Buckley held up a tablet showing system diagnostics. "You completed ninety-seven percent of your upload before we stopped you. So close."
She kept her face neutral, but inside, relief flooded through her. He was reading old data. The last three percent had been the final accounts—the ones she'd redirected in those desperate last seconds.
"He's wrong," Finn whispered. "Upload was one hundred percent. He's looking at cached data."
"Nothing to say?" Buckley moved closer.
Sarah ignored him and glanced down at Griff. Blood seeped from his temple, his breathing shallow. Tank's tags pressed against her chest beneath her shirt, a reminder of another soldier who'd died for this truth. She forced her voice steady. "He needs medical attention."
"He’ll get it. I have plans for your boyfriend." Buckley gestured to his men. "Bring them both. Separately."
"No!" Sarah pulled against the contractors holding her. "Please, he needs?—"
"Finish it!"
The words were barely a whisper, but Sarah heard them. Griff's eyes cracked open. He was trying to tell her something. Not about the upload—that was done. About something else.
Then she understood. The USB. Still plugged into the server.
As they hauled Griff toward the door, his body suddenly convulsed. Not a real seizure—she was certain—but convincing enough that the contractors lowered him to the floor. In the commotion, Sarah twisted, using her body toblock the view as she knocked the USB with her hip. It fell behind the server tower, disappearing into the mass of cables.
"USB hidden," she sub-vocalized, knowing the team would hear.
"Good girl," Doc's voice, warm and proud.
They dragged Griff out one door while contractors pushed Sarah toward another. Her last glimpse was of him being carried between two men, blood dripping steadily, leaving a trail on the concrete.
"We're tracking him," Ronan assured her. "Medical wing, third floor."
"Did you really think we didn't know?" Buckley asked as they marched her down a different corridor. "We've been watching since yesterday. Every move. Every plan. We knew you'd try for the server room."
Sarah stumbled, genuinely shocked. "Then why?—"
"Keep him talking, Bear Spray," Maya advised. "Intel is gold."
"I needed to know what you knew. How you found the switch. Who else knows." Buckley smiled. "And now I do. Your virus targeted the financial protocols exclusively. Which means you found one of my systems, but not the other."
Wrong. She found the auto-switch. But had she really succeeded in destroying it? The fear of failure made her lightheaded. She fought through it. She had one mission now. Keep Buckley talking.
“What about Griff? He needs medical attention. You can’t just––”
"Your boyfriend will live," Buckley continued conversationally. "He needs to. Tomorrow, when the Knight Tactical team attempts their assassination, the famous Ghost will be the one who confesses. Under duress, of course. Brain damage from tonight's injury. Tragic, really."
"Stay calm," Deke urged. "Don't give him a reaction."
"No one will believe?—"
"They'll believe what they see on live television. A broken soldier, manipulated by terrorists, confessing to a plot against America." Buckley paused at an intersection. "You'll watch, of course. Right before your unfortunate accident. The forensic accountant who knew too much, silenced by her own associates to prevent her from talking."
They turned down a service corridor. Sarah memorized every detail—B-level, west wing, past the laundry facilities.
"Got your location," Zara confirmed.
The maintenance room was small, concrete, dominated by water pipes and electrical panels. They shoved her against a vertical pipe, zip-tying her hands behind it. The position forced her to remain standing, arms pulled back painfully.
"Maintenance room B-47," she managed to say as Buckley inspected her restraints.
"Recording everything," Finn assured her.
