![BitFriarFiles_1_1_Part2.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmdbMkjafTC3g9ymj1yMwUmkpgFpShrpz2ztpfAGZhVL9N/BitFriarFiles_1_1_Part2.png)

<sup>[Read Part I here.](https://steemit.com/fiction/@generaldisarray/the-bitfriar-files-theft-of-the-stolen-prototype-part-i)</sup>

By the time Tucker found the prototype, the timer on his watch was down to five minutes. He knew the technicians could come back early, so he hurried to log into the system with his hacked credentials. Diagnostic programs were monitoring the prototype and failure to disable them would sound the alarm.

Each command seemed to process for ages and his keystrokes felt sluggish and sloppy. With two minutes left, the final step finished and Tucker delicately began to remove the battery from its harness.

At that moment he heard faint laughter in the distance. Time was up.

He yanked the remaining wires from the Prototype and took off towards the stairs. The chatter of the returning technicians grew louder as he backtracked his steps, but he reached the security door and hadn't been seen.

Tucker knew there was little time before they realized the battery was missing.  First, they would be baffled, not sure what to think. Then their senses would clear and they'd call security.  Lockdown would soon follow. 

The stairs were a blur beneath his feet, interrupted rhythmically by each landing. His heart was racing from exertion and nerves.

When Tucker entered the parking garage he was met with a wave of hot stale air, heavy with the scent of mildew and exhaust. By the time he found his car he was drenched in sweat and his calves were aching. 

No matter, he thought, he would soon be home free.

With the battery stowed safely in the trunk, Tucker circled up the ramps of the parking garage to street level and scanned his badge at the gate. The system processed for a moment before the yellow and black striped arm began pivoting upward, and Tucker waved to the guard, who was watching TV in his windowed shack.

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That's when he saw the flashing lights. Three security vehicles were speeding up the ramp towards him.

Tucker mashed the gas and tore off onto the city streets.

Pedestrians scrambled out of the crosswalk as he blew through a stop sign and turned onto a cross street, tires squealing. Traffic was heavy but moving, and he weaved around cars and ignored all the red lights.

In his mirror he could see the security vehicles a block-and-a-half back; the police wouldn't be far behind.

The pursuit spilled out onto the city's main boulevard as Tucker pulled a hard left, but he wasn't gaining any ground. The guards were better drivers than he'd expected. If he couldn't get more separation his plan wasn't going to work.

A few blocks further the traffic thickened, and ahead he could tell it was at a standstill. Cars were moving out of the way for security, aided by their flashing lights, and they were getting closer. In the distance he could hear sirens wailing.

With no other options, Tucker hopped the curb and took off down the sidewalk, horn blaring. 

Trash bins and news stands went flying, but the few people out in the sweltering heat of the afternoon managed to flee into shops or into the stopped traffic. 

The security vehicles followed him onto the sidewalk and we're gaining on him, their path already cleared in his wake. The specter like sirens of the police had materialized into flashing lights several blocks back, and with the collateral damage Tucker was now causing, it wouldn't be long before more police converged from all directions.

Plowing through a freshly abandoned hotdog cart, Tucker finally made it to the intersection of the crosstown expressway. He hung a right and found open road stretching out ahead of him.

Jamming the petal to the floor, he was thrown back into his seat as his turbocharger spooled, finally able to breathe.  Tucker rocketed away from the guards, building a lead.

As he approached the harbor, the 3 p.m. special freight was chugging along the tracks parallel to the expressway.  Twice a day the train hauled cargo from the docks out to the rail yard just beyond the city limits.  Tucker knew because he'd spent the last month verifying it followed the schedule like clockwork.

Passing the rail cars one by one, he could soon see the trains engine ahead. Moments later he overtook it and stared down an exit ramp, the security guards about twenty seconds behind.

At the foot of the exit the road came to a tee and then cross the tracks. The barrier arms for the rail crossing were already lowered.

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Tucker plowed through, splintering the arms at their base and beating the train buy a hundred feet.

In the mirror he could see the guards slam on their brakes until his view was obstructed by the passing freight. He slowed to a reasonable pace and turned into the miles of industrial park between him and the east river.  There was no need to rush now. His rendezvous point was only two miles away, and by the time the train cleared the crossing, there was no chance his pursuers could find him among the maze buildings and work yards.  

When Tucker pulled up to the warehouse, his contact was already there-her silhouette barely visible through the tinted glass of her SUV.  The loading bay door closed behind him and he retrieved the battery prototype from the trunk.

As the door to the SUV opened and a woman stepped out, Tucker froze. It was not his Chinese contact who had arranged the job and delivered his first two payments. Rather it was a middle-aged black woman who he vaguely recognized but couldn't quite place.

"BitFriar, I see you've successfully retrieved the device," she said as she stepped towards him and held out a small metallic briefcase. "Here, the remainder of your payment."

"Who are you and where is Mingyu?" Tucker asked, leery of the change.

The woman smiled, evidently taking some pleasure in Tucker's confusion.  "Mingyu was working for me, and it's good to see that at least some of our security held up against your penetration. My name is Jessica Albright."

All the connections fell into place.  Tucker remembered seeing the name in the user logs when he hacked into Aplombo's secure servers, and her picture he'd seen on the company's website.

"Yes I work for Aplombo." She said, having picked up on his realization.  "I'm the Associate Director of IT.  We hired you to steal from ourselves, it's at least good to see you weren't able to hack those communications.  Thank you for helping us identify the weaknesses in our security."

Tucker stood dumbfounded.  There was no network of manufacturers throughout Asia that would build and distribute the technology freely.  There was no coming energy revolution.  It was all a lie, there was only Aplombo and this woman.

"Now please," she tapped the briefcase, "your payment for the battery."

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Thanks for reading!  If you missed the link at the top, here's [Part I](https://steemit.com/fiction/@generaldisarray/the-bitfriar-files-theft-of-the-stolen-prototype-part-i).

If you enjoyed the story, please consider up-voting, and don't forget to follow me @generaldisarray to enjoy upcoming short stories.

<sub>Images courtesy of [Pexels](https://www.pexels.com) and [Pixnio](https://pixnio.com)</sub>