Chapter 11 #2
Elena stepped back, making a show of photographing a nearby painting while her mind raced through alternatives. The east wing was clearly where Webb was conducting his private business, which meant the WATCHDOG codes were somewhere beyond those guards.
She needed a distraction.
As if reading her thoughts, there was a crash from the main ballroom—the unmistakable sound of breaking glass followed by raised voices. Elena watched the guards stiffen, their attention divided between their post and the commotion.
“I’ll check it out,” one said to the other, moving quickly toward the noise.
Thank you, James, Elena thought, recognizing a diversion when she saw one.
The remaining guard’s attention was fixed on the ballroom, his body angled away from Elena.
She seized the moment, slipping through a service door she’d identified earlier from the architectural plans.
The corridor beyond was dim and utilitarian—staff access routes that connected the public areas to the operational heart of the estate.
Elena moved quickly but quietly, her rubber-soled shoes silent on the hardwood floor. According to Terrel’s updated schematics, the stairs to the basement server room should be...
There. A steel door with an electronic keypad, exactly where the plans indicated.
She pulled out the device Terrel had given her—a sophisticated code cracker that could bypass most commercial security systems in under sixty seconds—and pressed it against the keypad, holding her breath.
The next forty-five seconds were the longest of her life.
Finally, the lock disengaged with a soft click.
Elena eased the door open and descended into darkness, her hand instinctively moving toward the hidden compartment in her camera bag. The basement corridor was lit only by emergency lights, casting everything in a dim red glow that made shadows seem to reach for her as she passed.
The server room was at the end of the hall, behind another secure door. This one required biometric access—a handprint scanner that would be impossible to bypass with Terrel’s device.
Elena had anticipated this. It was why Plan A had always included an element of improvisation.
She pressed herself against the wall beside the door and waited.
Two minutes. Three. Her muscles began to cramp from the awkward position.
Then footsteps echoed down the corridor, accompanied by voices.
“—told you, the auction goes as planned. The preliminary bids are already exceeding expectations.”
Elena’s blood chilled. That was Webb’s voice. She recognized it instantly, even after five years.
“And the security concerns?” A woman’s voice—Katarina, the assistant.
“Overblown. My systems would have flagged any known threats the moment they entered the property.” Webb’s laugh was cold. “The facial recognition alone screens against every intelligence database in the Western world.”
Elena pressed herself deeper into the shadows, grateful for Reed’s meticulous work on her disguise. If Webb’s systems hadn’t flagged her at the entrance, the prosthetics were doing their job.
“What about the photographer?” Katarina asked. “Something about her felt... off.”
“You worry too much, Katarina. She’s a magazine photographer, nothing more. Her credentials checked out, and more importantly, the system cleared her face. If she were anyone of concern, we’d know.”
The footsteps drew closer. Elena held her breath.
“Still,” Katarina persisted, “I’d like to keep an eye on her.”
“Do as you wish. But don’t let your paranoia distract from tonight’s main event. We have buyers from six countries waiting to bid on technology that will reshape global intelligence gathering. A photographer from some lifestyle magazine is the least of our concerns.”
They stopped directly in front of the server room door. Elena could hear Webb’s breathing, could smell his expensive cologne drifting through the darkness. She was close enough to reach out and touch him.
Close enough to end this right now.
Her hand moved toward her camera bag, toward the hidden Glock. One shot. That was all it would take. Five years of running, of hiding, of watching innocent people die because of technology she’d created—it could all end with one squeeze of the trigger.
No. The voice in her head was firm, steady. That’s not who you are. That’s not how this ends.
Elena forced her hand away from the weapon, forced herself to remain still as Webb pressed his palm to the biometric scanner. The door beeped and swung open, spilling light into the corridor.
“After you,” Webb said to Katarina, and they both stepped through.
The door began to swing shut behind them.
Elena made a split-second decision. She dove through the closing gap, rolling across the floor of the server room and coming up behind a rack of equipment before either of them could turn around.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she crouched in the shadows, listening to Webb and Katarina move deeper into the room.
They were discussing technical specifications, auction logistics, buyer preferences—information that would have been invaluable if Elena could focus on anything besides the blood pounding in her ears.
She needed to plant her virus—the one she’d spent three years developing specifically to destroy WATCHDOG from the inside out. That was the mission. Get access to the servers, upload the corrupting code, and get out before anyone knew she was there.
Elena waited until Webb and Katarina moved to the far side of the room, their backs to her position. Then she crept forward, staying low, using the server racks as cover.
The main terminal was ten feet away. Then eight. Then five.
She was reaching for Terrel’s device when her earpiece crackled—loud enough that Elena’s heart stopped.
Katarina’s head snapped around. “What was that?”
Elena froze, her hand inches from the terminal.
“What was what?” Webb asked, still focused on his tablet.
“I heard something. A noise.”
“You’re being paranoid again.”
But Katarina was already moving, her sharp eyes scanning the server room. Elena pressed herself against the equipment rack, making herself as small as possible.
Please, she prayed silently. Please don’t let her find me.
Katarina’s heels clicked closer. Closer. Elena could see the woman’s shadow stretching across the floor, reaching toward her hiding spot like a dark hand.
Then Webb’s phone rang, shattering the tension.
“Yes?” He listened for a moment, his expression shifting. “I see. I’ll be right there.” He ended the call and turned to Katarina. “We need to go. There’s an issue with the Kowalski delegation.”
Katarina hesitated, still staring in Elena’s direction. “I could have sworn—”
“Now, Katarina.”
After a long moment, Katarina turned away. Elena watched through a gap in the equipment as they walked to the door, Webb’s hand pressing the exit panel.
“Have security do a sweep of this room in twenty minutes,” Katarina said as they left. “Just to be safe.”
“If it makes you feel better.”
The door closed behind them, and Elena finally allowed herself to breathe.
Twenty minutes. She had twenty minutes to upload the virus and get out.
She moved quickly to the terminal, pulling out the drive containing her virus and connecting it to the server’s main port. The upload progress bar appeared on her phone’s screen—agonizingly slow, creeping forward in tiny increments.
Fifteen percent. Twenty. Twenty-five.
Elena’s earpiece crackled again, and this time she heard Reed’s voice clearly. “Elena, status?”
“I’m in,” she breathed. “Uploading now. But I’ve got a twenty-minute window before security sweeps.”
“Copy. We’ll create a distraction if needed. Just get that virus planted and get out.”
Forty percent. Fifty.
The minutes stretched like hours. Elena watched the door, watched the progress bar, watched the shadows for any sign of movement.
Seventy-five percent. Eighty.
Her phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number: We know you’re here, Dr. Vasquez.
Elena’s blood turned to ice. She stared at the message, her mind racing. How? The prosthetics had fooled the facial recognition, had fooled Katarina’s visual inspection. How could they possibly know?
Another text appeared: The disguise was clever. But you forgot about thermal imaging. Your biometric signature is quite distinctive.
Ninety percent. Ninety-five.
Elena heard footsteps in the corridor outside—multiple sets, moving fast.
“Reed,” she hissed into her earpiece. “I’ve been made. They’re coming.”
She grabbed her drive from the terminal, shoved it into her pocket, and pressed herself into the shadows behind the nearest server rack. She made herself as small as possible, barely daring to breathe.
The server room door burst open.