Chapter 44 Wesley
Wesley
This is like being in the ladies room at a night club.
Fred’s behavior leading up to tonight made it obvious that he was expecting trouble—him and whoever he’s working with at SmarTech, which we assume at least includes the CEO and board.
They stand to make millions off this product, and they know the stakes, so it’s not surprising they’d want to ensure the launch goes off without a hitch.
So we prepared for it.
“Cameras are down,” Madison confirms. “You have 20 minutes before the alarm goes off and the backups come online. Make it count, SpyderMan.”
20 minutes to get in, find Fred’s office, log into his computer, get into the program files, and shut it all down.
We have to pull this off tonight; otherwise, the program will be sent out, it will proliferate and adapt—as AI is wont to do—and we’ll lose our shot to contain it before it becomes a juggernaut.
With Madison’s help, I can do it. With Dimitri and Mac’s backup, I can do it.
I can do it.
SmarTech offices are in a large, stylized glass and metal structure on the outskirts of Ulysses.
The entrance is grand, austere and sleek, with doors of glass and chrome that open up into a big room with polished concrete floors and a desk with two guards to direct visitors down the hallway and workers through the turnstile.
But it’s 7 PM on a Saturday, and this is a Monday through Friday, 9-5 office building. There’s no reason for there to be security guards.
Because they’re not security guards.
“Butcher,” Dimitri greets the larger of the two.
His chuckle is dark and knowing as he stands from the desk where he’s been resting his feet. His accent is just as thick as Dimitri’s. “Ghost. It has been, what, eight months?”
“What a ridiculous question. Why would I keep track of this?” Dimitri asks.
There’s a single second of heavy confusion following his statement, then all hell breaks loose.
The other bloke who’s leaning against the desk reaches into his holster and produces a gun, aiming for me, as the Butcher leaps at Dimitri with a knife.
The sound of glass splintering and the sight of blood oozing from a single hole in the man’s forehead happen simultaneously as Mac steps in with the kill shot from above.
In the wake of the bullet, glass shatters behind us, falling and ricocheting off the floor in a million sparkling shards. As I duck and cover, Dimitri and the Butcher are locked in, exchanging blows.
“Go!” Dimitri shouts, dodging a hit.
I take a running leap over the turnstile and burst through the internal doors.
“Take the first left,” Madison instructs in my ear.
I do, hurrying, feeling exposed. It’s eerie in here—dark and silent—and my heavy footsteps are the only sound.
Mac can follow my progress through the halls, since the offices lining the outer walls have large windows, but he’s a last resort.
The clock is already ticking after that first shot—the authorities might already be on their way—and we’ve only got 20 minutes. 18 now, most likely.
“Janitor, three o’clock!” Mac says.
Up ahead, the hallway disappears to a hard right. I don’t have time to wonder if he’s really a janitor or another hitman as the bloke rounds the corner and catches sight of me. He freezes behind the large rolling trash and pulls an earbud out.
“Uh… who are you?” he asks suspiciously.
I don’t buy the act. It’s too dark in here for a janitor. I ignore the question and charge ahead, and the man’s dumbfounded expression shifts into one of steely purpose as he reaches into the trash can, producing a large rifle.
It’s lucky I didn’t hesitate—I get to him before he can get the gun up.
He dodges my punch, swinging the rifle into the air towards me, but I drop.
A shot goes off, blasting through the drywall corner and echoing in the feedback in my ears.
But there’s no time to react to the ringing sensation, despite the pain of the too-loud noise.
I shove my shoulder into his stomach and force him against the wall.
I can feel his head bounce off it as he hits.
Flicking the cover off my ring, I reach up for any bare skin and manage to grab him around the forearm.
He uses the butt of his gun to hit me on the back of the head, and my balance falters at the crack of pain.
I stumble backwards, nearly losing my footing, and he swings his gun back up with a triumphant smile.
The etorphine hits him suddenly and hard—the dose is for someone much larger—and he fails to aim properly. Another shot goes off, piercing a ceiling tile, as the man keels over.
Chest heaving, I cup my hands around my ears with a grimace of pain. I can hear Madison, but it’s like hearing someone’s voice while your head is underwater.
“Wesley?” she cries. “Mac? Is he—”
“I can see him, Mads. He’s fine. Didn’t get shot. Probably just hurting from that discharge. His ears’ll equalize in a minute.”
I shake my head, trying to get my bearings again. “Fuck, that smarts,” I complain, rubbing underneath my ears to see if there’s any blood. There isn’t, thank God.
“Are you okay?” Madison asks, voice full of tearful relief.
“Yes, my love. Which way do I go?”
“Follow that hall, and his office is the last on the left.” She inhales shakily. “I hated that. You handled it super well, but that was so scary.”
“Almost there,” I promise, a consolation to us both. My heart is racing, and the adrenaline is making me feel ill. “How’s Dimitri doing?”
“The Butcher is handled. I am checking the perimeter for more janitors and security guards.”
That at least makes me feel better. Being the boots on the ground and taking care of the close encounters with miscreants is really more Dimitri’s forte.
Fred’s office is locked, but my pick makes quick work of it. His desk is tidy, with a few ostentatious decorations to prove how impressive he is to anyone seated on the other side—a clock with golden hands, a glass-encased photo of him shaking the CEO’s hand, a framed Master’s Degree.
I take a seat in his chair, jiggle his mouse, and focus on our next hurdle. “I’m in. Password?”
There’s a scuffle and a sound of low, male outrage followed by a sharp slap that nearly makes me grin.
“Okay, got his thumbprint and unlocked his phone… password wallet… SmarTech login… Oh, got it! It’s…
are you for real, dude?” she says, accusatory, then sighs like she doesn’t want to say it.
“It’s Pu$$yDe$troyer69, capital P and D, dollar signs instead of each ‘s.’” I can practically hear her shaking her head at him.
Mac’s laughter is so instantaneous, he can’t get himself muted fast enough and we all hear the first few barks.
“Such a tool,” Nicole mutters.
It works—because of course it does—and I’m greeted by a very organized desktop. I head immediately to the main finder folder to see the list of drives he has access to.
Madison, who can see what I’m doing through a camera wired to my shirt, helps me identify the right one. “Okay, the B-drive is HR, C is projects, D is operational… It’s the E drive. R&D is in there.”
I click on it and type in the search terms we decided on. But Safe-T Keeper and Gener-AI don’t return anything. Trying to make it harder to find than that, apparently.
“The files in here are named with a code, but I can’t tell what it means,” I say, shaking my head and scrolling through what feels like infinite files with randomly generated names. Letters and numbers all mixed up.
“What’s the project under?” Madison asks, voice low and meant to be intimidating, I’d wager.
“Like I’d tell you!” Fred laughs.
Another slap sounds, followed by a growl from Fred. “Is that the best you got?” I hear him seethe. “Am I supposed to be afraid? What are you girls gonna do next, sit on me? It’d probably hurt more than your weak ass—”
There’s another noise, and this one is much more of a thump than a slap.
“What part of being tied to a chair makes you think it’s a good idea to antagonize us right now?” Nicole barks at him.
“Nicole,” Eleanor breathes in awe. “That was such a good punch.”
“Thank you,” Nicole replies lightly. “You were doing a really good job, too. You looked so strong. Good form.”
“Thanks!”
“This is like being in the ladies’ room at a nightclub,” Madison laughs. “Oh, wait! Okay, try X026KA0225.”
I type it in, the folder comes up, and I double-click.
“This is it,” I breathe, scrolling through project files I recognize.
The software itself is a small icon at the bottom with a colorful image replicating the SmarTech logo.
To be safe, I open it in the sandbox environment first. My heart thumps hard in my chest, a wash of emotion sweeping over me as I come face to face with the ghosts of my past.
“This is it,” I repeat.
“You’ve got it?” Madison breathes.
“I do.” I pull up the code in an editor.
“Okay, so now we just need to corrupt the—”
I hear a deep, faraway chuckle reverberate through the earpiece. It’s chilling and smug in equal measure. “It won’t matter. You’re too late.”
“What do you mean?” Madison asks, her voice becoming shrill in her confusion and alarm. I can’t picture the look on his face, but she sounds scared. “What do you mean, Fred?!”
I realize why he’s laughing a second later, as I get to the most recent additions to the event log.
“You’re too late,” he repeats.
Fuck. We are too late. The software was sent to fulfill the preorders this morning.
I have the list of cities that have bought the tech right here, but that means that SmarTech isn’t the only one with a copy anymore.
We can delete the backups and destroy the host server, but each of these cities has their own copy, operating independently.
There’s no kill-switch option because we didn’t get here in time.
We can’t stop it from getting out.
“It’s already out.”