Partners in the Hunt

Rhys's suggestion was like a physical blow to Anya's protected burner. Vance's internal correspondence. records of appointments. Bellweather internal security reports. He no longer wanted her to break the regulations; instead, he wanted her to do things that, if caught, would result in her being arrested right away and facing charges that would almost certainly be considered espionage. However, it was inconceivable to let the frame-up stand and let Rhys take the blame while the true architect went free. She was picked.

Anya was pushed to the limit of her abilities to gather this level of intelligence. It was necessary to get beyond several protection levels in order to access executive-level email servers, including historical logs. In quest of exploits, she spent two restless nights examining network protocols that she had discovered from the OmniCorp data that Rhys had previously examined. A rarely used diagnostic port on a legacy server that had not been adequately firewalled after a recent system upgrade was the possible vulnerability she discovered. She used multi-layered proxies routed through offshore servers to remotely access the port late one night while physically present at task force headquarters but seeming preoccupied with routine case files. She had learned this technique in part from observing Rhys's own (suspected) methods via forensic reports, which added a bitter irony to the situation. Her heart was racing and her forehead was perspiring as her fingers skimmed over her encrypted device. It was like disarming a bomb with every command. In the hopes that it wouldn't set off automated signals, she targeted Vance's archived conversations for the crucial week and started a slow, massively throttled data transfer meant to resemble regular backup procedures.

Human interaction posed a distinct kind of risk in order to obtain the Bellweather reports. She pretended to be concerned about possible procedural errors brought to light by the bombing and went to OmniCorp's internal security liaison assigned to the task team. With an air of sincere thoroughness, she clarified, "I just wanted to make sure Bellweather didn't flag any prior concerns that were missed." "Could save us chasing phantom internal threats." In an effort to seem helpful, the liaison reluctantly gave her short-term, supervised access to Bellweather incident logs that had been redacted. Anya quickly transferred the complete, unredacted source files onto a hidden micro-drive when he turned away to take a call, her hand steady despite the tremble inside.

This time the fatal plunge felt infinitely more perilous. Before arriving, she conducted countersurveillance for an hour at a fresh location—under a loose stone in the foundation of an abandoned waterfront warehouse. She believed she saw movement twice, the flicker of reflected light in the darkness. Had Marcus been acting on his suspicions? Or someone completely different—someone involved in the frame-up? She canceled the first attempt, took a detour later, and eventually made the drop with her anxiety shot through the roof and every instinct telling her that she was taking a risk. The cryptic advertisement, which read, "For Sale: Binoculars, high power," felt like it was broadcasting her betrayal. were previously close to the waterfront.

The knot in Rhys's stomach tightened as he took the chip back. The data Anya had risked everything for presented a more glaring, unflattering picture back in the clean confines of his secondary safe house. Rhys, who is skilled at interpreting business euphemisms and covert directives, thought Vance's carefully coded communications to be damning. Allusions to "Project Chimera," which is probably the bombing scheme. Before he could "compromise Project Nightingale," which may have been OmniCorp's contentious development project, he made reference to "neutralizing the Ghost asset." Days prior to the attack, a recognized high-level fixer with expertise in corporate espionage and extralegal solutions was set to conduct encrypted communications. A late-night meeting at a private airport was erased from the calendar.

Bellweather's internal security findings were just as devastating. Vance's chief of security, who was personally involved in the coded emails with the fixer, approved the reports despite the fact that he had been reported twice in the previous month for unpredictable conduct and illegal access attempts. Not only was Bellweather complicit, but he was also a pawn, either forced by his gambling debts before being silenced or meant to be silenced by the blast itself.

Harrison Vance, the CEO of OmniCorp, was the obvious architect. The goal was to silence Rhys and possibly use the situation that resulted to advance his contentious "Project Nightingale." The strategy: a clever frame-up that took advantage of Rhys's public reputation and internal resources.

A chilly rage hardened inside Rhys. However, anger wouldn't absolve him. He required conclusive evidence, something tangible that connected Vance to the bombs materials and the fixer. Though maybe debatable, the coded communications and records were suggestive. The most intriguing lead appeared to be the fixer and Vance's chief of security meeting that was scheduled to take place at a remote private hangar outside of the city, as indicated in Vance's disjointed logs. They have to know what was said and what was exchanged.

He communicated with Anya through their secure channel, presenting the fresh results and a bold suggestion: placing a tiny audio/video recording device close to the hangar's private meeting space prior to the planned encounter. Intimate knowledge of the location, exact timing, and evading sophisticated security were all necessary—a perfect storm that called for both of their abilities.

From the beginning, the operation was tense. Anya utilized her credentials to remotely loop the perimeter camera feeds for a crucial ten-minute window, pointed out security patrol blind spots obtained from FAA filings, and provided comprehensive satellite imagery of the airfield. Equipped with electronic bypass tools and specialist climbing gear, Rhys moved at a quiet, practiced pace as he scaled the outside of the hangar in the dark.

"Approaching target window," Rhys whispered into his encrypted communication device while he held on to a ventilation shaft close to the outside wall of the meeting room. "Feed loop active?"

"Affirmative," Anya said from her parked car kilometers away while using a laptop to keep an eye on the airfield's security network and police channels. "Loop got involved. You have ten minutes, exactly. Note that the regional sheriff's patrol will be passing close to the access road in twelve minutes.

Rhys got to work fast, inserting the fiber-optic recorder and drilling a micro-optic hole. Suddenly, on Rhys's wrist display, an unexpected internal motion sensor that was not part of the plans Anya obtained lit softly. Unscheduled, someone was in the hangar.

"Obstacle," Rhys inhaled deeply. "Internal movement, sector four."

"Rhys, stop! "Leave!" Panic tightened Anya's voice as she shouted. Protocol cried out to back off.

"No. Nearly there. Rhys evaluated the circumstances. Their only hope before the meeting was now gone if they retreated. He turned off his radio and slid farther into the shadows above the rafters to wait. Fortunately, no one noticed the lone mechanic moving through the hangar below, probably working late unofficially. Rhys remained still, all his muscles tensed, holding his breath. At last, the mechanic departed.

"Clear," said Rhys, turning on his comm again. "Proceeding." His final placement of the device coincided with Anya's urgent voice.

"Hey, Rhys! In sixty seconds, the loop will finish! Five minutes out for the sheriff's patrol!"

Securing the little transmitter close by, which was intended to transmit the recording later, he started his quick descent. The main entrance of the hangar suddenly swung open as he hit the ground, signaling the early arrival of Vance's chief of security.

"I made a compromise! Leaving the west side!" Rhys left his intended, more sedate escape path and ran across the asphalt toward the surrounding gate.

Anya related, "Police radio chatter picking up anomalous activity report near airfield – possible trespass," in a strained voice. "A car is being dispatched. "Rhys, flee!"

Headlights swept across the airfield as he hopped the fence. Anya's familiarity with the area took him via communications to an ancient access trail in the dense woods that bordered the property, where he vanished from view of the patrol car that was coming.