“Carter!” Turner barked outside. “Get those security details up here now!”

“Sir, the Chief is inside,” Carter’s voice sounded weak, trembling.

“I don’t care if the President is in there,” Turner roared. “Break that lock!”

I walked back to the main terminal and began a secondary backup of the access logs.

My hands were cold, but my fingers moved with practiced accuracy.

I needed the digital footprint of the user who had initiated the original data siphon.

It had to be Turner’s personal credential key, used from his private office terminal.

The terminal screen showed the file paths clearing as I copied them to an encrypted external drive.

The drive was small, a black rectangle of plastic no larger than my thumb.

I pulled it from the port and slipped it into my pocket.

“They’re bringing a torch,” Hayes said, pointing to the bottom seam of the door.

A thin blue spark sputtered through the gap between the door and the sill.

The smell of burning paint and scorched rubber filled the small room.

“How long do you think we have?” I asked.