MR. SAVAS: If we could get the buyer info, we might find leads. Those drones had to go somewhere. Someone had to get them at a specific address. All this would leave a trail. It was worth a shot.
[REDACTED]: So you ordered a commando-style hit on a civilian manufacturer without authorization of any kind?
MR. SAVAS: I did. But since the fugitives didn't work under me or anyone else, you might say that they acted on their own recognizance.
[REDACTED]: Are you saying you had no authority in this? Didn't you lead the investigation and bring these criminals into this?
MR. SAVAS: Lopez and Houston helped bust this case open. They were instrumental then and later in bringing Fawkes to justice. Just who do you think the criminals were in all this?
[REDACTED]: Well, that indeed, Mr. Savas, is why you are here. And until you give us what we want, we have no option but to assume that you are implicated in a bigger conspiracy.
MR. SAVAS: What is this nonsense? I've told you — you've made me tell you over and over — I don't know where Angel is. I don't know where Houston and Lopez are. When you sent the cavalry to pry us out of our own offices, by the time the smoke cleared they were gone.
[REDACTED]: We want the file.
MR. SAVAS: You have it! It was on her damn computer! I don't understand any of this!
[REDACTED]: A copy was made. A thumb drive was connected to that computer and the file was copied.
MR. SAVAS: I can't help you with that. You have your copy, you can try to decrypt it as well as they could. Unless. Wait a minute. [INAUDIBLE] This isn't about trying to figure out what Fawkes was trying to tell her, is it?
CBD: Let's proceed to the next set of questions, Mr. Savas.
MR. SAVAS: I'll be damned. It’s about the file! You don't want that file in her hands. In anyone's hands! You’re trying to bury the information!
CBD: Let's take up what you have said Houston found in the factory records. First—
MR. SAVAS: That's it, isn't it? What the hell is going on here? What are you trying to cover up?
31
A heavy cold front had rolled in a thick layer of clouds, and the evening was without moon or starlight. Lopez and Houston lay prone at the top of a small hill overlooking a factory. Inside, thousands of drone unmanned aerial vehicles were assembled for governmental and civilian buyers, loaded at a wide dock, to be shipped across the country. The factory was isolated in a relatively undeveloped region in New Jersey east of Newark, nestled in a minor valley. The small facility was surrounded by tall fences and wire, imaged by numerous cameras, and protected by a small crew of five security guards at several stations scattered around the compound.
The two fugitives wore dark clothing and gazed down through night vision scopes mounted on rifles. Houston pulled her head back from the lens and whispered.
“I think we’ve got shots at three guards from here.”
“Should be four,” grumbled Lopez. “The info is outdated, so our guard count is wrong. Other things could be off.”
“You didn’t expect a briefing from them, did you?” she smirked. “Three down is a big win. I doubt they’ll have added many more guards. Maybe one is out to piss.”
“Things could get messy. These guys are naive hires. They don’t deserve a grave for this gig.”
Houston sighed. “So we’ll do our best, Francisco. Right now the big game is threatening many more lives. Even theirs.”
“I know. So, let’s bring them down. One should do it. Two for sure with plenty of margin for safety on the overdose.”
They bent to the rifles, aiming down the hillside. The sounds were soft, muffled expulsions of pressured gas. Each of the guards jerked when hit, twitching again from a second impact. Within seconds, each fell to the ground, unmoving.
Houston pressed a button on her wristwatch. “Clocks running.”
Lopez donned a ski-mask and they sprinted down the hill, arriving at a central transformer near the fence line. Houston removed a small pack, placed it on the metal casing with a clang as the magnet took. They dashed away from the location as a red light blinked on and off behind them, putting several hundred feet between themselves and the pack when it blew. A small explosion lit the dark night orange with a shower of sparks. The facility lost power, and they quickly cut through the fence and raced toward the central office building.
The structure was the size of a residential home, lined with corporate dark glass, dwarfed by the manufacturing buildings and warehouses around it. They passed two guards on their way in. Large darts in their thighs left them unconscious, drugged. As they neared the entrance, the door opened and two figures stepped out.
The two guards were disoriented, the blast and light drawing their attention. The blurred motion of their assailants was glimpsed too late, part of a distraction of violence and prone figures, two shadows blending into the night.
The intruders engaged without weapons. In a flurry of hands and feet, the guards were disarmed, their weapons sent flying, sudden blows to the abdomen and head stunning them. Before they could even cry out, both were down, unconscious in front of the doors of the office. Lopez emptied the guards’ weapons, slinging the ammunition into the night. Removing wires from their belts, the two shadows secured the guards, tying their arms and roping their ankles together. Duct tape sealed their mouths. Houston grabbed a keycard from one of the men and tried it on the front door. It opened.
“Emergency power’s up,” Lopez noted.
They headed inside. Weak illumination spilled from corners in the room and green lights from some of the older cameras.
“Smile pretty. Just keep your mask on,” said Houston.
Passing the reception desk and moving down a hallway, they stopped in front of a door labeled ‘Records.’ An alphanumeric keypad was embedded in the door beside the handle.
“I don’t recall any of the files mentioning a code for this, do you?” she asked. Lopez shook his head. “Didn’t think so. Hinges?”
Lopez reached behind his back and unslung a short-barreled pump-action shotgun. Houston stepped backward as he aimed. He fired blasts near the top, middle, and bottom of the door across from the handle. Wood splintered and metallic fragments rained around them. He spun and kicked the door inward, the wood hanging to the frame weakly from the keypad and lock mechanism, then ripping free and thudding to the floor.
Inside were a set of computers and floor to ceiling filing cabinets. They moved quickly.
“Grab all the hard drives,” said Houston, pulling out what looked like a large pocketbook. She unzipped the leather and removed several tools. “We’ll deal with them later. I’m going to go for paper.”
Lopez knelt down and pulled the chassis off one of the computers. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
Houston went to work with several microtools on the locks of the cabinets. “Neither was the fact that they still had paper records.”
“The disks will be fast! It will take you forever to get the records.”
“We’ve got twenty minutes. A little more if they’re out for donuts.”
The shell popped off one of the units as Lopez reached inside to disconnect the wires to the hard drive. “Cutting it close, Sara!”
There was a click, and the large cabinet door was slung open. Houston shone a small flashlight on the folders and began scanning their content. “Paper, Francisco. No bytes. No worms. No worries. I’ll be done before you.”
Grunting, he dropped one drive into a bag and moved to the next computer. Within ten minutes, Lopez had removed all the drives and placed them in the bag. Houston called him over, showing him regions in three cabinets where purchase orders over the last six months were filed.