Chapter 7 - The Richmond Relay Station
The industrial park outside Richmond was dark and silent, save for the hum of overhead sodium-vapor lights casting long, distorted shadows across rows of corrugated metal warehouses. We parked three blocks away behind an abandoned delivery truck, killing our headlights before cutting the engine.
"The relay station is inside Unit 402," I whispered, holding up a small, sleek decryption tablet that glowed with a pale blue light. "It's an unlisted government annex officially designated for obsolete communications equipment."
Stellan checked the slide on his sidearm, the familiar metallic click echoing softly inside the car cabin before he secured the weapon beneath his jacket. "You stay in the vehicle, Rowan. Let me handle perimeter security."
"Negative," I said, opening my door and stepping out onto the cold asphalt. "This is a digital intrusion, Stellan. Your rifle won't do much good if they execute a remote wipe of the mainframe the second we trip the exterior sensor."
Stellan looked like he wanted to argue, but the stubborn determination in my eyes cut him off before he could speak. He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "You never did listen to orders when you were out in the field, did you?"
"I wrote the manuals on field protocol, Stellan. I know when exceptions apply."
We moved quickly and silently across the asphalt, hugging the shadowed wall of the warehouse complex until we reached the heavy steel service door of Unit 402. The exterior keypad was locked behind a biometric scanner, but I didn't hesitate. I pulled a small interface cable from my pocket, plugging it directly into the auxiliary maintenance port hidden beneath the keypad housing.
"Bypassing biometric lock in three... two... one," I murmured under my breath.
The heavy steel door clicked loudly before popping open an inch. Stellan immediately pushed it wide, drawing his sidearm as he stepped through the threshold into the dark, humming interior of the relay station.
Rows of towering server racks stretched into the gloom, their green and amber indicator lights blinking in rhythmic synchronization like the beating heart of some massive electronic beast. At the far end of the room, a single desk sat illuminated by the harsh glare of three dual-monitor computer setups.
And sitting at the desk was someone I recognized instantly.
Director Vance Turner, head of strategic defense acquisitions at the Pentagon, was frantically typing commands into a mainframe terminal, his tailored suit jacket draped over the back of his chair.
"Director Turner," I said calmly, stepping out from the shadows of the server racks with my decryption tablet held casually in my hand.
May you like
Turner froze mid-keystroke, slowly turning around in his chair with a look of absolute terror washing over his face as he stared at me. "Rowan Whitaker? What... what are you doing here? You retired this morning."
"I changed my mind," I replied, walking slowly toward his desk while Stellan covered the perimeter exits. "Administrative cleanup is such satisfying work."
