Chapter 11 #3
"Listen up," Max said, his voice suddenly more serious. "Their surveillance is good, better than I expected. Give me seventy-two hours to clone your routines and actions. I’ll use AI to spoof the cameras, and I’ll work with my partner to get through the net they’ve thrown around the facility.
Until then, gym meetings only. Casual. Natural. And Reece?"
Reece tapped once.
"If you need immediate extraction, the code word is orangutan. Say it, and I dispatch all the armies of hell to get you both out. Your father made me promise. So, don't make me explain to Jason how I let his favorite son get killed on an oil rig in the middle of nowhere."
Reece tapped once, then scratched his ear to hide the smile. His father’s favorite son. He knew his father loved all his siblings with the same fierce loyalty that he gave Reece.
"One more thing," Max continued. "There are a thousand ways to die on that platform. Don't find any of them. Watch the corners. Trust nothing. And remember—everyone there is either a threat or a target. Figure out which is which. I’d start with security. The executive who’s in control of security is a huge red flag, a former Delta, discharged for cause, and he’s not improved. He sticks mainly to the executive level and leads via the keyboard. Your way in is Dexter Franks. He goes by Dex. He’s ex-special forces, but he got out due to a family situation that resolved after his father passed.
He was hired about seven months ago and has a folder full of write-ups for asking the wrong questions and going where he isn’t authorized.
Don’t blow your cover, but find him and get a feel. "
The line went quiet.
Reece adjusted the badge clipped to his jacket and memorized the weight of it. The RFID chip inside pulsed against his chest, tracking, recording, and reporting everything he did.
Good. It meant they didn't yet realize he was watching them.
* * *
By the third day, Reece stopped counting hours and started watching habits.
Darkwater ran on routine. Shift changes were precise.
Meals cycled predictably. Maintenance windows opened and closed on schedule.
On the surface, it was a system built to eliminate chaos.
However, people were always the variable.
His quarters on Level Seven were comfortable in the way corporate hotels were comfortable.
Everything necessary, nothing personal. The bed was firm.
The desk faced a window showing nothing but the ocean.
A small refrigerator hummed in the corner, stocked with bottled water and energy drinks he hadn't requested.
The bathroom featured a shower with pressure settings that actually worked, a luxury on an oil platform where water usage was monitored and rationed.
The room was clean, climate-controlled, and sufficient.
And one thousand percent bugged. He'd found the first microphone within twenty minutes of arrival, embedded in the smoke detector.
The second took longer, hidden in the base of the desk lamp.
The camera was trickier, concealed behind the mirror's reflective coating, visible only when the light hit at precisely the right angle.
He didn't disable them or make an effort to find them. He didn’t want any action to flag him as someone too curious for their own good. That would've told them everything they needed to know about him.
Instead, he lived normally. Showered. Changed clothes.
Watched the news on the tablet they provided.
Made phone calls about nothing important to colleagues who didn't exist but would be found if someone went looking.
He gave them exactly what they expected to see: a boring consultant doing boring consultant things.
At night, after his workout and shower, he lay in bed and listened to the platform breathe.
The constant vibration never stopped. Machinery buried in the lower levels kept the structure alive.
Generators cycling power loads, ventilation systems exchanging thousands of cubic feet of air every minute.
Through the walls, he heard other sounds. Footsteps in corridors. Muffled conversations. The distant clang of metal on metal from maintenance crews working night shifts.
Darkwater never slept.
Neither did its surveillance.
"You're doing well," Max said on the third night, his voice breaking the silence as Reece lay staring at the ceiling. "Natural. Boring. Exactly what they want to see. Keep it up."
Reece tapped once against his ear where the comm unit was hidden.
"I've identified three people worth watching," Max continued. "Callum Hayes, systems analyst. Friendly, curious, asks too many questions. He’s on my screen because I get the feeling he’s not what he says he is, yet I can’t find anything that would lead me to question the documentation I’ve found.
Then, there’s Jonah Pike, director of strategic intelligence.
Former military, careful, watches without engaging.
His file is long and marred with ugly write-ups.
He was demoted at retirement. Seems he was given a favor.
Get out, and you can retire at your highest rank obtained.
So, he retired as an O4 and gets retirement pay as an O6.
And then there’s Marta Voss. She’s a so-called infrastructure specialist. She avoids cameras like she's been trained to do it.
I'm running deeper backgrounds on all three. Tap twice if you've noticed them."
Reece tapped twice.
"Good. Trust your instincts. And one more thing.
Maggie's been accessing systems at odd hours, 3 a.m. yesterday, 2 a.m. today.
She's digging, and she's not sleeping. Someone's going to notice if she keeps that pattern. I’m going to make contact with her and remind her to stay off Darkwater systems until she gets back, and I can be a firewall between her and those looking at what she’s done. Thankfully, my partner was watching and was able to ensure she wasn’t tracked. "
Reece tapped once, worry tightening his chest. He couldn’t lie.
Maggie was fucking important to him. After the night they’d spent together, he wouldn’t walk away from her.
Hell, he couldn’t. He wanted to be next to her right now.
He wanted to make sure nothing evil came within ten miles of her.
She was his. She was … he swallowed hard.
She was what he’d been missing. And that realization hit harder than an armor-piercing bullet.
He spent the next day walking the same corridors everyone else did, asking questions no one minded answering. He noted where the cameras were, how access flowed, and where bottlenecks formed during shift change. And most importantly, he listened more than he spoke.
The Hub atrium served as the platform's social barometer.
Morning coffee crowds revealed hierarchy without organization charts.
Senior analysts claimed tables near the windows.
Junior staff circulated at the edges. Security personnel moved through without stopping, their presence felt more than seen.
Reece positioned himself near the coffee bar during peak hours, tablet open, pretending to review infrastructure reports while cataloging everyone who passed. He learned names. Departments. Who spoke to whom. Who nodded without speaking. Who avoided eye contact entirely.
"Coffee bar's wired for sound," Max noted during one of these sessions.
"Acoustic ceiling tiles with embedded mics.
Every conversation is captured. But here's what's interesting …
the data streams twice. Once to central security, once to the executive offices.
I'm tracking the access to that information. And heads up, Dexter Franks is walking up to the coffee bar.”
Reece kept his expression neutral, finishing his coffee while pretending to read.
He left his tablet and notebook at his table and meandered up to the coffee bar.
Because of his size, Dex immediately sensed him and turned, sizing him up.
When he actually looked into Reece’s eyes, Reece lifted an eyebrow and subtly nodded his head.
It was something men in the field did all the time.
Recognize one of their own, acknowledge the presence while watching the possible threat.
Without saying anything else, Reece ordered another cup of coffee and walked back to his seat.
Dex put a ton of cream and a metric buttload of sugar into his coffee before heading back the way he came.
“That went well,” Max said into his ear. “He sensed what you were.”
That he did. No amount of casual dress or boring attire would stop one warrior from knowing another.
However, it was the friendly people who were the most interesting. The systems analyst named Callum made a point of stopping Reece twice a day. Always cheerful. Always curious. Always asking what Reece thought of the place.
"Feels solid," Reece told him once, leaning against the railing overlooking the operations floor.
Callum grinned. "That's what they want you to say."
"Callum Hayes, I told you I was watching him because something is off. I figured out what it is." Max said in his ear. "Watch his badge usage. He never scans into yellow zones himself. Always waits for someone else to open doors. He's avoiding being tracked."
Reece smiled back at Callum and noted the phrasing. People who trusted systems didn't speak that way.
Callum was mid-thirties, athletic build but going soft around the middle from too many desk hours.
He wore his badge clipped to his belt instead of his collar, letting it dangle where it could be read without appearing too deliberate.
His hands were never still, always tapping pens, adjusting his tablet, or fidgeting with his coffee cup.
Avoidance masquerading as friendliness.