The transport van pulled up to a building that belonged in a different century. Thirty floors of art deco limestone carved with geometric eagles that watched the street with predatory patience. Bronze doors flanked by guards whose suits couldn't hide shoulder holsters.
Kasper's restraints disengaged with a soft electronic chirp.
"End of the line," the driver said, relief mixing with fear in his voice. "You're expected on the penthouse level."
The lobby smelled like old money. Marble floors reflected light from chandeliers while a receptionist with porcelain features smiled without warmth.
"Señor de la Fuente," she said, her Paris-educated accent sharp as broken glass. "The thirty-first floor is expecting you."
The elevator rose past floors that probably didn't appear on building registries. Through brass grillwork, Kasper glimpsed corridors stretching beyond the building's footprint. Men conducting business that left no paper trails.
His enhanced senses catalogued tactical details automatically. Pressure plates in the flooring. Motion sensors disguised as art. Bulletproof glass masquerading as windows. Not just an office. A fortress.
Two hundred and thirty-seven kills had taught him to read violence in architecture.
Floor thirty-first.
The doors opened onto wealth that redefined possibility. Windows overlooking Buenos Aires stretched floor to ceiling, the city spread like a chess board. But Kasper's attention fixed on the man stepping from shadows near those windows.
Onofre Salazar was smaller than expected. Mid-fifties, silver hair precise as surgical instruments, eyes that calculated everything's value. Expensive suit hiding lean muscle that spoke of someone who'd stayed dangerous despite decades behind desks.
"Punctual. I admire that in a man."
The cultured Spanish accent carried authority earned through decades of impossible decisions. This wasn't Hayes with his federal badges and bureaucratic threats. This was something older. More patient.
"Señor Cobranza, I presume," Kasper said.
Salazar's smile carried genuine warmth that somehow increased rather than decreased the danger he represented. "Please. Among friends, I'm simply Onofre."
He moved to a mahogany bar, pouring whiskey that probably cost more than most people earned monthly. The amber liquid caught light like promises waiting to be negotiated.
"I've been watching your work, Void Killer. Impressive... and destructive."
No malice in the assessment. Just business evaluation of a potential asset.
Kasper's enhanced hearing caught the measured breathing, the controlled heartbeat of someone comfortable with violence as a tool rather than an addiction. Different from the cyberlitch's chaotic hunger. Different from Hayes's institutional paranoia.
This felt like standing across from a mirror that showed what he might become if he stopped caring about the names attached to his kills.
"Your reputation precedes you," Salazar continued, offering the glass. "A man capable of extraordinary violence in service of protecting innocents. Useful combination."
Kasper set the whiskey down untouched. "What do you want?"
"Direct. Another quality I value." Salazar turned toward the windows. "I have a problem threatening arrangements that took decades to establish. Your cyberlitch friend is bad for business."
"My cyberlitch friend?"
"The monster operating in my city. Killing families. Drawing federal attention. Disrupting relationships between interested parties." Salazar moved to his desk, withdrawing a tablet. "Three more victims last night. The Hernandez family."
Crime scene photographs showed systematic torture masquerading as murder. Bodies arranged for psychological impact rather than efficient elimination.
But Kasper watched Salazar's reaction more than the images. No shock, no horror. Professional distaste at wasteful violence serving no rational purpose.
The man's pulse never fluctuated. His breathing remained steady. Looking at mutilated children triggered the same response as reviewing quarterly profit reports.
"Messy," Salazar observed. "Unnecessary. When elimination is required, it should be clean, efficient, purposeful. This is the work of something that kills for pleasure rather than necessity."
"The Association will handle it."
Salazar's laugh held no humor. "Will they? Your friend Hayes classified the cyberlitch as a research asset. Too valuable for study to simply eliminate."
He pulled up federal documents bearing classification stamps. Military applications. Enhanced soldier programs treating human monsters as acceptable specimens.
"The cyberlitch draws attention to activities that function best in shadows," Salazar continued. "Federal investigators, media coverage, political pressure. I operate businesses requiring predictable environments. Stability is profitable. Chaos is not."
Kasper's enhanced senses detected something underneath the business rationale. Personal investment extending beyond protecting market share. Muscle tension suggesting controlled anger rather than corporate frustration.
"But there's more to it."
Salazar paused, his mask slipping to reveal something harder. "The cyberlitch used to work for certain clients of mine. Arms deals, mostly. Technology transfers. Clean, disciplined transactions."
He returned to his whiskey, composure showing hairline cracks. "Then it evolved. Started making demands that went beyond compensation. Wanted access to resources that crossed lines I don't cross."
"What kind of resources?"
"Children." The word emerged like something physically distasteful. "Apparently cybernetic enhancement creates appetites extending beyond simple violence. It requested access to trafficking networks, research subjects, experimental opportunities."
Salazar's expression shifted to something cold and final. "I told it no. Professionals have standards. Some lines you don't cross, regardless of compensation offered."
The admission reframed everything. Not vengeance or personal loss. A criminal discovering some clients represented threats to principles he wouldn't compromise.
"It didn't take rejection well?"
"The cyberlitch's response was unprofessional. Started targeting my associates. Disrupting operations. Making demands backed by violence rather than negotiation." Frustration leaked through his controlled demeanor. "Now it operates independently, funded by clients sharing its lack of standards."
"The ATA."
"Among others. High-level politicians, foreign intelligence services, private research companies. People viewing enhanced individuals as resources to exploit rather than assets to compensate fairly." Salazar moved back to the windows. "The cyberlitch has become a symbol of what happens when enhanced technology operates without disciplined constraints."
Kasper's tactical assessment shifted. Not a grieving father or corporate executive. A businessman whose former client had violated professional ethics and needed permanent termination.
The mathematics felt familiar. Clean problem. Clear solution. Minimal collateral damage.
Except for the part where accepting meant working for someone whose business model included arms trafficking and political corruption.
"What if I refuse?"
Salazar's smile returned, calculated for maximum psychological impact. "Then you return to Blackwater. Your life sentence is postponed, not eliminated. And while you serve time, the cyberlitch continues operating under federal protection."
The ultimatum carried no emotional manipulation. Just economic reality presented by someone who understood that choices had costs.
"What guarantee do I have that you won't use me like they did?"
"None." Salazar's honesty felt like a business negotiation rather than a threat. "But I offer something they could not. Clear parameters for engagement. The cyberlitch dies. Clean, efficient, permanent. Then we part ways with mutual understanding of services rendered."
Kasper looked at the equipment laid out on Salazar's desk. Neural interfaces that would restore capabilities the Association had stripped away. Technology representing freedom from limitations imposed by bureaucrats who viewed human lives as acceptable losses.
But his enhanced hearing caught something else. The slight change in Salazar's breathing when discussing the cyberlitch. The controlled tension suggesting personal stakes beyond business disruption.
"There's something you're not telling me."
Salazar's pause lasted exactly three heartbeats. Long enough for someone deciding how much truth a negotiation could bear.
"The cyberlitch killed a journalist investigating its activities. Someone asking inconvenient questions about its clients and funding sources." His voice dropped to something colder. "That journalist used to work for me. Before I transitioned from media to more lucrative enterprises."
The admission carried weight that business relationships couldn't explain. Personal connection disguised as corporate loyalty.
"A friend?"
"A colleague who understood that some stories were worth telling regardless of consequences." Salazar's reflection in the window looked like a different man. "His death was neither clean nor efficient. The cyberlitch wanted to send a message about what happens to people who threaten its operations."
Kasper felt pieces clicking into place. Not just business disruption. Professional insult. The cyberlitch had violated rules that kept criminal enterprises functioning without descending into chaos.
"One condition," Kasper said. "When this is over, when the cyberllich is eliminated, I disappear. No further obligations. No additional debts."
"Agreed." Salazar moved to his desk, withdrawing a briefcase containing technology that belonged in enhanced operative facilities. "Though I suspect eliminating one monster will reveal others requiring attention."
The neural interface felt warm in Kasper's hands. Technology that would restore abilities at prices extending beyond monetary transactions.
But as he looked at crime scene photographs, at evidence of violence serving no purpose except feeding something that should never have existed, the mathematics seemed straightforward.
"The cyberlitch dies," Kasper said, connecting the interface to ports he'd hoped never to use again. "Clean, efficient, permanent."
"Excellent." Salazar's smile widened with satisfaction suggesting this negotiation had proceeded exactly as calculated. "Now we can conduct business like professionals."
Through the reinforced windows, Buenos Aires spread beneath them like a circuit board where power flowed through channels invisible to people who still believed laws mattered more than results.
Somewhere in those neon-painted streets, a monster hunted families while federal agents debated capture protocols.
Time to remind it that some problems required permanent solutions.