Chapter 26
1011 Words
The mansion fell into uneasy silence as the guests departed. Like a wounded beast retreating to lick its wounds, the Finnegan family withdrew to the study,
Anola's face etched with tension, Hannah's eyes darted nervously, Aaron clutched his third whiskey of the hour.
Atlas observed them from the security feed, his mind calculating everything. The night's failure burned, but he refused to let it consume him. Five years of planning wouldn't be derailed by one setback.
His phone vibrated. A message from Sarah: "Are you okay? The news is reporting a security incident at the Finnegan estate."
He ignored it. Sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford right now.
In a temporary command center set up in the west wing, Victor Mercer worked methodically. Three laptops ran decryption algorithms on isolated networks. The DVD sat on the table beside him, seemingly forgotten but actually the center of his awareness.
Atlas approached the doorway, watching silently. Mercer didn't look up.
"I know you're there, Reed." Mercer's fingers continued typing. "Your breathing pattern is distinctive."
"Professional courtesy," Atlas replied, stepping into the room. "I didn't want to startle a federal agent."
Mercer's laugh was dry, humorless. "Is that what I am?"
"Among other things." Atlas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "CIA? NSA? Or something deeper in the alphabet soup?"
Mercer finally looked up, his eyes sharp, assessing. "Interesting theories."
"Not theories. Deduction." Atlas stepped closer. "Your response time was too quick for standard FBI protocol. Your technical capabilities exceed what Cyber Crimes typically deploys. And your cover is too perfect."
A smile ghosted across Mercer's face. "Perhaps I'm just very good at my job."
"As am I."
The tension between them crackled with mutual respect and wary distrust. Two predators circling, neither willing to strike first.
"The DVD," Atlas nodded toward it. "What's on it?"
"I haven't looked yet." Mercer's eyes never left Atlas's face. "Though I suspect you know exactly what it contains."
Atlas shrugged. "Aaron seemed concerned."
"I bet he was." Mercer leaned back, studying Atlas with renewed intensity. "Tell me, Reed or whatever your real name is, what's your endgame here?"
"I'm just doing my job."
"No." Mercer shook his head. "You're doing something far more personal. The question is whether it involves national security."
A new element entered Atlas's calculations. Mercer wasn't after him specifically. The investigator was probing for something larger, something that might justify federal involvement.
"The Finnegans aren't exactly national security concerns," Atlas remarked.
"Their business interests extend into defense contracting, international shipping, and biomedical research." Mercer tapped his keyboard, bringing up a complex network diagram. "Three subsidiaries have government clearances. Two are involved in classified projects."
Atlas hadn't known this. A small miscalculation that could have been disastrous.
"So that's why you're here." Atlas nodded thoughtfully. "Following the money."
"Among other things." Mercer echoed Atlas's earlier words.
A security guard appeared at the doorway. "Sir, Mr. Finnegan is requesting an update."
Mercer sighed. "Tell him I'll be there shortly." Once the guard left, he turned back to Atlas. "Duty calls. Try not to steal anything while I'm gone."
The jest carried a warning. Mercer knew exactly what Atlas wanted.
After Mercer departed, Atlas remained motionless for exactly sixty seconds, counting his heartbeats. Then he pulled out his phone, typing rapidly: "Emergency extraction required. Signal jamming for three minutes."
The response came immediately: "Commencing in 30 seconds."
Atlas counted down in his head. When he reached zero, a distant electrical hum was the only indication that all wireless signals within a half-mile radius had been neutralized. Security cameras continued recording but couldn't transmit. Communication systems went dead.
Three minutes. That's all he had.
He moved swiftly. The DVD wasn't his primary target, it was merely a copy. What mattered was what lay inside Mercer's laptop: the decryption algorithms attempting to c***k his files.
Atlas's fingers flew across the keyboard, navigating through Mercer's sophisticated security measures. The man was good, but Atlas had spent five years preparing for this moment. Backdoors within backdoors, trojan horses hiding in plain sight.
He inserted a specialized flash drive, its programming immediately executing a mirroring protocol that duplicated Mercer's decryption progress while simultaneously corrupting his original work.
Two minutes remaining.
Atlas pocketed the flash drive, then turned his attention to the DVD. He inserted it into his phone's specialized reader, initiating a high-speed copy.
The screen flickered to life, displaying exactly what he expected: footage from Anola's study, Hannah and Anola entangled in depraved acts. His face was visible in several frames, though the quality was poor, someone had recorded the security feed directly rather than accessing his original files.
One minute remaining.
Copy complete, Atlas removed the DVD, replacing it with an identical disc he pulled from his jacket. This replacement contained similar footage but with a crucial difference, James Reed's face had been digitally replaced with someone else's, a generic figure whose features wouldn't be recognizable.
Thirty seconds.
He reset Mercer's laptops exactly as he'd found them, erasing all traces of his intrusion. The corrupted decryption would fail in approximately eight hours, by which time Atlas would be ready for his final move.
Ten seconds.
Atlas slipped from the room, resuming his position in the corridor just as the signal jamming ceased. Wireless communications resumed, security feeds reconnected, and everything appeared normal.
Mercer returned minutes later, his conversation with Aaron evidently concluded. He paused upon seeing Atlas still lingering nearby.
"Still here, Reed?" Mercer raised an eyebrow.
"Security concerns don't wait for morning," Atlas replied smoothly. "And with tonight's incident, everyone's on edge."
Mercer studied him thoughtfully. "Indeed." He moved back to his workstation, scanning it with practiced eyes. If he noticed anything amiss, he gave no indication.
"You know," Mercer said conversationally, "in chess, the best players think five moves ahead."
"And the masters?" Atlas asked.
"They realize the game began long before the pieces were arranged on the board." Mercer's gaze was penetrating. "Good night, Reed. I suspect tomorrow will be... illuminating."
As Atlas walked away, his phone vibrated with confirmation: "Files secured. Decryption in progress."
- Writer
