Chapter 12: Returning to the Source
The digital files transferred in a series of silent, rapid progress bars while the grey light of dawn began to creep through the high, wired glass windows of the warehouse office. Marcus sat hunched over the terminal, typing string commands to route the evidence simultaneously to federal oversight committees, independent medical boards, and three major investigative news syndicates across the country.
"If we only upload it from here, they'll claim it's a fabricated cyber attack originating from an outside activist group," Cole said, his voice raspy but steady as he leaned forward in the swivel chair. He looked over at me, his eyes dark and resolute beneath his heavy brow. "We need the original local server logs from St. Jude Memorial. The unedited database housed in the sub-basement archive. That’s the only physical proof Sterling can’t remotely wipe."
Miller, who had been standing by the door keeping watch through the small wire-mesh window, turned around slowly. "You’re talking about walking right back into the lion's den. Sterling knows you're missing, and his security detail will have every entrance locked down tighter than a vault."
"Not every entrance," I said, a sudden realization clicking into place as I remembered the old supply tunnels running beneath the hospital's east wing. "When I worked the night shift in logistics, we used the maintenance service elevator to bring in bulk pharmaceutical shipments. It bypasses the main security desk entirely and connects directly to the sub-basement archive room."
Marcus paused his typing and looked up at me. "Can you get in without triggering the alarm?"
"If the digital access codes haven't been changed since the merger, yes," I replied, reaching into my pocket to touch the cold metal of my hospital ID badge. Though my access would likely be flagged if I swiped at a primary nurse's station, the subterranean service logs operated on an isolated sub-network that rarely received administrative updates over the weekend.
Cole nodded slowly, placing a heavy hand on the mastiff’s head. "We go back in. We finish this before the morning board meeting starts at nine."
May you like
Miller rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a long, reluctant sigh before breaking into a tight, humorless smile. "Well, I always hated administrative paperwork anyway. Let's go check out your old basement, Nurse Vance."
We packed up the auxiliary drives, secured our jackets against the chill, and headed back down to the cruiser just as the morning traffic began to stir on the wet asphalt outside the press warehouse. The plan was dangerous, relying entirely on the element of surprise and the fading blind spots of an institution that believed its power was absolute.
