Blaise whispered into his mic, “Bravo Team has passed the front desk.”
The camera designated as Alpha Team swiveled. Farther over the tarpaper expanse, five more people crawled to the edge.
Tristan found that group’s feed, where a man muttered, “Charlie Team is in position,” and Blaise relayed it.
That Irish guy’s voice whispered, “Delta Team is in position,” but their browser window was nothing but darkness.
Dammit, Tristan had wanted to see Colleen, just to make sure she was all right and they were keeping her in a safe place.
Blaise, who’d been watching other browser windows, said, “Bravo team is in the elevator. Final countdown has started.” He typed a few strokes on the keyboard, obviously running a pre-positioned program. “Control of the closed-circuit security system is confirmed. Repeat, security system is confirmed, and Echo Team is a go.” Tristan and Blaise were Echo Team, the technology division of the operation.
Tristan asked him, “So it looks like you hijacked the security cameras’ video feed. The security personnel watching the closed-circuit monitors, are they watching a video loop?”
Blaise nodded but added, “Yes, it is a loop, but I’ve written a video manipulation algorithm to shake things up. Just like how you can digitally alter videos for social media like with FaceTune, I built a randomizer into my algo to subtly change people’s appearances and the colors of their clothes. That way, the security guards won’t get suspicious because they’ve seen the same woman in a bright red dress walk out of the elevator exactly every seven minutes for the past half hour.”
“Nice,” Tristan said. “We should talk sometime. I have some interesting ideas—”
“Sure, you have,” Blaise mumbled. “Everybody who’s not in the cybersecurity business thinks they’re a hacker.”
Tristan backed off. Blaise was busy, and Tristan didn’t need to get in a pissing contest with a guy who was obviously very good at his job.
Blaise Lyon watched the monitors and muttered into the microphone, “Bravo Team has exited the elevator and is in the stairwell to the penthouse. T minus three minutes.”
Tristan found a browser window showing the four guys barreling up concrete stairs. The operation was beginning. It should only be a matter of minutes before Jian and Anjali were safe.
But before that, Colleen might be in danger.
“That Eian Summerhays guy, he’s good at his job, right?”
“Can’t talk right now,” Blaise said.
“Colleen Frost is on Delta Team because she’s supposed to make sure Anjali doesn’t panic and try to fight off the guys who are trying to rescue her. I don’t like that Colleen is going in there at all. I just want to make sure this Eian Summerhays guy can do his job and protect her.”
Blaise repeated,“Can’t talk right now.”He clicked on the mic. “Bravo Team is at the stairwell door. Electronics are a go.”
On the screen, one of the guys held a box-like contraption over the electronic lock on the stairwell door that was supposed to be opened with a key card or QR code on a phone screen. After a second, a green light flashed on the top of their device.
A voice came over the speakers. “Bravo Team is in position and ready.”
Blaise whispered into the mic, “Bravo Team at T minus five seconds. Everyone else at T minus ten seconds. Countdown for Bravo Team. Go Bravo Team in five, four,—”
Tristan held his breath.
When Blaise said,“One,”the mercenaries in the stairwell opened the door and swarmed to the next door over, which Tristan recognized as the door to the presidential suite at the Boulders Resort. They applied their device to the door’s electronic lock.
Blaise was already counting down. “Delta Team stand at the ready. Alpha and Charlie Teams go at T minus five seconds. Five, four—”
Tristan held onto his knees, his fists clenching as he watched the rescue proceed, and he tried to catch a glimpse of Colleen on Delta Team’s surveillance feed.
Blaise said, “One.Go.”
38
Delta Team
Colleen
Colleen lay on warm desert dirt, glad that she’d worn denim jeans the previous day when they’d been breaking and entering at GameShack. But she was regretting her choice of the cotton tee-shirt that had been delivered. The grit of the soil ground right through the thin knit, dusting her stomach with fine, dry clay.
