After one of the most unremarkable, yet anxious weeks of my life, I was finally back in New Jersey.
The week had crawled by. I'd spent most of it aimlessly tooling around the warehouse, occasionally venturing out for walks through the city to burn off nervous energy. On these enthusiastic walks I discovered two very good delis, an excellent Jamaican place, and some surprisingly decent KBBQ. Small victories while I waited for AIM to finish their current project.
I'd also reviewed the material Vito had given me repeatedly, looking for anything I might have missed. There wasn't much for me to go off of. Just further confirmation that I needed AIM's help to make this work, which made the two-week delay even more frustrating.
Finally, at the end of one of the most stressful yet culinarily satisfying periods of my life, I returned to the familiar industrial park.
I nodded at the LMD receptionist. "Good afternoon." Just because she wasn't sentient, and I was somewhat irritated by having to wait for a week, didn't mean I needed to be rude.
My mother always said politeness was free.
The thought surfaced before I could stop it, bringing the usual quiet ache behind it. I hadn't thought about my family in a while. Things had been hectic since Reynolds.
The LMD smiled with perfect professional courtesy.
"Jackson is waiting for you downstairs."
The elevator descent was as familiar as ever, ears popping at the usual points. When the doors opened, the main floor looked considerably different than my last visit. Things seemed much less frantic. The assembly line moved at a more relaxed pace and the supercomputer's fans seemed to be back at normal levels.
Jackson was waiting near the elevator, looking considerably more rested than Darrell had a week ago. He nodded at me without preamble. "This way."
He led me to the second elevator. We descended in silence, and made our way to the server room. The ambient noise of computers spilled out into the hall, and I could see that the server room door was open
Inside, the facility map I'd provided was displayed on the whiteboard, covered in new annotations and notes in multiple colors of dry-erase marker.
Becca was at her terminal, spinning her chair around as we entered. "Sup."
"Sup," I replied, stepping into the room. "You're done with your project?"
Jackson sat down in the corner, and began flipping through a notepad that had been on the nearby desk
She snorted. "For now. Physicists finally stopped needing everyone to help them with their project." She gestured at the map. "Which means we can finally get back to your little problem."
Darell entered the room, blinking groggily. "Morning," he grunted.
"Morning" I nodded.
Darell yawned, "Feels good to get some decent sleep after that."
Becca smirked. "I wouldn't know."
He sighed. "Lucky you."
"Lucky me indeed," Becca said, turning back to her terminal. "While you were wrangling the physics working group, I got some actual work done on Quince's project."
She pulled up a database schema. "Remember that chemical supplier I mentioned? Tristate? I own their system."
Becca smirked. "They're running VMS with a custom mandatory access control layer bolted on. Compartments, tiered clearance levels, the works. Whoever built it knew what they were doing."
Darrell perked up slightly. "How'd you crack the access controls?"
"Admin account still had its test configuration. It had the highest clearance and every compartment." She spread her hands. "Human error's a bitch."
She spun her chair to face me. "Point is, as far as their system's concerned, you'll have been working there for months, and will vanish as soon as you're done at Stane. I have a little DCL script to clean everything up when I'm done."
Darrell coughed. "I've been doing something myself, in the bits of spare time I could scrape together." He shifted in his seat. "I called an old colleague still at Stane. Guy worked at Stark International. I met him back when Grumman was collaborating with Stark on a joint project. We kept in touch."
"He's still there after the buyout?" I asked.
"Bitching about it constantly." Darrell rubbed his face.
"Stane brought in his own people, passed him over three times. Twenty years experience doing logistics work at Stark, now reporting to some business school graduate who got the job because he plays golf with someone Stane knows."
He shrugged. "I didn't have to dangle much. Mentioned we needed maintenance uniforms and some intel on the current layout, and offered him some money. He jumped at it. Said he'd been waiting for someone to give him an excuse to fuck over Stane."
Jackson looked up from his notepad. "I have three uniforms from Tristate. As for PPE, you'll be picking that up at the distribution center." He glanced at Becca. "Tell him about the manifest."
Becca spun her chair around. "The quarterly shipment includes some touchier chemicals. Standard procedure is goggles, half-face respirator, gloves for the delivery crew." She shrugged.
"Receiving at Stane will expect it," Jackson continued. "More importantly, it'll warp people's perceptions of your face." He set down his pen.
I nodded slowly. "Sounds fine."
"Good." Jackson tapped his pen against the notepad. "Now, about your team. When are you planning to read them in? I want to meet them beforehand. I don't want to bring them here, we'll meet on neutral ground. I can make time tomorrow at a warehouse in Newark."
I coughed briefly. "Sounds fine. I'd want to arrange a sale of the data once you've all had a look at it. Would that be possible through your cell? You'd obviously want a cut, and you have more connections for this sort of thing then I do?"
Jackson and Darrell exchanged a glance. I couldn't decode exactly what it meant.
"That's Patterson's department," Jackson said. "Let me get him."
He stood and walked to the intercom near the server room entrance. A brief conversation followed, and a few minutes later, the door opened.
Patterson entered, dressed in a blue AIM beekeeper suit. He nodded at me.
"You're interested in selling the data? I presumed you'd want to, so I've already put out some feelers. Our cell will take fifty percent off of the top, the rest is yours."
I raised an eyebrow. "Fifty percent feels excessive."
Might as well try to haggle a bit, see where that gets me.
Patterson countered. "You're getting the discounted rate."
He held up three fingers.
"You brought us good intelligence to work off of for sizing up the Stane facility, gave us the first look at whatever you've acquired, and as the cherry on top, you saved our mutual acquaintance Jimmy in that warehouse scuffle a while back. I rather like having Jimmy in my classes, and it would be a shame for him to die in such a stupid way."
He paused and continued. "Our cell has established relationships with corporate buyers, several nation states, and other AIM cells with specific procurement needs. We're also providing support for the heist. Fifty percent reflects the services we're providing. "
I put my hands up. "Fair enough."
After that, I took my leave, heading back to my underground home with a lot to think about.
I walked out of the Hell's Kitchen subway station, mind already running through how to pitch this meeting. Stack would be straightforward, just give him time and place. Judging by what I knew of Angela, she'd be ....trickier to handle.
I picked up the payphone receiver and dialed Stack's number first.
He picked up on the second ring. "Yeah?"
"It's Quince. Sorry I went quiet for a couple weeks."
"Figured you were working on something," Stack said, his tone unconcerned. "You got an update?"
"Meeting tomorrow. Newark. I'll brief you on operational details then."
Stack was quiet for a moment. "You bringing me in on the plan?"
"Yep."
"Aight. Whereabouts in Newark?"
I gave him the address Jackson had provided. An industrial warehouse near the Ironbound district. "Noon. Don't be late."
"Never am." A pause. "This gonna be worth the wait?"
"Yeah," I said. "It will be."
"See you tomorrow."
The line clicked dead.
One down.
I dialed the second number, the one Angela had given me. It rang four times before she picked up.
"Hello?" Her voice was different again. Slight Boston accent this time.
"It's Quince. Sorry for going dark the past week."
The accent vanished immediately. "I was wondering if you'd gotten cold feet."
"I had to coordinate some things with my... help. We're ready to move forward. We'll be meeting tomorrow to discuss operational details."
"Where?"
I gave her the Newark address.
"What time?"
"Noon."
"I'll be there."
The line went dead.
That had been surprisingly easy.
I hung up the receiver and headed back to the bunker. Tomorrow would either confirm Jackson's assessment that they could handle this, or I'd be back to square one.
The train to Newark was relatively empty. I got off at Newark Penn, caught a bus toward the Ironbound, and walked the last six blocks to the address Jackson had provided.
The warehouse sat on a quiet industrial street, brick facade weathered by decades of Newark winters. There were a few other warehouses nearby, most looking abandoned or minimally occupied.. A plain white box truck was backed up against the loading bay on the far side of the building. No markings, Jersey plates. AIM was already there.
I checked my watch: 11:55.
A woman was already waiting near the warehouse's side entrance. Black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, brown eyes, average height, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. No disguise this time, evidently.
Angela nodded as I approached. "Punctual."
"Surprised you're here early."
"I like to scope out meeting locations." She glanced at the warehouse.
Three minutes past noon, Stack appeared at the end of the block. He nodded to both of us as he approached.
"Quince. Ma'am," he said to Angela.
"Stack," I said. "This is Angela."
"We've met," Angela said coolly.
Stack's expression didn't change. "Yeah. Stoneface's return to the states."
Angela smirked.
Before either of them could elucidate further, the warehouse door opened. Jackson stood in the doorway, dressed in the same unremarkable khakis and a blue polo shirt. Darrell and Becca stood beside him, both wearing jeans and matching polo shirts. navy blue, with a logo embroidered on the chest. Black letters spelling A.I.M, with a stylized targeting reticle behind them.
"Come in," he said simply, stepping aside.
Stack looked at the polo shirts. "Not your normal outfits."
Jackson shrugged. "Too conspicuous to wear for this."
Stack snorted. "AIM cell I did business with wore the beekeeper suits everywhere. Swear they had them superglued on."
The warehouse interior was mostly empty. Bare concrete floor, exposed ceiling beams, a few old pallets stacked against one wall. In the center, Jackson had set up a folding table with chairs. The Stane facility layouts were spread across the table, along with building schematics, guard rotation notes, and what looked like sample documentation. Three pelican cases completed the spread of items.
And behind the table, silent and motionless, stood a Walking Stiletto.
Eight feet tall, gunmetal gray plating, blade-hands gleaming dully in the warehouse's dim light. It turned with a quiet whirr of servos to track our entry.
Stack barely glanced at it. Angela's eyes flicked to it for a fraction of a second, then back to Jackson and Darrell. Neither of them reacted beyond that.
Jackson noticed. A faint hint of approval crossed his face.
"Gentlemen. Ma'am." He gestured to the chairs. "I've worked with some rough sorts over the years. Our silent friend is just a precaution. Please, have a seat."
He settled into the chair at the head of the table, the Walking Stiletto standing sentinel behind him like a particularly expensive bit of furniture. Darrell took the seat to his left and Becca took the seat to his right.
"Let's talk about the Stane International job."
Jackson gestured to Darrell. "After our meeting yesterday, Darrell talked to his source and confirmed some interesting things."
Darrell opened the folder and pulled out several pages of notes. "Stane's situation is even worse than I thought."
He tapped the computer facility on the map. "The badge system's broken. When Stane took over, he brought in four of his own IT people to 'modernize' the system." A brief pause. "The former Stark IT head quit without documenting anything, so these geniuses decided to redo the whole thing from scratch."
"How'd that go?" I asked.
Darrell's expression did something that wasn't quite a smile. "Badge system was down for a week. They kludged part of it back online as of now. Some readers check against the database, some don't work at all. They're slowly unfucking it, but it's taking a while."
Stack raised an eyebrow. "So security's used to shit being broken by now?"
"More than that," Darrell said. "They're used to ignoring it constantly. When a badge fails they glance at the ID and wave people through. Stane's management made it clear they don't want delays."
"Which means good fake IDs aren't going to be checked too closely," I said.
Jackson pulled out a laminated badge from one of the pelican cases. "Exactly. After Darrell briefed me, we collaborated on these. Our source gave us a look at a Stane badge, and combined with Quince's intel, we made maintenance badges. They won't work in readers that actually check the database, but most of the facility is still having fits with the cardswipe system."
He slid it across to me. To my untrained eye, it looked excellent. A Stane International logo took up the left side, with placeholder text for the various field.
"As long as you act like you belong and the badge looks right, you'll get through," Jackson continued.
"What if they try to verify against the database?" Angela asked.
"Then you're blown," Jackson said flatly. "But the guards wouldn't bother with a manual check."
"How do we get into the facility in the first place?" Stack asked.
Becca cleared her throat. "Finally."
She stood up, looking pleased with herself. "I've got admin access to Tristate Chemical, a supplier that services Stane International. I own their entire system.. Their IT security is lame, but they've computerized almost everything. It's been fun."
Darrell looked slightly pained. "Please tell me you didn't-"
"Relax, I was careful," Becca said, waving her hand dismissively.
She turned back to the rest of us. "Here's what I'll do: Once we have names and photos, I'll add you three to their employee database. Backdated hire dates, realistic employment records. Then I'll run off some badges for the three of you."
"Then what?" I asked.
"I checked Tristate's scheduling system," Becca said. "They've got a big quarterly shipment to Stane that hasn't been assigned yet. Reagents, lab supplies, the works. The kind of delivery that'll take a bit to process. The LI plant is already expecting it at seven AM in a week." She smiled. "I just need to put your names on it."
"The regular crew?" Angela asked.
"Will think it got reassigned.." She picked up one of the badges from the table and turned it over in her fingers. " Tristate's lower level staff do whatever the computer says. They're not going to second-guess it."
"And Stane's side?" Stack asked.
Jackson shrugged. " They're already expecting it. Stane's receiving people will want the crew on site until the inventory check is complete."
Jackson spread out the facility map. "Here's the plan once you're at the plant. Truck pulls up to the biochem building loading dock, southeast sector. Angela, you're the face. You handle all paperwork and sign-off with receiving. Quince and Stack move boxes."
"Receiving will expect PPE for the unload," he continued. "Makes it considerably harder to get a good look at your faces. Angela, you'll need to take yours off for the face to face paperwork."
"I'll manage," Angela said, slightly dismissively.
I'd bet she would. From what little I knew about her so far, she was good at disguise.
Jackson looked at her for a moment, then moved on.
Stack glanced at Angela. "Still going to be suspicious. Three delivery people disappear, three maintenance workers who look the same show up."
"You won't look the same," Jackson said. "You'll look like three people in respirators and goggles who could be anyone. And you won't disappear at the same time." He looked at Angela. "While they change, you stay visible at the receiving desk. Manifest question, signature you need a supervisor for, whatever you need. Nobody remembers the delivery woman who had a paperwork issue. They remember if three people vanish at once."
Angela nodded. "Then I excuse myself to use the facilities."
"Room 2-14B, janitorial storage," Jackson said. "The maintenance bag is pre-positioned with uniforms and basic tools. Store the delivery clothes in the closet. Janitorial won't be using that closet until late evening. From there it's a short walk through the biochem building to the Computer Sciences development building. Monorail, second floor station, to the Main Computer Facility. System's half-broken, guards manually verify and wave people through. Three maintenance workers on the monorail is completely normal."
"What are we taking?" Angela asked.
"Daily backup drives," Darrell said. "The mainframe runs rotating sets. Seven complete sets, one per day, twenty drives each. The monthly backups are on tape in the basement vault, climate controlled, gas suppression, much harder to access. The daily HDD sets sit right next to the computer room for quick restores."
"Four to five hundred pounds on the dolly," Jackson added. "That's why you need all three people."
"And when they ask why we're taking them?" Stack asked.
Darrell leaned forward. "Computer facility staff are mostly Stark holdovers. They're the people who actually run the mainframe day to day, not IT." He paused. "You drop the name Benjamin Hargrave. One of the new managers Stane parachuted in at the plant. Known asshole. Sends written reprimands for coffee cups left in the wrong break room. " He shrugged. "Tell them he heard about a drive failure elsewhere in the facility and wants a backup set pulled for testing before end of day. Maintenance is handling transport because IT is stretched."
"What if they call him to verify?" Angela asked.
"They won't," Darrell said. "First off, Hargrave would metaphorically disembowel anyone below his pay grade who called him directly over something like this. They know that. Second, according to my contact, Hargrave doesn't usually come in until mid-morning at the earliest. You're arriving at seven AM. "
He spread his hands. " IT is genuinely slammed right now. Everyone at that plant knows it. Maintenance handling a transport because IT can't spare anyone is completely believable."
"They won't call to verify," Jackson said. "They might log it. But they won't squawk about something that looks like it came from above. The consequences of being wrong about that are worse than letting a maintenance crew pull a backup."
"There's a transit crate and pallet jack pre-positioned in the computer building," he continued. "Darrell's contact staged them. You load the drives into the crate on site, wheel it to the monorail and ride it back to the Computer Sciences development building."
He tapped the map. "Tristate cancelled a standing order with Stane just after the takeover. They've been waiting to collect the return on the next monthly delivery. Becca found the return note in Tristate's system. As far as anyone's paperwork is concerned, that crate is the cancelled order going back to the supplier."
"You change back, Angela finishes with receiving, you load the crate on the truck, and you leave the same way you came in." He looked at each of us. "Six months ago under Stark's management, none of this works. Right now that plant is in flux and nobody's in charge of anything. That's our window."
Stack looked at Darell.
"Your contact know what we're doing?"
"He knows we're grabbing something," Darrell said. "Doesn't know anything else. He's just happy someone's making Stane's life worse."
Angela examined one of the IDs. "He could still talk."
"He could," Jackson acknowledged. "But he won't. He's complicit."
Jackson tapped the table. "Any other questions about the plan?"
"What about comms?" Angela asked.
Becca pulled out a small case, revealing what looked like three Walkman-style devices with flesh-colored earpieces. "Finally get to use these. We built them for something else but never got a chance to use them. Bone conduction transceivers. The earpiece sits behind your ear. The radio clips to your belt, looks like a Walkman. We'll color-match the earpieces to your skin before you go."
"Range?" Stack asked.
"Mile and a half, maybe two," Becca said. "We'll relay through city radio infrastructure if we need to reach you - we're not transmitting near Stane directly. Don't know what they monitor for. But we'll be on comms when you're at Tristate Chemical." She smirked. "Those idiots wouldn't notice a brass band coming through the front door, let alone anomalous radio traffic."
She slid the case across the table.
The earpieces sat inside innocently, but to me they signified how fast this had come together. I'd been turning this over in my head for months, and it was strange to see it actually taking shape. Jackson was a old hand at this. The plan was solid. All the angles were covered.
I felt a spark of optimism pierce through my low-level anxiety.
As long as nothing unexpected happened, this was going to be fine