Chapter 18 : The Daggett Job — Part 1
The Daggett Industries building rose against the night sky like a monument to corporate arrogance.
I stood in a service alley across the street, dressed in a maintenance uniform Selina had procured. Badge, clipboard, work boots—the uniform of invisibility. Nobody looked twice at maintenance workers. Nobody remembered their faces.
The earpiece crackled. "In position?"
"Ready."
"I'm on the roof. Starting descent in thirty seconds. Wait for my signal, then move."
I watched the building's entrance. Two security guards visible in the lobby, bored expressions, eyes on their phones. The night shift was the easy shift—nothing ever happened on the night shift.
Until tonight.
"Starting descent now."
I counted to thirty, then crossed the street.
The service entrance was on the building's east side, down a narrow alley. I swiped the access card Selina had obtained through means I hadn't asked about. The door clicked open.
Inside, a bare concrete corridor. Fluorescent lights. The smell of industrial cleaner.
I walked like I belonged. Toe, then heel. Weight centered. The lessons from three days of practice became instinct.
The security office was on the second floor. I took the stairs—elevators had cameras and logs—and emerged into another corridor. Beige walls, gray carpet, corporate artwork that nobody had ever actually looked at.
The security office door was closed. Light spilled from beneath it.
"That's wrong. The schedule said this office would be empty."
I pressed my ear to the door. Movement inside. Someone shuffling papers.
Plan B.
I knocked.
A pause. Then footsteps. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged guard, paunchy, confused.
"Yeah?"
"Building services." I held up the clipboard. "We've got a report of a water leak in the basement. Need someone to help locate the shutoff valve."
The guard's expression shifted from confusion to annoyance. "That's not my job. I'm supposed to be on desk duty."
"I understand. But the leak is spreading and my partner called in sick." I let frustration enter my voice—not hard to fake. "Look, I just need ten minutes. The sooner we stop the leak, the sooner I can file my report and we can both get back to what we're supposed to be doing."
He hesitated. I could see the calculation happening: potential water damage versus the effort of leaving his comfortable chair.
"Fine." He grabbed his radio. "Let me tell the front desk."
"Already notified them on my way in."
Another hesitation. Then a shrug. "Lead the way."
We walked toward the stairs. I kept him ahead of me, talking about the non-existent leak, buying time. When we reached the basement level, he moved through the door first.
I didn't follow.
By the time he realized I wasn't behind him, the door was locked and I was already climbing back toward the second floor.
"Eight minutes, maybe ten, before he gets the door open or radios for help. Plenty of time."
The security office was empty now. I slipped inside, closed the door, scanned the equipment.
Camera monitors showing sixteen different views. Alarm panel on the left wall, status lights glowing green. The camera loop device Selina had provided sat in my pocket, compact and complicated.
I found the main junction and connected the device. The screens flickered, then stabilized.
"Loop active," I reported into the earpiece. "Thirty minutes of repeated footage. You're invisible."
Static.
"Selina? Confirm receipt."
More static. A burst of garbled sound, then nothing.
"The communications failed. She mentioned building interference might be an issue, but..."
I checked the earpiece. Still functional on my end. The problem was hers, or the building's, or both.
"She's on the penthouse level. Twelve floors up. If something's wrong..."
Protocol said stay at my post. Keep the escape route clear. Trust my partner to handle herself.
Something in my chest disagreed.
I looked at the security monitors. Camera twelve showed the penthouse corridor—empty. Camera thirteen showed Daggett's office—also empty. No sign of Selina.
"She could be in the safe room. That area's not covered by cameras. That's the whole point."
Or something could have gone wrong.
The guard in the basement would be free soon. Other guards might come to investigate. Every second I delayed made the situation worse.
"Protocol says stay. But protocol doesn't account for..."
I thought about the last three days. The planning sessions. The training. The way she'd looked at me when she talked about trust.
"Can't leave a partner."
I locked the security office door from the outside and headed for the stairs.
The climb was endless. Floor after floor, each landing identical to the last. My legs burned—the training had been good preparation, but twelve floors of stairs was twelve floors of stairs.
Ninth floor. Tenth. Eleventh.
The penthouse level had different security: a reinforced door, keypad access, camera above. The loop was still running—I'd given us thirty minutes—so the camera saw nothing. But the keypad...
I tried the code Selina had given me. Nothing. Red light.
"Wrong code. They changed it. Or her intel was bad."
I tried again. Same result.
Behind me, the elevator dinged.
I froze. The elevator doors opened. A guard stepped out—not the one I'd locked in the basement. Someone new. Someone who hadn't been on any schedule we'd studied.
We stared at each other for a frozen moment.
Then his hand went for his radio.
I moved faster.
The distance between us collapsed. My hand covered his mouth before he could shout. My other arm wrapped around his neck, applying pressure, the same technique I'd used in the Marco operation.
He struggled. He was bigger than me, stronger, but I had leverage and surprise.
Ten seconds. Twenty.
He went limp.
I lowered him to the floor, checked his pulse—still there—and relieved him of his radio and access card.
The access card worked on the penthouse door.
The corridor beyond was dark, silent. Daggett's office was at the far end. The safe room was behind it.
I moved down the corridor, toe-heel, weight centered, breathing controlled.
The office door was ajar.
Inside, I found Selina.
She was crouched beside an open safe, filling a bag with documents. Around her, the office was immaculate—no alarms, no disruption, just the clean efficiency of a master thief at work.
She looked up when I entered. Her expression shifted from surprise to something else.
"I told you to stay at your post."
"Communications failed. I improvised."
"There's an unconscious guard in the hallway."
"He's fine. Just sleeping."
She stared at me for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"You know this completely throws off our timeline."
"We'll adapt."
"You're either very loyal or very stupid."
"Why not both?"
She laughed—that genuine, surprised sound I'd heard before—and returned to filling the bag.
"The bearer bonds are here. Documents too. Five more minutes and we're done."
I positioned myself at the door, watching the corridor.
"I can work with five minutes."
Behind me, I heard her working. The rustle of papers, the click of the safe closing.
"Broker?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for coming. Even though you weren't supposed to."
Something warm settled in my chest.
"Anytime."
The building creaked around us. Somewhere below, a guard was probably waking up with a headache. Somewhere above, the city waited.
But for the next five minutes, it was just us, the darkness, and the quiet certainty that we'd gotten away with something.
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