"Fifty million?" Silas let out a dry, hacking laugh. "I'm insulted. I thought I was worth at least eighty."
"This isn't a joke, Silas," M snapped. "The Ouroboros has infiltrated the highest levels of INTERPOL. You can't leave that villa. The mountain is rigged with motion sensors and automated turrets, but if they send a concentrated strike force, you're on your own."
"And the Chimera list?" Elara asked, her eyes moving to Leo.
"Locked," M said. "The vial Silas grabbed was a decoy with a secondary encryption. To open the real file, you need a biometric scan. A retinal scan from someone who hasn't been seen in twenty years."
"Who?"
"Your father, Elara."
The room went ice cold. Elara's face turned the color of the snow outside.
"My father is dead," she whispered. "He died in the Berlin uprising."
"That's what the Syndicate wanted you to believe," M replied. "He's alive. He's the 'Architect' behind Ouroboros. And he's the one who put the hit out on you."
Elara stood up, the blanket falling from her shoulders. "You're lying. My father loved me."
"He loves power more," M said. "And right now, he's at a gala in Zurich, celebrating the 'death' of his daughter. You have forty-eight hours to get there, infiltrate his inner circle, and get that scan. If you fail, the list goes live, and every operative—including Silas—will be executed by sunrise."