Chapter 11: The Dispatch Office
Sheriff Tom Miller’s truck bounced hard over a cattle guard, the suspension groaning as we left the paved highway behind and turned onto an unmaintained logging road. The rain had finally slowed to a persistent drizzle, but the gray pre-dawn light offered little comfort. We were heading toward the old municipal dispatch office on the outskirts of Silver Creek, a forgotten brick building that served as the primary communication hub for the county utilities and, as Tom had recently discovered, a secondary data server for Elena’s expanding network.
"If Elena’s people are routing their financial transfers through the county infrastructure, this is where the hard drives are housed," Tom said, his eyes fixed on the muddy ruts ahead. He flicked the wipers on high, clearing away a smear of wet pine needles. "We pull the physical drives, copy the encrypted files to my secure rig, and we have enough undeniable proof to bypass the corrupted town council entirely."
I checked the action of my Sig Sauer, the familiar cold steel a reassuring weight against my thigh. "And if they know we're coming?"
"They won't," Tom replied, though his jaw tightened. "The night shift dispatcher is a kid named Toby. He owes me a massive favor from an arrest I kept off his record three years ago. He’ll let us in through the side bay door without logging our arrival."
We pulled around the back of the building, parking the SUV in the heavy shadow of a rusted water tower. The dispatch office was quiet, save for the low, rhythmic hum of massive diesel generators running behind a chain-link fence. We stepped out into the damp chill, the smell of wet earth and ozone thick in the air. Tom led the way to the side entrance, knocking twice in a deliberate rhythm—short, long, short.
A moment later, a heavy latch clicked, and the metal door swung inward a few inches. A young man with dark, nervous eyes peered out into the darkness. When he saw Tom, the tension visibly drained from his shoulders.
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"Sheriff," the kid whispered, pulling the door open wide enough for us to slip inside. "You shouldn't be here. There’s been a change in the shift schedule. Corporate security from the valley arrived an hour ago. They're auditing the server racks right now."
Tom cursed under his breath, stepping past the kid and drawing his service weapon in one fluid motion. I followed right behind him, scanning the long, fluorescent-lit hallway that smelled of stale coffee and hot electronics. The trap had sprung before we even had a chance to set it.
