The Packets are Gone

131.

We arrive at the bland and boring DC office space kept for the frequent visits necessitated by the political sensitivities of our operation. We are technically a hybrid arm of Homeland Security, specializing in counter-terrorism and domestic counter insurgencies. No one really questions from where our funding comes and that is for the best. We take the stairs up to the sixth floor where I immediately feel a chill in my spine. The chill tells me that something is wrong.

I push Julie to the side of the hallway, a right turn ten feet form the office, and reach beneath my jacket for the Glock. Julie’s eyes are tea platter size as she looks at me questioningly. I calm her with the classic down-pat hand motion and start to slide to the turn in the hallway, shielding her behind me should my suspicions prove correct.

I peek around the corner and see the office door slightly ajar. She sees it too and reaches into her purse for the vintage Sig Sauer P938 she carries for backup. I signal my intent to go in first and have her follow. I use a three finger descending count and move on the one.

I kick the solid-core door open and enter with both hands around the Glock. The main lobby area is empty so I use the same maneuver into the adjacent rooms, private office space and storage. There is no one there, so I give Julie the all-clear and she joins me inside.

She immediately accesses the minimal office damage and heads into the main office to log on.

“Looks like they knew what they were after. I thought I did a decent job of hiding the surveillance cameras but they were effectively disabled early in the break-in.” She is providing real time play-by-play as she checks the firewalls and backups for clues. “Our security encryption is a novel design that I doubt even Little Queenie could hack, and I don’t see any signs of duplicate files being downloaded, so maybe we got here before they had a chance to do any real damage.”

I listen from the other room as I access the condition of two file cabinets whose locks, including tumblers and barrel housings lay destroyed on the carpet’s nap.

“How sensitive is, ah… was, the paperwork filed in the two big cabinets?” I ask with altogether insufficient tact.

She is beside me in two-seconds, wanting answers to the same question, but I grab her arm with a forceful ‘wait’ in a command voice.

“If we did scare them into a quick exit, they most likely didn’t have time to wipe any prints, so let’s make as thorough a visual inspection for sensitive material as we can and I’ll call the lab for a tech.”

She is startled and slightly embarrassed to have made such a rash tactical error, but understands my decision to be the right one and immediately apologies for her misdemeanor. I carefully reach under the sliding metal top drawer with my fingers and carefully draw it outward. Julie peeks inside like someone looking into a hornets nest. After a brief inspection she turns to me wearing the long face of woe.

“What?” I ask.

“The packets are gone.”

“Is your car in the garage?” I ask with rapid fire urgency.

She hasn’t hit the s part of yes when I have her by the arm and we are running out of the building, hair officially afire.

“They couldn’t have gotten far, call building security and get them going on recent surveillance tapes. I am calling a guy I know at traffic control for city street cams. We need to get a little lucky - but it’s all we got…for now.”

We hit the elevator and as I stretch my neck to relieve the stress induced tension I see a tiny video camera tucked high into a corner of the ceiling.

“We need the elevator cam surveillance video from the last ten minutes.”