Chapter 31
Griff barely recognized himself in the truck's mirror.
Doc had worked her magic—his blonde military cut now dark brown, almost black, and styled forward to change his face shape.
Brown contacts replaced his gray-blue eyes.
Temporary prosthetics altered his nose and jawline enough to throw off casual recognition.
Sarah observed from her seat, struggling with a flat iron. "Outstanding work, Doc. He looks like he sells insurance and hates his life."
"Perfect for catering staff," Doc said, adjusting his collar. "Now hold still." She applied something to his eyebrows, darkening and thickening them.
She looked mousy. Completely overlook-able.
"I look like I'm about to audit someone very sternly," she muttered, checking her reflection.
"You look like someone who's invisible," Griff corrected. "That's the point."
Doc handed them both catering uniforms—black pants, white shirts, black vests with the Charleston Place logo.
"You're Maria Gonzalez and James Murphy.
Emergency replacements for the evening shift.
You've worked three events this week, you hate your supervisor, and you just want to get through this shift without dropping anything. "
"Shouldn't be hard," Sarah said, pinning her temporary name tag. "I actually do want to get through this without dropping anything."
Through his earpiece, Finn's voice: "We're making progress on the auto-trigger. Zara's found three of the seven authentication nodes. The system needs seven different confirmations to activate. We're dismantling them one by one. Playing whack-a-mole. Blindfolded."
"And on fire," Zara added. "Don't forget the fire part."
Doc checked her tablet. "Shift change in fifteen minutes. Kitchen entrance will have maximum traffic. Perfect cover."
Sarah closed her laptop, securing it in a serving bag that would pass for catering supplies. USB drives were hidden in her shoes, bra, and even sewn into the vest lining—Doc's innovation.
"Remember," Doc said, "tired and bitter, but not memorable. You're furniture that happens to move."
"I've been furniture before," Sarah said. "Pick any high-level staff meeting."
"Focus," Griff said, though her nervous humor was actually helping his own tension.
They climbed out of the truck two blocks from the Charleston Place. The evening air was thick with humidity and the sound of sirens—the city on edge after the day's chaos.
"Comm check," Ronan's voice.
"Ghost copies."
"Bear Spray copies," Sarah said, using her call sign for the first time. It fit.
They walked toward the service entrance, joining a stream of exhausted-looking catering staff heading in for the evening shift. Sarah adopted a slight limp, favoring her still-tender ankle while making it look like feet tired from too many shifts.
"Looking good," Maya reported from her overwatch position. "Stillwater goons are barely checking badges."
The service entrance loomed ahead. The same guards from this morning, but now they looked harried, overwhelmed. Perfect.
"Next group," one guard called, barely glancing at badges.
They filed past in a clump of other workers. Griff kept his head down, shoulders slumped. Just another invisible servant in the machine. He shouldered his way through the swinging doors.
The kitchen was in full chaos. Evening prep in full swing, chefs screaming, servers colliding, the controlled catastrophe of a high-end event.
"You two." A supervisor pointed at them. "Where have you been?"
"Traffic," Sarah mumbled. "That thing with the terrorists..."
"Don't care. Champagne needs to go up for the reception. Ballroom level. Move."
They grabbed a cart loaded with champagne bottles, using it as cover to navigate through the kitchen. Griff memorized the layout—exits, blind spots, potential weapons.
"Distraction alpha in thirty seconds," Izzy announced through comms.
They pushed the cart toward the service elevator. Right on cue, a fire alarm started shrieking in the east wing. Not enough to evacuate, but enough to pull security that direction.
Griff pushed the down button. The elevator descended to the basement level.
"Two guards at the server room," Deke reported from his position. "But... wait. They're moving. Someone just called them away."
"That's me," Doc's voice carried satisfaction. "Reported a suspicious person in the parking garage. Amazing what a concerned citizen can accomplish."
The elevator opened to an empty corridor.
They moved fast now, Sarah's limp disappearing as adrenaline took over. The server room door loomed ahead. B-3. Electronic lock blinking red.
Sarah hovered next to the keypad. "Finn, I need that override code."
"Working on it... got it. Seven-seven-alpha-nine-nine-two."
She punched it in. Nothing.
"It's not working."
"They changed it," Zara said, urgency creeping into her voice. "Hold on, I need to—"
Footsteps echoed from around the corner. Coming fast.
"Twenty seconds minimum," Zara said. "Their security cycles every—"
"Too long." Griff positioned himself between Sarah and the approaching footsteps.
The footsteps stopped right around the corner. A voice: "Yeah, I'm at B-level now. Checking the server room."
Sarah and Griff exchanged glances. Nowhere to go.
"Wait," Finn's voice crackled. "The panel. Lower right corner. Should be a manual reset button."
Griff dropped to his knees, fingers searching. Found it. A tiny, recessed button. He pressed it.
Nothing.
"Hold it for five seconds while entering the original code," Finn said urgently.
The guard's footsteps resumed, seconds from turning the corner.
He held the button, punching in the code one-handed.
The guard turned the corner, saw them. "Hey! What are you—"
The lock clicked green.
“Go,” Griff whispered, jumping to his feet.
Sarah slipped through as the guard reached for his radio. "Security, I need—"
"Whoa, hold up." Griff stepped toward him with a concerned expression, pointing at the guard's shoulder. "Dude, is that a spider? Brown recluse, I think."
The guard looked down, hand moving toward his shoulder. "What? Where?"
In that split second of distraction, Griff moved. Sleeper hold. Perfectly applied. The guard's hand never made it to the radio's transmit button.
"Sorry about this," Griff muttered as the man went limp. Eight seconds of struggling, then unconscious.
He dragged the guard into the server room, Sarah already closing the door behind them.
"Brown recluse?" she asked, connecting her laptop to the main terminal. "That's your go-to distraction?"
"Everyone's afraid of spiders." Griff zip-tied the guard's hands and feet, then checked his pulse. Strong and steady. "He'll wake up with a headache in about ten minutes."
"Then we better work fast," Sarah said, her screen already filling with code.
The server room hummed around them—towers of black metal, cables everywhere, the cold that meant serious processing power.
"We're in," Griff reported to the team.