The CIA building rose like a slab of polished ice beneath a grey sky. Lacolone and Maya moved toward it in silence, blending with the stream of office workers. Maya's forged ID flashed under the scanner—green light. The door opened with a soft sigh, welcoming them into warm fluorescent air. Inside, the lobby looked like a café. Agents drank coffee, flipped through folders, laughed quietly.
Lacolone muttered, "You've got to be kidding me—this place is a library."
"Not as smart as I thought, Mr. Sixty-IQ," Maya teased, guiding him forward. "Follow me."
They played their roles perfectly—two unimportant people on a casual visit. An agent at the counter smiled. "Floor thirty-three is restricted," he warned. "Can't guarantee safety up there."
Maya nodded politely. "We'll be careful." She punched Lacolone's shoulder playfully, earning a laugh from the agent.
They slipped away into the mailroom, where the hum of machines filled the air. Maya's fingers brushed the small hard drive hidden inside a plain envelope. She looked at Lacolone. No words—just one shared understanding. Together they wove through the crowd, calm and invisible.
In the elevator, Lacolone tapped his forged badge. The buttons lit up—except the one marked "33." It stayed dark.
"What the—" he began.
"We need higher authority," Maya said, her tone steady.
The elevator stopped at thirty-two. She leaned close, whispering, "We search this floor. Move faster than they can notice."
They moved like shadows—too fast for eyes to register. Offices passed in blurs of motion. Maya's fingers danced across a terminal, silencing alarms. Lacolone knelt at a server rack, sliding the hard drive into place with surgical care. On the monitors, files flickered—names, networks, secrets. Maya found a ledger, her lips twitching with grim satisfaction.
In a locked cabinet, they discovered two blank access cards etched with faint code. Maya slipped them into her pocket, her hands trembling just slightly.
"These will get us up," Lacolone murmured.
"But something's watching," she whispered.
Back in the elevator, Maya slid both cards into the panel. After a pause, the thirty-third button glowed—a quiet assent. The car ascended. Each passing floor thudded like a slow heartbeat.
The doors opened into silence.
Ancient artifacts gleamed under glass. Roman statues, weathered scrolls, marble relics. A museum hidden inside a spy tower.
"Roman relics?" Lacolone whispered. "In a place like this?"
Maya's eyes darted. The air felt wrong—curated, like a lie performed too well.
They crossed the threshold. Desks stood arranged like thrones, screens humming faintly. Lacolone slipped the drive into an archive terminal. Data poured across the displays like waking insects.
"Seed planted," Maya said softly.
Then the lights dimmed.
A flicker on the wall—static. A shape emerged on a grainy feed. A face.
Elito.
"Congratulations on surviving your little trial," he said.
His tone was calm, almost kind.
"That fight?" he continued, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. "A warm-up. Part of my plan."
Lacolone froze. Maya's breath hitched.
"You seek the 9/11 files, the Epstein files, Malcolm X—take them. I'll even help you."
Maya's voice trembled: "He's taunting us."
Elito smiled. "I want you to collect them—for me. The new order moves forward whether you help or resist."
Across the world, every Revolutionary base received the same broadcast. Jessica slammed her fist on a console. Valgor's grin vanished. Soldiers and analysts stared in shock.
Lacolone whispered, "He's baiting us."
In D.C., the van team launched emergency extraction protocols.
Elito's voice darkened. "Find my files. Bring them to light. Then you'll understand the design—and your place in it."
The office phone rang once. Neither moved.
Maya met Lacolone's eyes. "If we take his offer, we play his game. If we refuse, we lose everything."
Lacolone's answer was steady. "Then we take it—on our terms."
Alarms blared faintly in the distance.
They stepped into the elevator, the door sliding shut between them and the relics of empire.
Their reflections shimmered in the metal—two faces, one resolve.
"We move," Maya whispered. "No mercy. No haste."
Far away, Elito's image lingered on a flickering screen, his smile unbroken.