They drove in silence until Rogue spied a hotel from the motorway. She turned off and parked in a pub car park half a mile away, remaining cautious, sure that this car would have been reported stolen by now. She paid for three rooms on one of her credit cards, switching back to her English accent for the first time in years and ordering both Spencer and Juliani to remain quiet. The last thing they needed was the receptionist asking for passports and then logging them on the system.
Minutes later she was finally alone. She padded the length of the room, crossing to the window. Beyond the drapes sat the hotel car park and, across the road, a darkened restaurant. Nothing moved, no cars, no people, not even a stray cat. The ground was slick with rain, illuminated sparingly by the glow of stark white streetlights. She shut it out, turned around and stared at the inviting double bed.
Oh, how I’ve missed you.
But first, a shower to wash off the dirt and stink of seven days at sea. She stripped, placing the clothes in a heap next to the room’s small bin. There was a spare set in her go-bag that she’d purchased at some gas station between Miami and Los Angeles. The hot spray felt so good she closed her eyes and stood there for five whole minutes without moving. It had been a stressful crossing with the two men. This was the first time she’d felt able to relax. She washed, grabbed a towel, and wrapped its thick folds around her body. Then she checked the door and windows once more before flinging herself onto the bed. As an afterthought she rose and wedged the room’s only chair under the door handle. Then, without removing the towel, she fell instantly asleep on top of the bed sheets, entering her first dreamless sleep in years.
*
Mid-morning found them on the road again. They asked the hotel receptionist where they could hire a car and, one hour later, were driving a shiny new Land Rover Discovery. It was roomy, and big, and safe. It ate miles like cops ate donuts, and it had a host of electronic options to aid their comfort.
Both Spencer and Juliani looked rested. Rogue decided to break the bad news.
“Tonight,” she said. “I’m going into the Hub alone.”
Spencer looked aggrieved. Juliani seemed surprised. “That soon?” he said. “You don’t know what to expect.”
“Seven days at sea,” Rogue said. “Puts us seven days behind the Hellfire Club.”
“Wouldn’t it be an idea to catch up on the news?” Spencer said. “Is there someone you can ask?”
Rogue considered it. He was right. She needed to know what was happening. Spencer used his lap top to find out if Cesar was okay in Los Angeles, but it was useless sifting through all the murder reports since they left. Rogue decided it didn’t matter how far behind they were.
“We’re on their doorstep now.”
It was late afternoon before they crossed the outskirts of London. Rogue pulled off into another service station, grabbed some food and drink for now and more for later. Every ounce of training warned her to pace herself, to appraise the Hub for some time after they found it. But her heart and her need said otherwise. She wanted to hit the Old Men where it hurt as soon as possible.
Not surprisingly, the coordinates led them to a sprawling industrial estate. They threaded the roads past DIY warehouses, electrical outlets, car dealerships and much more. The road twisted in haphazard fashion, as if designed to be purposely vague. Spencer came up with the idea of stopping and taking a photo when they spotted an estate map. He then studied it in the passenger seat.
“If I match it up to Google Maps, the coordinates point to a long rectangular shaped building with a dog-leg to the eastern side,” Spencer said. “The building next to it is square. Can you see anything like that?”
Rogue had no trouble spotting it, using Spencer’s descriptions. The Hub was disguised as a Clothing Warehouse, which kept it vague but made for a reliable front. Rogue assumed they’d probably bought out an old manufacturer, kept the machines and the stock, and just installed their Hub somewhere inside, where it could be easily guarded. It was what she would do.
The long, low building needed a coat of paint, but blended in well with the industrial estate. She drove past, taking note of the reception annex at the front, the parking areas of other buildings to both sides, and the row of trees at the back.
“Some good cover there,” Spencer said, staring as they drove by.
“No,” Rogue said. “It’ll be crammed with sensors. The only way in is through the roof.”
“Of course,” Spencer said, nose to the window. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re not an assassin,” Juliani said. “At least, not without a controller in your hand.”
“It’s what I expected,” Rogue said. “And why I’m opting for no reconnaissance. Without weeks of prep and somehow effecting a visit, we can’t possibly know the internal set up. If it’s anything like I’ve come across before, I’ll be fine.”
“And if it’s not?” Spencer asked.
“I’ll improvise. Why, are you worried?”
“Didn’t you know?” Juliani laughed. “You’re his new mommy.”
Spencer whipped his head toward the back seat. “Says a man employed by murderers.”
“Hey, you know there’s a reason-”
“Stop it, you two,” Rogue said, feeling very much like a mother scolding her children. “We’ve got work to do.”
They worked out the building’s measurements. They bought a drone and took aerial photos. Rogue figured out three different escape routes. They built several contingencies into their plan and noted the whereabouts of the closest police station, motorway, and other things like bus depots and train stations, and meeting points in case they were separated. They took the time to buy more clothes and provisions, more burner cell phones and even some blonde hair dye. Rogue didn’t want to be caught out. Finally, she tracked down a man who could source her some low-key explosives and made a short journey to collect them. Shadowy MI6 operatives had called on his services before. He had no clue that she was supposed to be out of the loop but why would he? MI6 and the leaders of the Hellfire Club hardly sent out newsletter updates every week.
A little after midnight they were sitting in the Land Rover outside a twenty-four-hour McDonalds, ready to go.
Rogue let the minutes tick past a little more. She wanted to move in that optimal time between two and four a.m. And she had a small problem, which Spencer had raised.
“What are you looking for in there?”
“The Hub,” she said irritably and then understood he’d actually thought about his question. “It must be a computer array.”
“And you’re familiar with computers? Back doors. Brute force. Doxing. Black and grey hat. Keystroke logging. Trojan horses.”
“You want to return to cyber-crime now?” Juliani asked him.
“How are your hacking skills?” Spencer aimed the question at Rogue.
“I can get by.”
“You know you’ll only get one shot at this.” Spencer said. “If you mess up tonight, you’re done.”
Rogue tapped her finger on the steering wheel. “Of course I know that. Juli asked if you wanted back in to cyber-crime.”
Spencer hesitated for a moment. “I used to help out Anonymous. I can do just about anything you need.”
“Wait,” Juliani said. “You’re offering to go in there with her?”
“Sure. When Rogue and I are inside all she has to do is point me to the right terminal.”
Rogue couldn’t help but wince. How had it come to this? But with little planning came desperate measures. “I don’t know,” she said. “It feels wrong.”
“Hey, I did good things for Anonymous too. They’re cool. Or they were. Why not take me as a last resort? If you fail, I can step in.”
She regarded him for a moment. His ordinary hair and his faint, geeky smile. His soft face and the way he squinted ever so slightly. This was about to become the weirdest operation ever.
“I’ll keep you safe,” she said. “So long as you
follow my commands without question.”
“You have to be kidding . . .” Juliani ran a nervous hand across his brow.
“Stick to the plan,” Rogue said. “It hasn’t changed.”
With that, and as one-thirty approached, she exited the car and melted into the night. Foliage stretched around the back of the McDonalds, and all the way to the industrial estate. They would follow it for half a mile. Rogue led, her feet sure on the squelchy ground. Their clothes soon became wet from dripping trees and soaked bushes. Soon, they approached the building that housed the Hub.
Rogue pointed out the cameras which were on rotating poles. Ideally, she’d have had someone spoof the feed but tonight they had to go old school. She counted out a four second window and ran to a blind spot at the back of the building. She turned and held her fingers up, counting down for Spencer to follow her lead. He arrived seconds later.
“Good.”
A drainpipe provided a way up to the roof. Rogue climbed soundlessly, her shoes soft and light but with thick rubber grips on the soles. Once up top, she relaxed. Very few people keep watch on their roofs. Spencer took his time, following her directions. He fell and slipped once, but landed on his backside, which cushioned the fall. One minute of grimacing and rubbing his spine later he was ready to try again.
“Get going,” Rogue had never been known for her soft touch. When Spencer slipped again, she seriously considered sending him back. His knuckles were bleeding and his arse had to be black and blue. Still, he jumped up and gamely took hold of the drainpipe for a third time.
“Whatever you do,” she whispered down. “Don’t fall from the last few feet. You’ll probably die.”
His determined smile encouraged her. A few minutes later he was climbing over. She reached out a hand to help.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Are you okay?”
“My ass needs a massage,” he groaned
“Well, don’t look at me. Are you ready?”
Spencer nodded. Rogue checked the area once more. The trees to the rear were swaying in darkness, moved by a heavy breeze. The sky was black and moonless, strewn with a patchwork of scattered clouds. To their left, the industrial estate spread out, a dark network of roads and buildings. Head down, she crept to the centre of the roof.
Working swiftly, she used a screwdriver to undo four bolts that secured a flat skylight. It was locked from the inside, but removing the bolts made it loose. She could then slip a small tool inside to force the locking bar away from its housing. She’d made the tool whilst they waited, working from the memory of the dozens she’d made before.
The skylight lifted out with the barest scraping sound. Rogue leaned over the exposed hole. Below, she saw mounds of clothing and several dormant machines, all lit by a dull white light. Nothing moved. She listened for sixty seconds but heard no sounds.
“We’re good.”
She tied the rope she’d brought to a roof girder and let it unfurl. Then, she drew her handgun, grabbed the rope and shimmied into the warehouse. A few feet down she stopped to survey the scene, slowly turning. Machines and piles of clothing filled the room. There were doors to both ends and no windows.
Perfect.
She slipped quickly to the floor and beckoned Spencer. Thinking ahead she pulled a pile of clothing to the bottom of the rope. Incredibly, he didn’t need them, just landed on his feet and showed her two rope-burned hands.
“Ow.”
“Stop whining.”
She turned toward the far door and then suddenly stopped.
A man stood there, staring at them.
“Who the hell are you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Rogue didn’t hesitate. She sprang at the man, noting the handgun in his waistband, the tattoos across his throat and how fast he reached for the gun. It was going to be close. Of course, if she hadn’t had to wait for Spencer, she’d have evaded this guy.
They collided. The man staggered against the wall. Rogue fell at his feet. It had been a last-ditch jump. He was still tugging at his gun. Rogue rose and smashed two fists into his abdomen. She broke his nose and then brought an elbow down onto the nape of his neck. Still, he struggled for the gun.
“Give it up,” she breathed. “Know when to let go.”
He was head down on the floor. She climbed on top of him, looped an arm around his neck and squeezed until he fell unconscious. Next, she grabbed duct tape from her pack, placed a strip across his mouth, and bound his arms and legs. She rolled him into a corner and covered him with a pile of clothing.
They left the room and traversed several dark corridors, seeing no sign of security cameras. “We’re still stuck in the front business,” she told Spencer. “We’ll know when we near the Hub.”
“You mean,” he pointed ahead. “Something like that.”
Rogue cursed silently. They came up to a door that looked like it was made of iron, secured in a sturdy frame and covered by two CCTV cameras.
“Now what?” Spencer asked.
“Now it gets loud,” she said. “And messy. You ready?”
“If I was ready, I wouldn’t look this scared.”
“Stay behind me.”
“Always.”
She paused. “What?”
“No, I didn’t mean always. I meant, well . . .”
Rogue pulled out one of the explosives she’d secured earlier. Now she threw it at the door and ducked into an alcove, pulling Spencer with her. The explosion shattered the silence and battered her eardrums, magnified in the enclosed space. She rose in its wake and ran to the damaged door.
It hung off its hinges, sagging into the next room. Rogue jumped through the gap, gun up, to find a small square space with a desk to the right. One man was on his knees in front of it, blood dripping from his ears. Another leaned upon it, coughing and shaking his head. A third appeared to have taken a piece of debris to the chest and was lying facing her, eyes open, clearly dead.
All their guns lay on the floor.
Rogue had no time. She shot the one with blood pouring out of his ears and ran to the one on the desk. A low-key alarm was bleating. Smoke billowed around the room. She saw Spencer turn to watch their backs.
Rogue hauled on the collar of the man who was leaning against the table, dragging him to the floor. He landed with a crash. She flipped him over, straddled him and buried her gun barrel into his left eye.
“The code,” she said. “Or a bullet.”
“Three, two, five, six.”
She backhanded him with the gun, rendering him unconscious, then rose and ran over to a far door. She entered the numbers into the keypad, expecting them to work. The door slid open. As she glanced back, and Spencer caught her eye, she nodded down at the floor.
“Grab his gun.”
“I can’t. I-”
“I saw you instinctively move to cover my back. Now, that’s all well and good but what are you gonna cover it with? Your fabulous knowledge of Bon Jovi lyrics? Just grab the fucking gun.”
She entered the room, hearing a shuffle behind her as Spencer followed orders. Once they were inside, she closed the door.
“They’re coming,” Spencer said, walking to her side. “I heard them.”
She fired at the keypad, fusing the locking mechanism. She looked around the room. “We have a few minutes.”
“Then what?”
“Just get ready to do your Anonymous magic.”
Spencer leaned over a desk that held a bank of computers. “It’s a multimonitor set up,” he said. “Encrypted. We need to get in and grab some data. Do we have something to store it on?”
“Nope. My memory is my flash drive.” Rogue said.
“Funny,” Spencer started to press the keys. Lines of script ran across the central screen. Rogue grimaced when someone started hammering at the door.
Spencer looked up. “Is that door bullet proof?”
Rogue picked up her gun and fired a shot. Her bullet barely dinted the metal. “The
re you go.”
Spencer took a long deep breath. “Thanks, I think.”
“Can you do it?”
“Of course I can. What do you think I’m doing? Scanning for Chinese takeaways?”
“You’re looking for any reference to the Hellfire Club. The Three Old Men. MI6 cross matches. Anything.”
“I know that.”
“Well hurry up, they’re gonna be through any minute.”
“Shit.” Spencer hunkered down and worked harder, sweat starting to run down his face.
There was another crash outside the door and then the sound of gunshots. Bullets struck metal. The keypad fizzed and sparked. She took stock of the room as Spencer flinched and tapped away. To their right stood several rows of hard-drives, their green, blue and red lights blinking randomly. They’d been placed on tables, with endless coils of wires running underneath. Rogue estimated it would take months to trawl through the wealth of information stored here, but all she needed was one piece.
Anything on the Three Old Men.
“What the hell is that?” From the corner of her vision, she saw a brief flash of fire. When she looked over something appeared to be fusing among the hard-drives. Spencer let out a low whistle.
“Whoa, that’s a burn vault. You see it?”
Rogue hadn’t figured the white metal frame surrounding the hard-drives was anything more than a useful, homemade cabinet. But its strong metal frame and veneer of thin glass suddenly took on meaning.
“I’m assuming a burn vault is used for destroying the hard drives if they’re ever compromised?”
“That’s right. I must have missed out a protocol when I started typing.”
“How long do we have?”
“Not a clue. I’ve read about them, even came up against one on Roblox. Nothing more.”
“Roblox? What the hell’s a Roblox?” she thought quickly as she spoke.
“Right . . . well . . .”
Rogue Page 14