After Hero had logged off the video conference, Griss turned back to Paragon. "Do you trust, 'em, then?"
"Not for a moment." Paragon answered. He frowned deeply. This case troubled him greatly.
"What did your trace turn up?" Montag asked.
"It's legit. The signal was beamed straight from Strikeforce's satellite headquarters. They either don't know we can trace them, or simply don't care. If Merlin is dead, and this isn't another of his headgames, this is much more serious than we thought."
"Right. Your place or mine, then?" Montag asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Your place. I've already sent the team out." Paragon answered, glancing at another display on his screen.
"How soon can they get here, then? Munich's a bit out of the way. . ."
"They should be arriving about. . .now." Paragon answered, as Montag turned to see Drake Marshall stepping out of the pathway created by Paragon's patented subspatial inducers. "Hey, Griss, long time no see, buddy." Drake smiled at the man he hadn't seen in nearly a year.
And for the first time, Vanguard International came face to face with Vanguard Europe. . .
