Page 136 of Stealing Blinds

Axel’s boisterous laugh blasts into my ear, combatting “Closing Time” now playing for our theme music and a chorus of congratulatory sentiments.

“Looks like we need to get packed up,” Zara squeals. “Tell Mercy we love her, and we’ll get back as soon as we can.”

As I’m soaking that in and pondering what’s happening with Sylvie, Tatum toasts us with a deep thought.

“I like stories because they’re more controllable than reality. An escape.” He waves his hand between all of us. “But you lot … no matter where you are, you are the escape.”

Let’s hope so.

SYLVIE

Once I’m in the coal room, which is small and boxy and composed of musty brick, I wedge myself into the corner and scale the wall, bracing my back on one wall and using my feet on the other. The transom window that overlooks the hallway outside the bunker is my way in. It allows me to bypass the guards, provided they don’t hear me. They’re standing at the end of the hall, on the other side of the door.

The commotion from the rest of the crew is our method of keeping them occupied.

Part of the plan is to remove both transom windows. The second one provides access to the escape route within the walls. It should lead all the way to the wine cellar, but more importantly, we discovered it goes to the storage room that is our B route. It’s not an ideal exit because it’s so close to the crowd, but it’s still an out. So, I’m removing both ahead of time. An extra minute now could be a life-saving minute later.

I balance myself and dig into my backpack that is situated on my chest, the scents of damp soil and wet cardboard permeating the stale air.

First, I attach a suction cup to the glass that is also tied to my bag. That way, the window doesn’t crash to the floor when I cut it. Next, I drag a glass cutter—a handheld tool with a rotating steel disk—along the outside rectangle, soothed by the zipper-like sound that accompanies the scoring. It’s not hard, but it does require firm pressure, so from this perched-near-the-ceiling position, all my muscles are engaged.

After I make it all the way around, I push on the glass until it pops free and I can yank it back with the suction cup. Then I take sandpaper and file it down quickly to prevent any injuries. I deposit that piece on the ground; send a quick text, telling them what I’m doing and that I need the B route cleared; and repeat it all on the other window.

I breathe a little easier once I know Tessa will be able to alert me to any issue with leaving that way, but then I nearly choke when the glass from this transom window comes close to slipping.

“Shit,” I hiss as it clanks against the wall on the other side.

That’s a bumble we can’t afford. If it shattered, there would be guards on me in an instant. And I’d be …

No. Don’t go there.

Taking ten seconds to meditate, I gather the glass and leave it behind before boosting myself back up, throwing a towel over the sanded entry point, and climbing through. By the time I drop to my feet in the hallway, I have a few nicks and cuts, but nothing to worry about. Because of the two coded door entries and other security precautions, this area and the bunker I’ll be entering are not covered on the security cameras. I suspect that’s to ensure there isn’t a firm record of who comes in and out, which I suppose could be used against them.

It’s nonstop pandemonium on the comms, which is music to my ears. I scurry to the door to the target bunker, punching in the code that the guys obtained. It flashes green, so I open it, aware that my first order of business is to deal with the heat sensors.

There are two, each located just inside the threshold. They are small, rectangular boxes with a slightly curved lens on the front—passive infrared sensors. Their job is to sense my body heat. But their reach doesn’t travel beyond the door. So, I grab my mini liquid nitrogen canister to cool the temperature-detection mechanisms, jump to grip the top of the door casing, and carefully press the lever to spray, avoiding any contact with my skin. It shoots out of the long nozzle. First at the one on the right, then at the one on the left.

I hang there for a minute, glaring at them. The only way to test it is to move, so here goes nothing.

I drop, hold my breath, store the liquid nitrogen, and move forward.

When nothing happens, I turn my mic back on and report over the comms for confirmation. “Everything is looking nice and cool.”

“Copy that. Same on our end,” Liam replies.

Huffing out a cleansing breath, I finally take in the rest of the room. There are filing cabinets, but I don’t have time to peruse those. There’s also a big data computing system—tall cabinets with hard drives and lots of blue lights. And now it makes sense; this is likely something that is rented to multiple clients. High-dollar lethal clients.

I shut the door, in case someone comes down the hall, and move to the station that has a monitor hooked up to it.

I studied a lot about USB-based hardware authentication devices over the past several months, so it doesn’t take me much time to determine where to insert the three keys.

Once they’re in, a delightful ding resounds with a greeting and question: Welcome, Dominion! What would you like to do today? Input new files. Review files. Send files. Download all files.

I insert the high-capacity USB drive and click Download All Files as my heart thrashes against my sternum and a timer pops up.

“Seven minutes,” I report.

“All is good on our end,” Wells responds. “Stay your post.”