Ch.22: Infiltration

The Gilded Cage was a masterclass in industrial menace. Rust-streaked steel rose fifty feet above the water, topped with a helipad and a communication tower bristling with jamming arrays.

We huddled under the drone barge’s hull as it locked into the docking clamps with a metallic *thunk*. The noise was deafening—the groan of hydraulic lifts, the hiss of steam vents, and the constant, rhythmic pounding of the ocean against the pillars.

Silas tapped my shoulder. He didn't speak. He just pointed up.

A service hatch.

We climbed. My wetsuit clung to me like a second skin, cold and clammy. Every rung of the ladder was slick with oil and sea spray. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would crack a rib.

We reached the hatch. It was sealed with a heavy electronic lock. A red light blinked steadily in the darkness.

Silas pulled a small device from his belt—a decoder. He clamped it onto the lock.

Nothing happened.

He frowned. He tapped the device. Still nothing.

"It's hard-wired," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Sterling upgraded the encryption. My brute-force algorithm won't crack this in under an hour."

"We don't have an hour," I said, checking my watch. The drone barge would depart in twenty minutes. If we were still on the ladder when it undocked, the automated defense grid would shred us.

I looked at the lock. It wasn't just a keypad. It was a biometric scanner integrated with a corporate ID reader.

"Let me see it," I said.

I pulled myself up, balancing precariously on the ladder. I looked at the scanner. It was a model I recognized. The *Cerberus Mk IV*. Standard issue for high-security legal archives.

Sterling & Wolfe used these on their private elevators.

I reached into my waterproof pouch and pulled out the shard.

"That won't work," Silas said. "That's a data key, not an ID card."

"It's a mirror," I corrected, remembering Julian's words. "It copies credentials."

I didn't plug it in—there was no port. Instead, I held the shard against the scanner's NFC reader.

I closed my eyes and prayed. *Come on, Julian. Be the genius you say you are.*

Nothing happened.

The wind howled around us. My fingers were going numb.

"Harper," Silas warned. "We need to abort."

"No."

I pressed the shard harder against the plastic.

*Think. How does Sterling authenticate?*

He uses his own biometrics. But he also uses a master override code. A code that grants access to every lock in his empire.

And I had downloaded his server logs.

I remembered the scrolling text on the screen in my office. The metadata.

*User: Marcus Sterling.*
*Auth Code: 88-Alpha-Zero.*

I pulled my hand back. I punched the code into the manual override keypad below the scanner.

**8... 8... A... 0...**

The red light didn't turn green. It turned blue.

*System Admin Access.*

The heavy bolts retracted with a groan that sounded like a gunshot.

Silas looked at me, his one good eye wide.

"How did you know that?"

"I audited his expense reports for three years," I lied. I couldn't tell him I had stolen the keys to the kingdom. Not yet.

I pushed the hatch open.

We climbed up into a maintenance corridor. It was warm here, humid, smelling of grease and recycled air. Pipes ran along the ceiling, dripping condensation.

"We're in," Silas whispered, checking his rifle. "Now we move fast. The detention block is on Level 3. We're on Level 5."

We moved.

It wasn't like the movies. We didn't run. We crept. Silas took point, moving with a predator's grace, checking corners, disabling cameras with a handheld jammer. I followed, gripping my stun baton so tight my knuckles were white.

We reached a junction. A guard was standing by a vending machine, his back to us. He was wearing the same matte-black armor as the mercenaries at the courthouse.

Silas didn't hesitate. He stepped out, grabbed the man by the neck, and choked him out before he could even drop his soda. He dragged the unconscious body into a janitor's closet.

"Clear," Silas whispered.

We reached the elevator bank. Silas jammed the call button.

"This is too easy," I whispered. "Where are the patrols?"

"Shift change," Silas said. "0300. It's the only vulnerability in their schedule."

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

And my heart stopped.

It wasn't empty.

Standing inside the elevator was a woman. She wore a lab coat. She was holding a tablet. And she was looking right at us.

It was Dr. Aris. The coroner.

He froze. I froze.

"Ms. Vance?" he stammered, dropping his tablet. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't think. I stepped forward, raising the baton.

"Don't move, Aris."

He put his hands up. He looked terrified. But not of me.

He looked past me. To the camera in the corner of the hallway.

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered. "He's watching."

"Who?"

"Sterling."

The elevator doors tried to close. I jammed my foot in the gap.

"What are you doing on an oil rig, Doctor?" I asked, my voice trembling with adrenaline. "This isn't a morgue."

"It's a holding facility," Aris said, his eyes darting around. "For assets."

"Is my sister here?"

Aris swallowed hard. "Level 3. Room 304."

"Is she alive?"

He nodded. "For now."

Silas grabbed Aris by the collar and shoved him into the wall.

"If you make a sound, I will break your neck," Silas growled. "Get in the closet."

We shoved the coroner in with the unconscious guard and locked the door.

"Room 304," I said. "Let's go."

We took the stairs. Two flights down. My legs burned. My lungs burned. But the anger burned hotter.

Level 3.

The corridor was pristine white. Sterile. Like a hospital.

There were no guards here. Just heavy steel doors with small viewing windows.

Room 301. Empty.
Room 302. Empty.
Room 303. A man sleeping on a cot. I didn't recognize him.

Room 304.

I stopped. The door was different. It had a keypad *and* a biometric scanner.

"This is it," Silas said.

He raised his rifle, aiming at the end of the hall. "Open it. I'll cover you."

I stepped up to the door. I used the override code again.

**8... 8... A... 0...**

The light turned green.

My hand shook as I reached for the handle. What would I find? A hostage? A traitor? My sister?

I pushed the door open.

It wasn't a cell.

It was a luxury suite.

Plush carpet. A king-sized bed. A massive flat-screen TV playing a news loop of my face.

And there, sitting on a velvet armchair, sipping a glass of wine, was Mia.

She wasn't tied up. She wasn't bruised. She was wearing a silk robe.

She looked up as I entered. She didn't look surprised. She didn't look relieved.

She looked annoyed.

"took you long enough," she said, setting her wine glass down.

I stood there, water dripping from my wetsuit onto her expensive carpet. The stun baton felt heavy and useless in my hand.

"Mia?" I whispered.

"Close the door, Harper," she said, standing up. "You're letting the draft in."

She walked toward me. I stepped back.

This wasn't the sister I knew. The sister I knew was scared of thunder. The sister I knew cried when she watched sad movies.

This woman moved with a cold, predatory grace.

"You're... you're free," I stammered.

"I was never captured," Mia said, stopping a few feet away. She looked me up and down, her expression one of mild distaste. "Look at you. You look like a drowned rat."

"The video," I said. "The call. You were crying. You said they were moving you."

"Acting," Mia said, examining her fingernails. "I was always better at drama club than you were."

She looked up, her eyes hard as flint.

"I needed to get you here, Harper. I needed you to bring the key."

"The key?"

"The shard," she said, holding out her hand. "Give it to me."

"You're working for them," I whispered, the betrayal hitting me like a physical blow. "You're working for Sterling."

Mia laughed. A cold, sharp sound.

"Sterling thinks I'm working for him. Julian thinks I'm a hostage. You think I'm a victim."

She took a step closer.

"I'm none of those things, Harper. I'm the one who's going to win."

She nodded at the door behind me.

"Now give me the drive. Before Silas decides to shoot you in the back."

I spun around.

Silas was standing in the doorway. His rifle wasn't pointed down the hall anymore.

It was pointed at me.

The green light on the door lock flashed. I was in.

But I wasn't the infiltrator. I was the delivery girl.