CHAPTER 8 Declan #2
"Leo sent the schematics for the downtown office," she says, turning the laptop slightly so I can see the screen.
"Richard’s server room is on the forty-second floor.
The building has standard corporate security.
Keycard access at the elevators, a guard desk in the lobby, and cameras in the hallways. "
"Leo is already looping the camera feeds," I reply, setting my cup down. "The lobby guards rotate shifts at 11:00 PM. There is a three-minute window where the desk is unattended. We will use the service elevator in the loading dock. It bypasses the keycard lockouts."
"And the biometric scanner on the server room door?"
"You will place your thumb on the glass," I say, leaning forward. "The door will open. You will plug the drive into the terminal and execute the wipe. We will be inside the building for exactly eight minutes."
"What if Richard is there?"
"Richard Evans does not work past six o'clock on a Friday," I state, relying on the threat assessment I ran months ago. "He will be at a steakhouse in River North, drinking expensive scotch and pretending his life isn't about to collapse."
Maeve nods slowly, her eyes dropping back to the screen. She is trying to project confidence, but I can see the slight tremor in her fingers as she taps the spacebar.
She is terrified. She is walking back into the city where her face is currently plastered across federal warrants.
I reach across the small table. I don't ask for permission. I place my hand flat over hers, stopping the nervous tapping.
She freezes, her eyes snapping up to mine.
"You are not doing this alone," I say quietly, my voice cutting through the hum of the jet engines. "You are not the junior auditor who got framed. You are the woman who walked into my house and demanded the keys to her own cage. Do not forget who you are."
She stares at me, the dark intensity of my words sinking into her skin. The tremor in her fingers stops. She turns her hand over beneath mine, her palm pressing against mine for a brief, electric second.
"I won't forget," she whispers.
I pull my hand back just as the pilot announces our initial descent into O'Hare.
**
The loading dock of the corporate high-rise is dark, smelling of wet concrete and exhaust fumes.
We slip through the service entrance exactly at 11:01 PM. The air in Chicago is freezing, but the interior of the building is stiflingly warm. I move silently, my hand resting near the grip of my holstered weapon, clearing the corners before Maeve steps through.
She stays exactly where I told her to—two paces behind my right shoulder.
We reach the service elevator. I use a cloned keycard Leo provided to bypass the call button. The heavy metal doors slide open, and we step inside.
The ride to the forty-second floor takes sixty agonizing seconds. The only sound is the mechanical hum of the cables. Maeve is standing close to me, her shoulder almost brushing my arm. I can hear the shallow, rapid rhythm of her breathing.
The elevator chimes softly. The doors open.
The forty-second floor is completely dark, illuminated only by the emergency exit signs casting a faint red glow across the carpet.
"Down the hall. Last door on the left," Maeve whispers, pointing toward the executive wing.
I nod. I step out of the elevator, my eyes scanning the shadows. Nothing moves. The floor is entirely deserted.
We walk quickly down the corridor. We reach the heavy glass door of the server room. A small biometric scanner glows green on the wall next to the handle.
I step aside, gesturing for her to move forward.
Maeve takes a deep breath. She steps up to the scanner, raises her right hand, and presses her thumb against the glass.
A red light flashes.
A low, sharp buzzer sounds in the quiet hallway.
Access Denied.
Maeve freezes. "That... that shouldn't happen. My print is in the system."
She wipes her thumb on her jacket and presses it against the glass again.
Access Denied.
"He wiped my credentials," she whispers, panic bleeding into her voice. "Richard deleted my biometric profile from the internal server. He knew I might try to come back."
I step forward, my hand dropping to my weapon. "Step back."
"Declan, you can't shoot the door. It's reinforced glass. The noise will trigger the acoustic alarms on the entire floor."
"I am not going to shoot the door," I say, pulling a small, heavy tungsten glass-breaker from my tactical belt.
Before I can strike the pane, the sound of a heavy deadbolt sliding out of place echoes from the other end of the hallway.
I spin around, pushing Maeve behind me in one fluid motion, my weapon drawn and leveled at the shadows.
The door to Richard Evans’s corner office opens.
A man steps out into the red glow of the emergency lights. He isn't wearing a suit. He is wearing dark tactical gear, holding a suppressed submachine gun casually across his chest.
He looks at me, then at Maeve standing frozen behind my shoulder.
"Well," the man says, his voice a low, amused drawl that echoes in the empty corridor. "The boss said you might be stupid enough to come back for the kill switch. I owe him fifty bucks."
He raises the weapon.
I don't hesitate. I don't issue a warning.
I pull the trigger.