Page 43 of Rogue Hope
Finn took a long sip of java. “Find anything new?”
“Definitely.” Zara expanded the holographic display, revealing intricate data patterns surrounding the former Phoenix safehouse Harrison had steered her toward. “Power consumption spiked at 0200, consistent with serious heavy-duty computing operations. Matches exactly with increased cooling system activation at the Portland data hub.”
She shifted to the third display. “Vancouver financial movements occurred within the same fifteen-minute window, using shell companies previously connected to Cipher’s network in Budapest.”
“Three simultaneous activations,” Finn observed, setting his coffee down and studying the pattern. “Classic distraction technique.”
She lifted a silent prayer, thanking her Savior that Finn was focusing on the evidence now, not her private source.
Finn’s expression sharpened. “Cipher’s utilizing an agency safehouse? That’s … interesting.”
“Right? According to my source, it’s already compromised.”
“Your source?” Finn’s eyebrow raised slightly. “Someone inside the agency?”
His implicit question about her intelligence source hung in the air, but she had no intention of revealing her connection to Harrison.
“I’m just saying it’s pretty convenient,” he noted after a moment.
“The evidence is compelling.”
“I’m not questioning the evidence. I’m questioning the source’s motivation for providing it.”
Zara moved to respond but winced as pain shot through her shoulder, the movement catching Finn’s attention despite her attempt to mask it.
“The barometric pressure’s dropping,” he observed casually.
The subtle acknowledgment of her physical discomfort without directly referencing her condition was precisely calibrated—offering awareness without pity. She found herself unexpectedly grateful for the balance.
“CIA safehouse security is legendary, even for dead facilities,” she redirected, bringing up the building schematics. “If Cipher breached them, he’d leave digital traces.”
“I’ll check for vulnerability signatures,” Finn offered, moving to an adjacent workstation rather than directly across from her.
As the morning progressed, Zara’s body protested with increasing intensity. Each movement brought fresh reminders of her body’s limitations, a reality she refused to acknowledge openly but couldn’t entirely ignore. When Finn stepped away briefly to consult with Deke about satellite positioning, she quickly retrieved medication from her carefully concealed case.
She swallowed the pill dry, almost a year of practice making the movement efficient. Not efficient enough to escape Finn’s notice as he returned, though his only acknowledgment was moving her coffee cup closer, reducing the extension required to reach it.
“Okay,” he said, shifting smoothly back to operational planning. “We’ve got three potential entry points. Main entrance would be most obvious—likely monitored but offering the cleanest approach. Kitchen service entrance would have fewer electronic traps but potentially more human surveillance since it’s a natural blind spot. Then there are the roof accesspoints—minimal surveillance but physically demanding, especially with your current joint inflammation.”
Finn’s assessment hit the mark, balancing operational reality with an understated acknowledgment of her physical limitations. What struck Zara wasn’t just his analysis, but the way he integrated her condition into the assessment without making it the defining factor.
“The kitchen entrance offers our best tactical advantage,” she decided, weighing each option against her internal metrics.
“Copy that. I’ll prep the necessary countermeasures. When do you want to move?”
“Ronan can get us there in under two hours. Let’s hit it this afternoon, during peak business hours. Maximum civilian presence in the area will provide better cover. I’ll gather the crew. Time for a briefing.”
She attempted to stand, intending to retrieve building schematics from the adjacent workstation, but a sharp pain lanced through her hip. She caught herself against the desk, the momentary vulnerability impossible to disguise.
Finn moved as if to assist but stopped himself, recognizing her need for independence. Instead, he simply transferred the necessary files to her station, the support offered without requiring acknowledgment.
“You should consider having Kenji handle the field component,” he suggested carefully. “He has the technical expertise for the electronic override.”
The suggestion—however tactfully framed—struck a nerve. “I’m field-capable.”
“I’m not questioning your capabilities,” Finn replied evenly. “I’m suggesting mission optimization based on current team resources.”
“Noted,” she said coolly, ending the discussion.
