Chapter 11: The Inside Job
Chapter 11: The Inside Job
“Shut it down!” my father barked, grabbing the hard drive and yanking it from the terminal. The FBI technician spun around in his chair, his face pale.
“I… I can’t stop a dead-man's switch if it’s hosted offshore. Once that timer hits zero, the ping goes out to the dark web. The hit will be broadcast globally.”
Agent Reynolds, the man who had escorted us into the building, stepped forward. His hand rested casually on his service weapon.
“We can protect you. We’ll put you all in witness protection.
Deep cover. Nobody will find you.” I looked at Reynolds. Then I looked at the antique silver key still resting in the velvet box.
It didn’t belong to a computer. It belonged to a physical location. “No,” I said, backing away slowly. “Helena owned judges and police captains.
What makes you think she doesn’t own federal agents?” Reynolds’ expression hardened. “Don’t be paranoid, Evelyn. You’re safe here.”
“If we’re safe,” Claire’s voice trembled slightly as she pointed at the corner of the ceiling, “why did the security cameras in this room just turn off?”
The tiny red lights were dead. My father didn’t hesitate.
He lunged forward, grabbing the heavy steel chair and slamming it into Reynolds before the agent could draw his weapon.
Reynolds crashed into the desk, unconscious. The technician threw his hands up in terror, backing against the wall.
“We are entirely on our own,” my father said grimly, snatching Reynolds' spare magazine and tossing it into his pocket. He grabbed my arm.
“We have to get out of this building before the rest of the floor realizes what just happened.” We slipped out into the corridor.
The fluorescent lights flickered. Someone had cut the primary power, plunging the federal building into emergency backup lighting.
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Sirens began to wail, but these weren’t police sirens. It was the internal lockdown alarm. Helena’s reach was longer than we ever imagined.
The hunt hadn't waited for the timer to hit zero. The assassins were already inside the walls.
