Page 52 of The Assassin's Captive
Laera flips through the documents, his relief palpable. "And the immunity agreement?"
"Will be honored once I verify what you're giving me." I gesture toward the Ministry building. "But first, we do this clean."
The maintenance corridor entrance is exactly where Laera said it would be—a nondescript steel door set into the building's foundation, hidden behind a cluster of ventilation units. Laera produces a keycard from his wallet, his hands steadier now that we're moving.
"Security rotation changes at one fifteen," he whispers as the lock disengages. "We have twenty minutes before the next patrol."
The corridor beyond is narrow and poorly lit, lined with pipes and electrical conduits that hum with the building's mechanical systems. Our footsteps are muffled by years of dust and neglect as we make our way deeper into the building's bowels.
"Here." Laera stops at a junction where three hallways meet. Above us, a security camera sits in its housing, red light blinking steadily. "That's the one that covers the approach to the records vault."
I pull a small device from my pocket—no bigger than a smartphone, its surface covered in buttons and LED indicators. The signal jammer activates with a soft beep, and the camera's red light dies immediately.
"How long will that last?" Laera asks.
"Long enough." I'm already moving toward the vault entrance, a reinforced door marked with warnings about authorized personnel only. "What about the locks?"
"Electronic. Tied to the same system as the cameras."
The lock picks are old school—steel and brass, worn smooth by years of use. But electronic locks have mechanical backups, and mechanical backups can be defeated by anyone with patience and skill. The tumblers give way after ninety seconds and a lot of finagling on my part and the door swings open.
The records vault is smaller than I expected, lined floor to ceiling with filing cabinets and computer servers. The air smells of paper and ozone, sterile and cold. Laera moves to a terminal in the corner and begins typing, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
"Court records are compartmentalized," he explains without looking up. "Personnel files are separate from case files, which are separate from evidence logs. But if you know the backdoors…"
The screen fills with directories and file names, scrolling past too quickly for me to read. Laera navigates through them with the confidence of someone who's spent years learning the system's weaknesses.
"There." He plugs in the hard drive, and progress bars begin crawling across the screen. "Financial records for everyone withaccess to sealed case files. Cross-referenced with known criminal associates and suspicious banking activity."
I move to the door, keeping watch while the files transfer. The corridor remains empty, but I can hear the building's security systems humming around us—cameras, motion sensors, all the electronic eyes that could expose us if we're not careful.
"How much longer?"
"Two minutes."
"And you'll delete all the records when you're done?" I ask, glancing back at him. He stands stooped over the keyboard with a scowl on his face.
"Fuck's sake, man. It's my life on the line."
"Laera…" I caution, and his head dips.
"Yeah… I got it." His grumble comes as a beep from the computer catches my ear.
The progress bar hits ninety percent when I hear footsteps in the distance. Heavy boots on concrete, moving with the steady rhythm of a patrol. I signal Laera, who nods and begins disconnecting the drive.
"Done." The hard drive disappears back into his jacket. "Everything's copied."
We're out of the vault and back in the maintenance corridor within thirty seconds, the electronic lock resetting behind us. The footsteps are closer now, echoing through the building's skeletal framework. I kill the signal jammer, and the security cameras flicker back to life just as we round the corner toward the exit.
The steel door closes behind us with barely a whisper. Laera is breathing hard, adrenaline and relief warring on his face. "That's it? We're done?"
"You're done." I check my watch. The entire operation took less than five minutes—no alarms, no confrontation, no evidenceleft behind. "Remember what I told you about Naples. Stay clean, stay quiet, and you'll live to spend your new life."
Laera nods and starts to turn away, then stops. "The information on that drive—it's going to destroy some important people."
"Good," I tell him, and I press the drive against my chest in my jacket pocket as I turn away.
He disappears into the shadows between the shipping containers, leaving me alone in the Ministry's back lot. I wait another sixty seconds before moving toward my car, parked three blocks away in an all-night garage.
