The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 12

The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking monument to illicit dealings and cyber shadows. I took it in, the rust on the corrugated iron cladding, the silence that hugged its walls too tight. No goons on watch, no cameras winking their red eyes at me. Odd.

I swallowed hard, the pulse in my throat ticking like a bomb about to go off. The intel that Andy had slipped me over beers—the one he got from his deep-throats at The Advertiser—pointed here. A lead on the cybercrimes sweeping Adelaide, a trail that I, Stephanie McBride, stumbled upon through strings of code and digital breadcrumbs.

“Easy does it,” I muttered under my breath. All those nights, hunched over my laptop, chasing ghosts through the net had led to this. A physical confrontation wasn’t my arena; I was more the silent avenger behind a screen. But here I was, playing detective in a game that could end with more than a system crash.

My gloved hand reached for the metal handle. Inhale. Exhale. The mantra of calm did little to still the storm inside. With one last scan of the perimeter, ensuring no prying eyes were upon me, I slipped through the doorway.

The air inside tasted of dust and old secrets. I paused, letting the door ease shut without a sound. My eyes, adjusting to the murky light, picked out shapes, the geometry of danger. Boxes piled high, creating alleyways that led deeper into the belly of this beast.

I moved forward, each step deliberate, quiet as a thought. The floorboards beneath me groaned softly, whispering tales of others who might have crept across them. Were they still around to tell their stories?

“Keep sharp, Steph,” I chided myself. Friendships, like the one I had with Andy, they’re lifelines in a place that eats innocence for breakfast. He had my back with words and warnings, but now my survival rested on my shoulders alone.

This was Adelaide, not some back-alley hack job. Here, even the ones tapping away at keyboards could find themselves in dark corners with darker outcomes. Cybercrime might start in the virtual, but its consequences were deadly real.

Moving deeper into the warehouse, I let the shadows cloak me, an ally in this dance with danger. Ahead, the soft murmur of voices crept towards me. Was this it? The heart of the network I’d been tracking, the node from which all those malignant data packets flowed?

Friendship had brought me to this threshold, but only cunning and resolve would carry me through. I steadied my breathing, ready for what lay ahead. It was time to pull the plug on this operation, one way or another.

The door clanged shut, a final note in a symphony of dread. I was in. No way back. The sound resonated off the walls, a grim reminder of my predicament. Trapped.

My eyes snapped to attention, adapting to the stingy light. Four figures materialized from the gloom. Men. Suits of black, cut cheap, hung on them like shadows clinging to the night. A table lay between us, a stage for sin. Money. Stacks of it. And white powder, bags upon bags, a blizzard contained.

“Damn,” I thought. “Caught in the lion’s den.” My pulse hammered a warning, quick and hard. But fear wasn’t an option. Not here. Not in this desolate corner of Adelaide where the digital underworld bled into flesh and bone.

These men, they were the gatekeepers, the silent watchers of data streams that carved through lives as easily as knives through flesh. They guarded their secrets with the ferocity of cornered beasts. And there I was, a cybercrime specialist, in their midst. A mouse among serpents.

The air thickened with tension, a tangible thing. It pressed against my skin, heavy with unspoken threats. What would Andy say? “Stick to the story,” no doubt. “Find the truth.” But the truth was a bitter pill, coated in danger.

I squared my shoulders, braced for whatever came next. Friends might guide you to the water, but survival, that was a solo swim. These men, their world was binary, zeros and ones, life or death. And I had just logged in.

—

The men saw me. Eyes slits of suspicion, hardened by streets that taught hard lessons. Surprise flickered across their faces, snuffed out by the quick kindling of hostility. I was an anomaly in their equation, an outlier in their carefully plotted graph of crime.

“Who are you?” one barked, his voice a guttural challenge tossed across the table like a gauntlet.

“Lost,” I lied, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest. “Wrong place.”

Their disbelief hung in the air, thick as the dust motes dancing in the shafts of light piercing the warehouse gloom. Four against one. Odds weren’t in my favour. But fear, that treacherous ally, would not take root. I was Stephanie McBride, daughter of Australia’s dust and wind. I stood on soil that knew my name.

“Lost, eh?” another growled, scepticism etched deep in the lines of his face. “Funny place to wander.”

My mind raced, thoughts darting like sparrows at dusk. No weapons. Just wits and will. The tools of survival out here where the city’s heartbeat faded into the whispering of the grasslands. Outnumbered, yes. Outsmarted? Not yet.

“Looking for the loo,” I quipped, hoping bravado might mask the adrenaline surging through my veins. I scanned the room, every sense straining for advantage, for escape.

“Maybe we help find,” a third man offered, a sinister smile playing on his lips. It was a game to them, a cat-and-mouse play in this theatre of shadows.

“Thanks,” I shot back, keeping my tone light, buying time. “But I’ll manage.”

I edged sideways, feigning nonchalance. My gaze flickered over the cold concrete floor, the grimy windows, the spiderwebs clinging to the rafters like remnants of forgotten conspiracies. Every detail etched into memory, every potential weapon noted. A broken crate, a loose nail—small things, but in a fight for life, small things mattered.

They watched me, four predators scenting uncertainty. But I was no stranger to danger. Adelaide had its share. Cybercrime had its own perils, ones I navigated daily. Only difference was, pixels didn’t bleed.

“Enough,” the first man said, stepping forward. I tensed, ready.

“Enough indeed,” I agreed. A bluff, but sometimes you played the hand you were dealt.

“Time to go,” he declared, motioning to the door with a jerk of his head.

“Lead the way,” I murmured, calculating the distance, measuring the moments.

Friendship was currency out here, worth more than the dirty money on that table. Andy, loyal to a fault, would have my back if it came to it. But for now, for this moment, I was my own saviour.

“Watch her,” the leader ordered, and I felt their eyes on me as I moved. Each step a silent promise. I’d survive this. For Andy. For myself. For the story that needed telling.

Adelaide’s sun waited outside, a beacon of hope beyond the confines of this urban cavern. I just needed to reach it. With each breath, I inched closer to freedom, to truth, to the light.

“Stephanie McBride,” one of the suits murmured.

“Talk,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. Can’t afford to show them any fear.

The warehouse is as still as a crypt. Dust motes float in the air like lazy fireflies, catching the scant light that filters in through dirty windows high above. The men sit there in their dark suits, looking more like undertakers than businessmen.

“Who are you?” One of them finally speaks up, his voice heavy with an accent.

“Someone who doesn’t enjoy being locked in,” I reply, keeping my tone even, masking the drumming of my heart against my ribcage.

“Then perhaps you should not have come uninvited,” he retorts coldly.

“Didn’t realize this was a private party.” I cock my head to the side, feigning curiosity. “What’s the occasion?”

Their eyes flick to each other. Back to me. A silent conversation. I’m on the outside but I don’t need to hear the words. I know menace when I see it. These men reek of it.

“Your questions,” the leader says, pausing to weigh his words, “are unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate for who?” My gaze doesn’t waver.

“For you,” he says, and his lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” I let a hint of steel enter my voice. “Friends in low places. They tend to pop up when least expected.”

They squint at that, trying to gauge if I’m bluffing. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. But out here in the sticks, you learn to make do. You learn that sometimes a friend is all that stands between you and a ditch.

“Is that a threat?” The question comes from the one on the left, who hasn’t spoken yet.

“More like a fact.” I keep it terse. Facts are harder to argue with.

“Interesting,” the leader murmurs.

“Isn’t it just?” I shoot back.

We stand there, measuring each other. Silence stretches, thin as wire. This old warehouse has seen plenty of deals go down, I reckon. Plenty of threats. But I’m not just another deal. Not just another threat.

They don’t know it yet, but they’ve trapped a tiger, not a mouse. And I’m clawing my way out, one way or another. For Andy, who’d be tearing up Adelaide looking for me. For myself, because I didn’t move halfway across the country to become someone else’s headline.

“Let her go,” a voice suddenly breaks the standoff, almost casual.

“Excuse me?” The leader’s face hardens.

“Let her go,” the man repeats. “Not worth the trouble.”

They’re calculating risks now. I can see it in their narrowed eyes, the slight tilt of their heads.

“Fine,” the leader spits out eventually. “But remember this, Stephanie McBride. Adelaide is a small town. We don’t forget.”

“Neither do I,” I say, and mean it.

The air in the warehouse feels like a held breath. My words still hang between us, unanswered. The man on the left shifts, his hand disappearing beneath the table. My gut twists. Danger. He’s fast, but fear makes me faster.

A glint of metal—gun. Instinct kicks. I lunge to the side as the bang rips through the silence. Concrete pings where I stood a heartbeat ago.

“Damn,” I hiss, scrambling behind a stack of crates. A bullet whizzing by your ear sounds like Death whispering secrets. Not today, I tell it. My heart’s a drum solo in my chest.

I peek out. Four pairs of eyes, hunting. They’re pros, not trigger-happy kids. No second shots. Not yet. They’re waiting for me to make the next move. So I will.

I spot it then—a pipe. Metal, solid, deadly in the right hands. Mine, now. Fingers wrap around cold steel. Heavier than I expect. Good. That’ll hurt them more.

“Come on, Stephanie,” I mutter. Fight or die. Simple truth.

“Stephanie McBride doesn’t hide,” I call out, bluffing bravado.

“Then come out and play,” one taunts.

I grip the pipe tight. Ready to swing. Ready to survive. For Andy. For me. Because Adelaide hasn’t seen the last of Stephanie McBride. Not by a long shot.

The three men stand, fury etched on their faces. They move like wolves circling prey, suits stretching tight over muscle. The warehouse’s dim light throws their shadows long and dark, spectres of impending violence.

“Come out, Stephanie,” one growls, voice low, a threat wrapped in velvet.

They don’t know me. Not really. Adelaide’s new, but I’ve played this deadly game before. Andy’s face flashes in my mind, his last text a warning. Friends keep you sharp, keep you fighting. Can’t let him down.

I grip the pipe, balance it in my palm. Weight feels right. Stance wide. Ready.

“Let’s talk about this,” I say, voice steady. A lie. No talking our way out.

“Talk?” another scoffs. “You’ve seen too much.”

Seen too much, yes. Cyber trails leading here, to flesh and blood and crime. Digital ghosts becoming men with guns and drugs. But I’m no ghost. I’m solid, and I’m angry.

“Last chance,” I offer.

“Yours,” the third man says, stepping closer.

Now. Swing.

The pipe arcs through the air, silver flash in the gloom. Connects. Bone and sinew yield with a sickening crunch. He cries out, a gun clattering to the floor.

“Go!” My brain screams. Legs pump. Heart hammers. I sprint. Warehouse walls blur past, steel and concrete witnesses.

“Stop her!” echoes behind me. Boots on concrete. Chasing death. But I’m faster, fuelled by adrenaline and the will to live. To see Andy again. To bring these guys down. Not today, not like this.

Exit in sight. Light from outside beckons, safety’s glow. Almost there. Keep running. Don’t look back.

The corridor stretches, a concrete snake. My breath is ragged, the air sharp in my lungs. Behind me, the thunder of boots. They’re close, too close. Panic claws at my chest, but I shove it down. Can’t afford to lose it now.

“Over there!” A shout bounces off the walls.

I don’t glance back. Can’t. Andy’s words play on repeat in my mind. ‘Stay sharp, Steph.’ His voice, a lifeline across the digital abyss. Friendship isn’t just comfort; it’s survival. It’s Adelaide’s dusty streets giving way to this industrial nightmare, and still, you run. For truth. For justice. For friends.

Another corner. They’re gaining. I know these men. Know their crimes. Cyber shadows given flesh. And they know I know. That’s why they chase. Why they can’t let me leave.

“Split up!” Commands echo behind me.

Clever. But I’m cleverer. Data and patterns are one thing, but human desperation, that’s something else. I’m full of it. It churns within, driving me forward.

A door. There, at the end of this endless hallway. Sunlight filters through cracks around its frame, promising freedom. My legs burn, muscles scream, but I push harder. Andy would do the same. He’d charge headlong into danger, armed with nothing but his pen and his wit. I’ve got more than a pen. I’ve got will. Grit. Anger.

“Stop her!”

Closer still. I can almost feel their breath on my neck. Won’t let them catch me. Can’t.

The door looms closer. So does the sound of their pursuit. Every instinct screams to look back, but I don’t. Can’t show fear. Not now. Not ever.

“Get her!”

Adrenaline surges. I’m a live wire, every sense heightened. The door’s handle glints. Almost there. The chase is desperate, but so am I. Desperate to see another dawn. To expose them. To continue the fight.

My hand reaches out, the metal against my gloved hand. I grip hard. Push. Freedom just beyond.

“Steph!”

Too late for them. I’m out. Out and not looking back.

The door slams open. Daylight floods in, harsh and unforgiving. I stagger out, gasping for the scorched air of the Australian western suburbs. The ground beneath me is familiar—red dirt, a sea of rugged persistence. My heart’s a jackhammer against my ribs. Alive. Against odds, alive.

I take stock. Eyes squint against the glare, adjusting. Breath comes easier, but it’s hot, tastes like dust and freedom. Skin prickles with sweat and fear, drying fast in the heat.

“Stephanie McBride,” I remind myself. “Cybercrime specialist, not a damn action hero.” But here I am, running from flesh-and-blood threats, not just digital shadows. Andy would have something to say about this. A quip, maybe. Or a solemn nod. Journalists. They understand the cost of truth.

Friends. They’re your lifeline out here. Out anywhere. Alone doesn’t cut it. Not in Adelaide. Not surrounded by emptiness that goes on forever.

I lean against the warehouse wall, its metal burning my palm. I don’t care. It’s real. Solid. Not like the elusive enemies I track through webs of data. These men, they’re tangible danger. And like the cyber criminals I chase, they underestimated me.

“Got to keep moving,” I mutter. Can’t stay put. They’ll regroup. Come after me. Got to think like them. Predict their next move. Outsmart.

Legs heavy, still I push away from the wall. No time for rest. No time for fear. There’s work to do. People to protect. Andy, waiting for the story. He’ll want the scoop, sure. But first, he’ll want to know I’m safe. That’s what friends do. They worry. They support. They pull you through the madness.

“Survived,” I whisper to no one. To the endless horizon. I start walking. No destination in mind, just away. Away from the dark confines of treachery, towards the sprawling openness. Where secrets can’t hide. Where friendship isn’t just a lifeline—it’s survival.