Part 27
The desert heat was oppressive,
baking the dusty road,
as they drove into Nevada.
They had rented a nondescript van,
posing as telecommunications workers,
wearing fake uniforms.
The warehouse sat in the middle of nowhere,
surrounded by chain-link fences,
and razor wire.
Cameras were mounted on every pole,
sweeping the perimeter,
recording every movement.
Julian parked a mile away,
behind a rocky outcropping,
out of sight.
He opened the back of the van,
revealing a massive array of antennas,
and hacking equipment.
"If their localized network emits any signal,
even a weak bluetooth ping,
I can catch it," he explained.
He powered up the generator,
the hum vibrating through the floorboards,
and started scanning frequencies.
Eleanor watched the perimeter through binoculars,
sweating in the intense heat,
documenting the guard patrols.
"Two men at the gate,
four walking the fence line,
all heavily armed," she reported.
"They are professionals,
ex-military," he noted,
typing commands into his terminal.
Hours ticked by,
the sun beating down on the metal roof,
turning the van into an oven.
"Nothing yet," Julian grunted,
frustrated.
"They have the place wrapped in a Faraday cage,
no signals are leaking out."
"There has to be a physical line,
a hardline connecting the cameras," she suggested,
looking at the poles.
"If we tap the camera feed,
can you route through it,
into their main system?"
"Theoretically," he answered,
wiping sweat from his brow.
"But someone has to go to the fence,
open the junction box,
and plug in a transmitter."
It was incredibly risky,
a desperate move,
in broad daylight.
"I will do it," she said,
grabbing a small black device,
from his toolkit.
"No,
I am the trained operative,
I go," he argued,
standing up.
"You need to be on the keyboard,
ready to extract the files,
the moment I connect it."
He knew she was right,
but he hated it,
hated putting her in the crosshairs.
"Two minutes,
that is all you have between guard patrols," he warned,
handing her a specialized tool.
She slipped out of the van,
crawling through the dry brush,
keeping low to the ground.
The desert sand scraped her elbows,
thorns tore at her clothes,
but she kept moving.
She reached the fence line,
hiding behind a large cactus,
waiting for the patrol to pass.
Two guards walked by,
chatting casually,
their rifles slung over their shoulders.
As soon as they turned the corner,
she sprinted to the junction box,
at the base of the camera pole.
Her hands shook,
as she used the tool to pry it open,
exposing a nest of wires.
She attached the transmitter,
clamping it onto the main data line,
and clicked the power button.
A small green light blinked on.
She turned,
and ran back into the brush,
just as the next patrol rounded the corner.
She lay flat against the dirt,
holding her breath,
praying they didn't see her footprints.
They walked past,
May you like
oblivious.
She had made the connection.
