Author's Note: Firstly… folks have been so eager for one of the chapters in this packet, I couldn't not hurry up and post it. I'm weak like that.
Secondly, just to be clear, the title "castle" refers to the movement in chess, during which a player swaps his or her king and a rook, thereby removing the king from potential danger or placing the rook in a more advantageous position. (At least, that's how I understood it.)
-J-
"Don't overstay your welcome," the Illusive Man commanded before severing the call. He savored the sudden opening of eyes as Shepard focused on the question 'where are you?' If she thought too much more about it, she might even come up with an answer. But while she might try to push the panic button, galactic panic buttons did suffer from lag. He'd planned ahead, timed everything perfectly.
She was too late, as she always was when she set herself against him.
He stepped out of his private berth on the passenger ship, following the trickle of people, mostly business executives and the like, out of the ship and onto the Citadel.
He hoped Leng wouldn't blow this, but his confidence in Leng was singularly low at this point. The best Leng could do was try not make too much of a mess to be cleaned up later.
But let Shepard and Leng tear around Cronos Station. The longer Shepard was distracted from that panic button, the better.
He smiled to himself, though undoubtedly the attendant handling intake through he was smiling at him.
"Thank you, Mr. Harper."
It was strange to hear his own name spoken aloud. He'd been 'the Illusive Man' for so long. But today he was Jack Harper, and today he was handling things live and in-person. He checked his watch—thirty minutes until his meeting with the Council.
"I don't suppose there's a coffee kiosk near here?" he asked.
"Of course, sir."
He followed the attendant's directions and bought a cup of hot over-priced, over-presented coffee. Far from a mug of Joe, he mused. This was more like…a demitasse of additives with a mere hint of Joseph.
Twenty-five minutes.
Into a cab, which took him straight to the Embassies.
Ten minutes.
A five minute brisk walk along the Presidium and up the lift into the Council Chambers, to be picked up by an escort who would make sure he got to his meeting alright.
Five minutes.
A polite but thorough scan for weapons…which missed the carefully concealed bits and pieces secreted about his person.
Three minutes.
He was led into a room and told to wait; the Council would be arriving shortly.
A swift manipulation with his omnitool to fool any cameras, loading pre-arranged footage to play for anyone who might be watching, a brief pat-down of himself to produce all the pieces for the pistol which he assembled briskly and tucked into the small of his back, hidden by his jacket.
One minute.
The Illusive Man waited, forced himself to be calm, to be patient. All the men and materiel, the money he'd funneled into the original Citadel coup—well, it had to look good, didn't it?—and all it was really going to take was him. Himself. One operative.
It helped that no one would expect Cerberus to try to take the Citadel again. Originally, it had been something to shake the galaxy, to get the holdouts moving. He had never dreamed that the idea 'he can't possibly try again' would serve him so well. No one believed Cerberus could ever try to take the Citadel again.
Well, surprise. It just went to show that discretion trumped explosive displays.
The door hissed open…
…but only Councilor Esheel entered the room. She didn't seem surprised that no one else was here, nor did she give the impression of waiting for anyone. Aside from which, the Council never arrived piecemeal, partly because he didn't think they really trusted each other, and also so that no one had to repeat himself in order to recap for late-comers, thereby wasting the Council's time as well as the supplicant's own.
"Mr. Harper. There's no need to be formal today. Please, sit down," Esheel gestured to one of the chairs along the wall.
"Thank you, Madame Councilor, but I think I'd prefer to stand. It's a bit of a trip by ship, and I've been sitting for…well, I'd prefer to stand."
"Of course," the salarian nodded graciously. "Shall we begin?" she opened her datapad, flanked as she was by three empty chairs.
"Excuse me, Madame Councilor, but…" he gestured at the empty chairs.
"Ah, yes. I'm sorry, you wouldn't have been notified. Councilors Burns, Aethyta, and Quentius won't be here today. They're otherwise engaged. I'm afraid I can't say anything more."
She didn't have to. The Illusive Man's stomach lurched, as if he'd missed a step going down stairs, or expected to take a step down only to be met with solid, level floor. That was why Shepard's expression had been more curious than concerned about where he actually was: even if he got to the Citadel, three of the four Councilors weren't even there!
He had to admit, she was a pernicious, scheming pest. Had they been on the same side, he'd have gladly paid twice what it cost to resuscitate and supply her and still called it good. "That's unfortunate," he said aloud.
Well, it didn't change much. He still knew what he needed to do, and although this wouldn't be the crippling blow he hoped for, at least he didn't have to worry about shooting Aethyta first, because her biotics were what concerned him the most.
"I'm sure they'll be back before long. Now, Mr. Harper—"
The Illusive Man watched Esheel, aware of a vague kind of headache beginning to claw its way up the spinal cord in his neck to send lancing fingers of pain through his brain. He needed to kill her, to seize control of the station—
AND BRING IT TO EARTH.
"Yes, that's correct," he agreed, placing his briefcase on the table off to the side.
It was easier to kill one person than four. Maybe having the rest of the Council elsewhere was a windfall. The Illusive Man produced the tech mine that would temporarily confuse Esheel's biotracker into thinking she was still alive. Once he employed it, he could impersonate her to any computer. Then the Catalyst—
WILL BE OURS.