An unmarked black government sedan is parked in an underground garage. It's very early in the morning and almost entirely empty. The car looks vulnerable, alone, neighboured by empty spots. The windows are tinted. We can't see inside, or maybe indistinguishable blurs, one in the backseat, another in the driver's.
Gant had arrived early.
Partly because of Brenner's concerns - an underground
warren of tight turns and few exits was a security nightmare.
But mostly, it was because Gant wanted Willows meeting
him here. He wanted to set the agenda.
Inside the sedan, tight on an expensive looking analogue wristwatch. The time is 03:18.
But Willows was late.
Now on William Gant. A silver-haired politician. The kind of guy who can flash a warm smile for the cameras, but out of the spotlight, it turns malicious. His anger is etched on his face. He is not a man accustomed to waiting.
And not by a little.
A whole ninety-two minutes.
Gant peers out the window, at the desolation. There is nobody there. Not a single hint of another human presence.
He had just about eviscerated Gant's goodwill.
He understood this was a darker world he was embracing.
That he was not yet cognizant of its rules.
But he expected a smidgen of professional courtesy.
And William Gant refused to be treated like a fool.
On Gant's phone, resting on the plush leather seats beside him, dark an inactive.
As far as he was concerned, that total lack of respect
was reason enough to call this whole thing - -
Same as PANEL 5. Only now, the phone is glowing, the words UNKNOWN on its screen.
- - off?