Chapter 30
With every passing second, the food truck’s already cramped interior shrank.
While Sarah typed, Griff watched the afternoon sun beat down on Charleston through the reinforced windows. The truck swayed and rolled as Doc navigated side streets, keeping them mobile while federal vehicles prowled the main thoroughfares.
He hated this part. The waiting. Most operatives did, though Tank had always demonstrated an unreal ability to catnap anytime. Anywhere.
"Maya, status?" Griff kept his voice steady despite the chaos erupting through his earpiece.
"Clear. Made it through the tunnels under the bookstore." Maya's breathing was controlled, professional. "Museum exit was clean. Repositioning now."
"All units, emergency protocol seven," Ronan's voice cut through. "No physical meet. Encrypted channel only."
Protocol seven—complete operational restructure while maintaining zero physical contact. They'd only used it once before, in Syria when everything went sideways.
"Sound off," Ronan commanded.
The confirmations came in sequence: Ghost with command, Maya mobile, Deke repositioning, Izzy going dark, the cyber team operational. Doc added her confirmation from the driver's seat.
Silence where Axel's voice should have been.
"We need to get him out," Deke said immediately.
"Negative." Griff cut him off, though every instinct screamed to agree. "That confirms guilt. Makes everything worse."
"He's right," Sarah said, loud enough for the comm. "There are news crews at the federal facility. They're waiting for a rescue attempt."
Through the laptop speakers, Finn's voice crackled: "Guys, I'm seeing something. Financial authorizations just updated in the system."
Sarah pulled up the data on her main screen. "These are all timestamped for..." Her face paled. "Seven-fifteen tonight. During the evening reception."
"What happens at 19:15?" Ronan asked.
"The assassinations." Sarah's voice was hollow. "All of them. Nationwide. The system auto-triggers during Buckley's keynote speech."
Griff checked his watch. 15:47. Less than four hours.
"He'll be on live television," Sarah continued. "Perfect alibi while people die across the country."
"Can Finn and Zara stop it?" Ronan asked.
"Already trying," Finn responded. "But this is complex. Multiple fail-safes, distributed architecture. We need time."
"Time we don't have." Sarah pulled up more screens. "Wait. There's something else. These payment structures... they're doubled."
"Meaning?" Griff asked.
"Two systems running parallel. The seven-fifteen trigger is automated, but there's another layer. Insurance protocols, they keep calling it." Her fingers paused over the keys. "Oh no. It's a dead man's switch."
Doc glanced back from the driver's seat. "Explain."
"If Buckley doesn't check in every twenty-four hours, a second set of contracts activates. Forty-seven targets." Sarah's voice cracked. "Even if we stop tonight's attack, if anything happens to Buckley, everyone still dies."
"Two systems," Zara said through the speakers. "We need to disable both."
"The automated one we can handle remotely," Finn added. "But a dead man's switch? That's usually air gapped. Physical access only."
Zara chimed in. "Hotel basement. Server room B-3. High power consumption, dedicated cooling. That's got to be it."
"So we need someone inside," Ronan said. "Tonight. During the reception."
"When security will be at maximum," Maya added.
Griff made the decision before his brain caught up. "I'm going in."
"Griff, no." Sarah turned to him. "Your face—"
"Doc can alter my appearance. I go in as catering, plant whatever Finn and Zara need."
"Not alone," Sarah said firmly. "The financial architecture is complex. You'll need someone who can identify which accounts to target."
"Absolutely not."
"I'm the only one who can read these patterns fast enough." She met his eyes. "Finn and Zara need me to identify the accounts before they can redirect them. I have to be there."
The truck fell silent except for the hum of electronics.
"She's right," Finn said reluctantly. "The financial structures are layered. We need her eyes on the actual system."
"Then I go with her," Griff said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Your face is all over the news," Doc pointed out from the driver’s seat.
"Then fix it. Hair dye, contacts, whatever it takes."
"It won't fool facial recognition."
"It doesn't have to. Just has to get us to the basement. Shift change is at 16:45. Maximum chaos, minimum accountability."
Through the comm, Ronan's voice carried weight. "This is suicide."
"This is necessary," Griff countered. "We stop both systems or forty-seven people die. Either tonight or tomorrow when they arrest Buckley."
Sarah was already working. "I'm mapping the financial architecture. Each account has different security protocols. This is going to be like... like defusing forty-seven different bombs simultaneously."
"How long?" Griff asked.
"To identify all the accounts? Ten minutes. Maybe twelve."
"Guard rotation is every eight minutes," Zara reported.
"Then we'll have to be fast."
"Or create one ginormous of a distraction," Izzy suggested.
Doc pulled into a tight alley. "I need thirty minutes to alter your appearance. Sarah will need a disguise too."
"I can change my look too," Sarah said, still focused on her screens. "Straighten my curls, add makeup. You know, the classic 'I'm definitely not the person you're looking for' look."
"Are you suggesting a disguise or auditioning for witness protection?" Doc asked dryly.
"Both involve disappearing, right?" Sarah pulled up another screen. "Plus, I've always wondered how I’d look with straight hair. Probably like someone attacked me with a flat iron and lost."
"Catering uniforms are great equalizers," Doc noted. "Add a hair net, cap, and keep your head down—you become invisible service staff."
"Invisible is good. Invisible means not dead." Sarah's fingers never stopped moving across the keyboard. "Though I draw the line at a hairnet. I've seen what those do to people. It's not pretty."
"Would you prefer bullets?" Griff asked.
"Fair point. Hairnet it is. I'll pretend I'm in a really dangerous episode of Top Chef." She glanced up briefly. "Do you think they make bulletproof hairnets?"
"Focus," Griff said, but she caught the tiny smile.
"I am focused. I'm multitasking my panic."
"You're talking about walking into the lion's den," Ronan said.
"Where Buckley will be," Griff added. "Where David Pemberton will be."
Sarah's fingers stilled at her exe’s name, then resumed their flight across the keys.
"All units, new mission," Ronan commanded. "We're running three operations simultaneously. Team One—Finn, Zara, Kenji—you're disabling the auto-trigger remotely. Has to be done before seven-fifteen."
"On it," Finn confirmed.
"Team Two—Griff and Sarah infiltrate during shift change, access the server room, identify and disable the dead man's switch."
"Copy," Griff said.
"Team Three—everyone else creates chaos. Multiple distractions. Keep security running in circles."
"My kind of party," Izzy said.
"I'll be mobile command," Doc added. "Coordinating all three operations."
Sarah looked up from her screens. "The financial authorizations show forty-seven payments scheduled for seven-fifteen. But the dead man's switch shows the same forty-seven plus ten more."
"Ten more targets?" Griff asked.
"Not targets." Sarah's face was grim. "Clean-up crews. People hired to eliminate evidence after the primary assassinations." She pulled up the list. "Including Knight Tactical. All of you."
The comm channel erupted in curses.
"They're going to kill the killers," Maya said. "No witnesses."
"More reason to stop both systems," Griff said. He looked at Sarah. "You ready for this?"
"No." She managed a weak smile. "But that's never stopped us before."
Doc parked the truck. "Thirty minutes to transform you both. Then may God help us all."
"Amen," came from multiple voices on the comm.
Griff found himself not flinching from the prayer. In less than four hours, they'd either stop a massacre or die trying.
Tank would have loved these odds.
"All units, prep for evening operations," Ronan commanded. "We get one shot at this."
The clock on the dashboard showed 15:52. In three hours and twenty-three minutes, forty-seven people would die unless they stopped it.
Time to go to work.
"Shift change in fifty-three minutes," Doc announced, pulling out hair dye and makeup. "We transform you in twenty, you're in position by thirty, infiltrating at forty-five."
"Cutting it close," Ronan said through comms.
Griff held Sarah’s gaze from across the van. "Close is all we've got."