Everyone wanted the transgenics contained: the general public who feared them, the government who had created them, and the Conclave who loathed them. Yet somehow 452 had escaped White's grasp AND disgraced him AND won public support and protection under the law. The Familiars were running out of time, and their plan relied on 452 and her misfit brethren to be contained or eradicated. The future of the whole world depended on this point.
It was time for some more misdirection. It was how the breeding cult had survived all these years and generations and eras: giving anyone too curious about their affairs something obvious to watch while the real plan unfolded behind them. White was especially good at this skill. He opened his cell phone and hit a button to dial a preprogrammed number. There was a pause after the flurry of tones, and a few clicks as his call was automatically redirected. Finally a voice answered after the second ring. "Fe'nos tol."
"Fe'nos tol," White replied. "It's time to release the prisoner," he said.
"You're losing favor with the elders, Ames," the voice warned.
"We don't have a choice," he said through clenched teeth. "The Hour is coming upon us, and we need the transgenic threat contained before then. The interloper is the only card we have left to play."
"Not the only card, Ames. But the Conclave agrees with you about the interloper. They'll be in touch when they decide how best to use him. And you."
"Fe'nos tol," White said. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. The ancient phrase was repeated, and he heard a click as he was disconnected. He grimaced to himself. When the Hour arrived he wanted to be in good standing with the Conclave. He could afford no more mistakes. His family had already suffered enough disgrace.