Ponce, but she got us through the barricades. Even got a few souvenirs to throw off our scent."

Holiday's phone rang and she answered it, heading into her room to take it.

"All cash," Valenza added.

"Good." Six gave him a nod, approving of the new resource he had in him. He's got potential. "Rest up and eat," he told him and Valenza gratefully made his way over to the sandwiches and bruschetta that was brought up a few hours ago.

He swept the room, all his men accounted for. Callan caught his glance and nodded, letting him know he had watch.

Six nodded once more and he went to find Holiday. White had called two more times requesting updates and offering some external resources but if he was calling Holiday that was probably not a good thing. He knocked but she didn't answer and he slowly opened the door.

"Holiday?" The balcony door was open and a draft blew in. A chill creeped through him and his hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade.

"Out here." Her voice brought a wave of relief but he still kept his guard up. "Enjoying the evening," she said through gritted teeth, the safe word, but she was anything but safe.

She caught on to his tension and moved back inside. "Sorry. I needed air," she sighed, hands covering her face. Holiday paced, her lips thin. "Rhodes called. It's Beverly."

Before he could ask, she continued. "She's not doing well but Rhodes got her stabilized. She's still running tests. White ordered her not to call."

No doubt White thought the news would distract her, but Six wasn't going to let him use Beverly as leverage. "Rebecca, if you want to go, we'll go."

She smiled gratefully, but all the weary lines on her face spoke of the toll the night and the news took on her. "Thanks. Any other mission, I'd be flying a jumpjet back by now but I can't let this go. There are too many things at stake. I don't even know for sure if this code—if it even exists—is directly related to whats going on with her."

He nodded. This was her way of saying they were staying to finish this shit and anything else that got in their way. Even tired, her fury was still strong as ever.

But just as suddenly, she folded, sighing. "I'm supposed to be enjoying myself."

Six watched her sadly. After this, he'd take her some place nice and make it up. Just them, no Providence, no conferences.

"But," she said after a moment, "At least you're here." She gave him a small smile and he, despite everything, gave her one just as small.

:::

When the sun came up, the only person who had slept was Nyquist and Six let him, although either way, his painkillers and antibiotics would keep him foggy for weeks.

For the rest of them, professionals, protocol and practiced focus carried them through the night, and would for the next day. Two, if required. He personally assessed and assembled the team with Callan.

He never needed to consider the captain. His training and temperament were top notch. Even now he sat calmly absorbing information at the laptops, jaw working a piece of gum.

Beasley and Wade were Callan's best, and Providence's best on night surveillance and scouting. Nyquist was always a top agent since the early days, former domestic government operative. Valenza was former Italian Army, choosing Providence over a guaranteed Carabinieri position in Narcotics and Kidnapping. Still young, but still very experienced and of course, Italian, therefore a vital necessity to this mission, and that was paying off well. Holiday was Holiday. She'd stay awake a week if she was even close to solving something. She frightened him sometimes, her determination and tenacity, as much as he was impressed. Any weariness she had appeared only in that brief moment of privacy earlier. Now she sat on a velvet armchair, eating fruit and communicating with Rhodes over Beverly's readouts, a steady constant stream of computer keys.

In truth, the only person that drew his concern was Cesar. With him, they were still wondering what the hell constituted as abnormal behavior. Unlike his brother, he often possessed a single driving fixation that negated his inhibitions, caution, and basic self awareness. But often enough, he compartmentalized situations and absorbed with hyper acuity. Since the mission started, his usual frenetic energy was replaced with an odd calm, an utmost concentration. He hadn't glanced away from the television except to drink coffee or consult his tablet.

They were waiting for the press conference at 7am. Along with Carabinieri, Sgambelluri was due to speak about the Gala and have an announcement. Presumably what he was set to reveal the previous evening.

Their contacts had provided exactly the intel they needed, which was ensuring that Providence was not on the radar. Certainly, Italy was openly on poor terms with Providence, but on issues over jurisdiction, international law, and politics, not terrorism, espionage, and murder. But they had to make sure, just as Italy had to make it a point that they would receive no special treatment.

Six, however, was looking for other intel, because who Carabinieri believed to be responsible and who he knew to be responsible would not match.

"It's starting," Cesar announced.

The attention of the room shifted back to the television. Ultimate Exposure still had broadcasting exclusivity but several other network microphones where visible at the podium. The Comandante Generale, head of Carabinieri stood solemnly. Behind him, Ponce was standing at attention.

"Venice awakens to a harsh reality. Last night, several explosions occurred in Dorsoduro around Ca'Rezzonico, where Haven Society was hosting a Gala for several of the world's leading Nanite organizations. As of this morning, this attack has been declared an act of terrorism. So far, no group has claimed responsibility for these actions."

He paused and looked around at the crowd briefly before continuing. "At this time, we count at least three dead and over fourteen people unaccounted for."

Simon Sgambelluri came on and this time there was no posturing or grandstanding.

"He looks like he's really grieving," Holiday said.

"That doesn't mean he's entirely without blame," Callan countered.

Six thought they were both right. Sgambelluri looked a man broken, despite his poise and etiquette.

"Last night, the world's leading organizations, dedicated to navigating humanity Post-Event through this new world, gathered together under peaceful terms, something that hasn't happened in four years. This kind of grievous act only enforces that we must work together to solve problems that affect each and every one of us. Regardless if we are on opposite ends of beliefs."

Sgambelluri paused to clear his throat. "Just a few days ago, I received something that was extraordinary. It was my uncle, Amadeo Goretti who realized what it was and that we had to share it. 'Il mondo deve sapere,' he said. The world needs to know."

Again he paused and his face dropped the careful composure he had for a brief moment. "My uncle is dead," he continued, regaining his composure. "But, for his sake, for the world's sake, I must still share it—"

"—Son of a bitch, he still has the code," Holiday realized.

"—That is why I am. I am not asking any of you to stay. If you wish to leave, I respect that wish along with offering you my sincerest apologies. But, what I plan to reveal I believe must be heard and seen first by those of you I've called here. Because you have brought humanity this far through the chaos that is every day after the Event. Tonight will not be a celebration, but a foundation of a better world. Thank you."

He slipped off stage and the news conference was over. Diane Farrah came on again, this time the bruise on her face clearly visible. "—Already Haven Society has felt the brunt of criticism that gathering leaders from all groups was a dangerous idea. No telling if last night's attacks will be a setback in development, but certainly in future cooperation between groups—"

Holiday spoke first. "So. Do we pack up and go or are we attending another gala?"

It was a loaded question. As Providence, they set the precedent by staying. If they stayed, the other groups would follow. If they stayed, they couldn't risk another op with so much heat. That being said, they hadn't gotten the all clear from Ponce to leave—

Both Six and Holiday's phones rang.

When he glanced at the number, he managed a smirk at the irony of the caller.

"Agent Six," Ponce's voice came over the phone. "You, Dr. Holiday, Dr. Salazar and your agents have been given the all clear to leave the country."

"Glad to hear it. We'll keep you updated of our departure."

"Buono sera."

Six knew the timing of the call was strategic. Ponce was aware of the sway they held over the other groups. No doubt they were probably the first to be notified. Now he needed to gather the temperature of the situation and decide if it was worth staying another day.

"Our alibis checked out," he announced to them. Holiday was still on her call.

"Could be on to us," Callan shrugged. "But that sounds good. Give us the word."

"We're staying," Holiday said. "Sgambelluri just called me. He wants to meet within the hour."