The Sinclair Protocol – My Delivery Girl is a Private Military Queen

By Lea von Löwenstein

Chapter 8: A Rat Inside

Part 1: Interrogation Protocols

Secure Facility – Interrogation Wing

The sharp fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the interrogation room as Liv studied their captured hostiles. The metallic tang of antiseptic couldn’t quite mask the lingering scent of combat – cordite, sweat, and damp tactical gear.

Sebastian leaned against the wall, his aristocratic features settled into calculating observation as Liv began her questioning. The solid thud of her boots on polished concrete echoed as she circled their primary target.

“Well,” her voice carried pure silk over steel, “shall we discuss why you were so interested in our convoy? Or should we start with who hired you?”

The captured operator maintained professional silence, but Liv caught the subtle tension in his shoulders at her phrasing.

“Interesting,” she smiled, the expression pure predator. “You didn’t know you were hired, did you? Thought this was a legitimate military operation.”

A barely perceptible flinch confirmed her suspicion.

“James,” she activated her comm without taking her eyes off the prisoner. “Cross-reference their equipment signatures with our database. I want to know where that ECM suite really came from.”

“Already on it, ma’am. But…” James’s voice held concern. “Something’s not right. These signatures… they’re showing up in our secure files. Files that only cleared personnel should have access to.”

Sebastian straightened, his strategic mind catching the implication immediately.

“A rat,” Liv’s smile turned dangerous. “How fascinating. Tell me,” she addressed the prisoner, “how much did they tell you about the convoy you were supposed to intercept?”

The fluorescent lights hummed in the heavy silence as all three captured operators maintained their professional reserve. Only the subtle whisper of tactical gear and controlled breathing disturbed the tense atmosphere.

“Fascinating,” Liv’s voice carried dangerous silk as she studied their body language. “You’re not just maintaining silence. You’re afraid to speak.”

Sebastian caught her eye, his aristocratic features showing recognition of the pattern. These weren’t ordinary mercenaries protecting their employer – this was trained silence born of genuine fear.

“James,” Liv activated her comm. “Check their throat regions for neural inhibitors or control devices.”

“Already scanning, ma’am. Nothing showing up on medical, but…” His voice held concern. “There’s some kind of energy signature we can’t identify. Similar to what we saw in that Brussels operation last year.”

The central prisoner’s pulse jumped visibly at the mention of Brussels – a tell that didn’t escape Liv’s notice.

“Well,” her smile turned predatory as she leaned closer to the first operator. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to ensure your silence. The question is… are they more frightening than I am?”

The sharp intake of breath and subtle widening of eyes told her everything she needed to know. These men weren’t just following orders – they were terrified of whoever had sent them.

“Dad,” she commanded through the comm without taking her eyes off the prisoners. “Initiate full spectrum scanning. Whatever’s keeping them quiet, I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

The fluorescent lights flickered as the horror unfolded. One moment, the central prisoner sat in trained silence – the next, a wet, sickening crack filled the room as his throat imploded from within. The metallic tang of blood mixed with an acrid, electrical smell as whatever device had been implanted activated.

“EMP, now!” Liv’s command cut through the chaos. The sharp whine of the emergency countermeasures filled the room just as the other prisoners’ throats began to convulse.

The pulse knocked out the lights for a split second. When they hummed back to life, the remaining devices had been neutralized, but the damage was done. The first prisoner slumped forward, blood pooling beneath his chair.

“James,” Liv’s voice held controlled fury. “Tell me you got readings on that signal before we killed it.”

“Partial signature, ma’am. But…” His voice carried grim concern. “It matches our secure protocols. Whatever triggered this knew exactly how to bypass our standard jamming frequencies.”

Sebastian moved closer to the surviving prisoners, his aristocratic features set in cold calculation. “They’re terrified,” he noted, studying their faces. “But not of dying. Look at their eyes – they’re relieved the devices were destroyed.”

“Which means,” Liv’s smile turned dangerous as she activated her secure comm, “whoever has access to our protocols just tried to silence them before they could talk. Raj?”

“Already tracking the signal origin, ma’am. But it’s… it’s bouncing through our own secure relays.”

“An inside job,” her voice carried lethal promise. “How fascinating. It seems we need to have a conversation about loyalty with certain members of our organization.”

The acrid smell of burnt electronics mixed with blood as the surviving prisoners’ professional reserve finally cracked. Hatred burned in their eyes as they stared at their dead comrade.

“They promised us it was a legitimate op,” the first one spat, his voice raw with fury. “Military-grade contract, top-level clearance. Said we were stopping weapons smugglers.”

“Instead,” the second operator’s laugh held bitter edge, “they put these things in our throats during the ‘medical screening’ and told us it was standard protocol tracking devices.”

Sebastian moved closer, his aristocratic features showing calculated interest. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Never saw faces. All communications came through secure channels. But…” he glanced at the dead operator, “they used Sinclair Security protocols. Knew exactly how your teams would respond, where the convoy’s weak points were.”

“The ECM suite,” Liv’s voice carried dangerous silk. “They gave you our own countermeasures.”

“Said it was borrowed tech from allied forces.” The operator’s laugh turned harsh. “Should’ve known better when they knew exactly how to bypass your defensive formations.”

“James,” Liv activated her comm. “I want every communication log from the past month checked. Someone with high-level access has been feeding our protocols to hostiles.”

“Already on it, ma’am. But…” His voice held grim concern. “Whoever did this knew our security sweeps. The trails are professionally masked.”

“Well then,” Liv’s smile turned predatory as she studied the surviving prisoners. “Shall we discuss exactly what they told you about that convoy? Because someone just tried to kill you all to keep that information quiet.”

“We were given specific orders,” the first operator’s voice trembled with barely contained rage. “The convoy wasn’t the real target. It was a test run.”

“A test run?” Sebastian’s aristocratic features sharpened with interest.

“To see if we could breach your security protocols.” The second operator glanced at his dead comrade before continuing. “They wanted to know if their intel was accurate. If your response patterns matched their predictions.”

Liv’s smile turned dangerous. “And what did they want to test specifically?”

“Your personal response time. How quickly you’d…” he paused, understanding dawning in his eyes. “They wanted to know if you’d come yourself. They were counting on it.”

“James,” Liv’s voice carried lethal silk through the comm. “Full spectrum scan of the facility. Now.”

“Already on it, ma’am. But there’s more. The signal that triggered the device? It wasn’t just routed through our systems. It originated from…”

A sharp crack of static cut through his transmission.

“James?” Liv’s voice hardened. “Report.”

Silence.

Sebastian moved closer to Liv, his tactical training evident in every motion. “They weren’t testing your defenses.”

“No,” her smile turned predatory as she activated emergency protocols. “They were luring us here. Quite clever, actually. Shall we show them why that was their second mistake?”

Part 2: Lockdown Protocols

The facility’s emergency lights bathed everything in pulsing red as lockdown protocols engaged. The sharp whine of security barriers activating mixed with the metallic clang of blast doors sealing.

“Father,” Liv’s voice carried controlled urgency through backup channels. “Status report.”

“Main communications are completely dark, butterfly,” Raj Sinclair’s voice held the calm precision that had guided Sinclair Global Finance through decades of financial wars. “But they didn’t know about the secondary systems we installed during your ‘delivery girl’ phase.”

Sebastian moved with lethal grace as they secured the interrogation wing. The prisoners’ eyes tracked their movements, professional assessment evident in their expressions.

“They’re using our own protocols against us,” Liv’s smile turned dangerous as she checked tactical displays. “Which means they don’t know about the changes we made while everyone thought I was just the socialite heiress.”

The facility hummed with tension as emergency systems engaged. Through reinforced windows, they could see security teams moving with practiced precision, securing critical zones.

“Southeast quadrant reporting multiple breaches,” Raj’s voice carried the same dangerous edge his daughter had inherited. “They’re using our old response patterns, exactly as documented in the official protocols.”

“Perfect,” Liv’s laugh held pure predator. “Shall we show them why keeping our real security measures within the family was your first lesson to me?”

The red emergency lights cast dangerous shadows as they moved toward the command center, every step measured and precise. Someone had turned their own security against them – but they’d forgotten one crucial detail: The Sinclairs had spent generations perfecting the art of appearing smaller than they were.

The red emergency lights cast harsh shadows across the dead operator’s body as Liv turned to the surviving prisoners. The metallic tang of blood still hung in the air, a reminder of betrayal’s price.

“How would you like,” her voice carried pure silk over steel, “to renegotiate your contract?”

The operators exchanged measured looks, their professional assessment evident. The first one glanced at their dead comrade before meeting Liv’s eyes.

“They tried to kill us all,” his voice held controlled fury. “Used us as disposable assets.”

“Whereas I,” Liv’s smile turned dangerous, “prefer to value proven talent. Especially talent that’s already demonstrated they can execute our protocols effectively.”

“What’s the play?” The second operator’s tactical mindset was already engaging.

“Maintain your original positions. Let them think their control devices still have you leashed.” Her eyes glinted in the pulsing red light. “Show me why your team was chosen for this operation.”

Sebastian watched with aristocratic appreciation as understanding dawned in their eyes. These weren’t mere mercenaries – they were top-tier operators who’d just been betrayed by their employers.

“Father,” Liv activated her secure comm. “Two new assets coming online. Designate them Sierra Team.”

“Understood, butterfly,” Raj Sinclair’s voice held dangerous approval. “Though I trust you’ve explained our family’s policy on betrayal?”

“Oh yes,” her smile turned predatory as she addressed the operators. “Let’s discuss why testing the Sinclair loyalty is always their last mistake.”

The dead operator’s blood gleamed black in the emergency lighting – a promise of what awaited those who’d tried to use these men as disposable tools.

The emergency lighting’s crimson pulse took on new urgency as Raj’s voice cut through their comms.

“Butterfly, we have breach in Sector 7. Unknown strike team, moving with…” his voice held grim assessment, “familiar precision. They’re using our own sweep patterns.”

The metallic tang of fresh blood carried through the ventilation system as security camera feeds showed the aftermath of their advance. Bodies of security personnel lay in tactically precise positions – each taken down with intimate knowledge of Sinclair Security protocols.

“How many?” Liv’s voice carried lethal silk.

“Six operators. All in blackout gear. They’re…” A sharp intake of breath. “They’re moving exactly like your training scenarios, butterfly. The ones we developed during your delivery years.”

Sebastian’s aristocratic features settled into dangerous calculation as he watched the feeds. “They’re not just using your protocols. They’re mimicking your personal combat patterns.”

“Sierra Team,” Liv addressed their newly acquired operators, whose eyes were fixed on the brutal efficiency displayed in the feeds. “Still interested in showing me why you were chosen for this operation?”

Their expressions hardened as they watched another security team fall to the advancing strike force. The memory of their murdered comrade hung heavy in the air.

“Orders?” The first operator’s voice held professional fury.

“Maintain original positions. Let them think they’re following our standard response patterns.” Liv’s smile turned predatory. “Time to show them why the real protocols were never written down.”

The facility hummed with deadly tension as they watched the strike team advance through their own security measures like ghosts – efficient, lethal, and completely unaware they were walking into a trap five years in the making.

The emergency lighting painted everything in blood as the unknown team advanced with lethal efficiency. Through security feeds, they watched another defensive position fall.

“Butterfly,” Raj’s voice carried new urgency. “They’ve breached the secondary containment. Moving toward…” His tone shifted to sharp concern. “They’re heading straight for the vault.”

Sebastian caught Liv’s eye, noting the dangerous calculation in her expression. The strike team’s movement patterns were too precise, too familiar.

“Father,” Liv’s voice held lethal silk. “Activate Protocol Seven.”

“Are you certain?” Even through the comm, Raj Sinclair’s surprise was evident. “That’s your personal…”

“They’re using my combat patterns,” her smile turned predatory. “Which means someone’s been studying my training sessions. Time to show them why the real protocols were never documented.”

The newly designated Sierra Team watched with professional interest as Liv pulled up facility schematics.

“The mole,” she continued, fingers dancing across tactical displays, “thinks they know our security measures. Think they understand how I move, how I think.” Her laugh held no humor. “They forgot one crucial detail.”

“And that is?” Sebastian’s aristocratic features settled into dangerous anticipation.

“I spent five years letting everyone underestimate me.” The red emergency lights caught her smile like blood. “The protocols they’re using? They’re what I wanted people to see. Now,” she checked her tactical gear with lethal precision, “shall we show them what I was really doing during those delivery runs?”

Through the security feeds, the strike team continued their advance, unaware they were following a path Liv had spent years preparing – not to keep people out, but to draw them exactly where she wanted them.

The crimson emergency lights caught Liv’s expression as she checked her tactical gear one final time. Her movements held the same lethal grace that had built an empire from shadows.

“I go in,” her voice carried pure silk over steel. “Follow me.”

Sebastian’s aristocratic features settled into dangerous focus as he took position. The newly designated Sierra Team moved with professional precision, their eyes still burning with the memory of their murdered comrade.

“Butterfly,” Raj’s voice held measured concern through the secure channel. “They’re approaching Junction Seven. Moving exactly like-“

“Like my training scenarios,” Liv’s smile turned predatory. “Perfect. Time to show them why letting everyone study my combat patterns was always part of the plan.”

The facility hummed with deadly anticipation as they moved through corridors bathed in emergency red. Each step precise, each movement calculated. The metallic tang of spilled blood grew stronger as they approached the strike team’s path of destruction.

“Remember,” Liv’s voice dropped to lethal whisper, “they think they know how I think, how I move. They’ve studied every protocol, every pattern.” Her laugh held no humor. “Let’s show them what happens when you believe the mask instead of looking for what’s beneath it.”

Through nearby security feeds, they could see the strike team advancing with brutal efficiency – completely unaware they were following a trail five years in the making, leading them exactly where Liv wanted them.

Part 3: Blood

The emergency lighting painted everything in shades of blood as Liv led them through the facility’s winding corridors. Each step precise, each movement a deadly promise.

The first contact came at Junction Seven.

Two operators from the strike team emerged through the smoke, their movements mirror images of Liv’s own combat patterns. The sharp crack of weapons fire mixed with the whisper of tactical gear as they engaged.

“Now,” Liv’s voice carried lethal silk as she moved with practiced grace, “let’s show them why studying my training sessions was their first mistake.”

Her attack pattern started exactly as documented in the official protocols – a precise series of strikes that the hostile operators clearly anticipated. Their counter-moves were perfect, rehearsed.

Until she smiled.

The real sequence emerged like a deadly dance, nothing like the patterns they’d studied. The wet impact of bodies hitting polished concrete echoed through the corridor as Liv demonstrated exactly what she’d been doing during those five years of “deliveries.”

“Fascinating,” Sebastian’s aristocratic features held dangerous appreciation as he dispatched his own target. “They really thought they knew all your moves.”

“That’s the thing about masks, darling,” Liv’s laugh held no humor as she secured the fallen operators. “People get so focused on studying what you show them, they forget to look for what you’re hiding.”

Sierra Team moved with professional efficiency, their eyes noting the perfect execution of combat techniques they’d never seen documented.

“Father,” Liv activated her secure comm. “First contact confirmed. They’re using the protocols exactly as expected.”

“Understanding, butterfly,” Raj’s voice held dangerous approval.

The facility hummed with deadly anticipation as they moved deeper into the complex, leaving behind the first proof of why underestimating Olivia Sinclair was always their last mistake.

The sharp crack of covering fire echoed through crimson-lit corridors as Liv executed a tactical withdrawal. Her movements were precise, deliberately matching the documented retreat patterns she’d used in countless training scenarios.

“They’re following,” Sebastian’s aristocratic voice held dangerous amusement as they moved. “Exactly as expected.”

The pursuing strike team advanced with lethal efficiency, using the same combat formations Liv had ‘perfected’ during her delivery years. Each step, each tactical position – a perfect mirror of what they’d studied.

Sierra Team’s expressions shifted to knowing grins as they covered the retreat. They recognized the trap, having fallen for similar tactics during their own approach hours earlier.

“Brings back memories?” Liv’s voice carried pure silk as they moved through Junction Nine. “Amazing how easy it is to follow patterns you think you understand.”

“We did exactly the same thing,” the first Sierra operator confirmed, his professional assessment noting how the hostile team was unconsciously being channeled into prepared positions. “Thought we had your response patterns mapped perfectly.”

The facility hummed with deadly anticipation as they drew the strike team deeper into the complex. Each exchange of fire, each tactical movement carefully calculated to reinforce their pursuers’ confidence.

“Father,” Liv’s smile turned predatory as she activated her comm. “They’re approaching the kill box. Just like we planned during those ‘social events’ everyone thought were just parties.”

“Understanding, butterfly,” Raj’s voice held lethal approval. “Shall we show them why the Sinclair family’s real combat training never leaves the family vault?”

The emergency lights painted everything in shades of blood as they led their hunters exactly where they wanted them – straight into a trap five years in the making.

The metallic tang of blood mixed with cordite as Liv’s tactical retreat suddenly went wrong. Three more strike teams emerged from concealed positions – positions that weren’t in any protocol, documented or otherwise.

“Father,” her voice held controlled urgency through the comm. “We have a problem.”

“I see them, butterfly,” Raj’s tone shifted to sharp concern. “Those access points weren’t in any blueprint. Someone with deeper access-“

A burst of static cut through his transmission as more hostiles moved to surround them. Sebastian’s aristocratic features settled into lethal focus as they found themselves cornered in a section of the facility that shouldn’t exist.

Then, through the emergency lighting’s crimson pulse, Liv caught it – a subtle hand signal from one of the hostile commanders. A signal she’d seen before, during private training sessions that only three people should have known about.

Her smile turned dangerous even as they were forced into defensive positions.

“Sierra Team,” her voice carried pure silk despite their situation, “notice anything familiar about that command gesture?”

The operators’ eyes narrowed with professional recognition. “That’s a Blackwood variant,” the first one confirmed. “Modified for…”

“For my personal combat patterns,” Liv’s laugh held no humor. “Which means our mole just made their first mistake. Father?”

“Already tracking, butterfly. Only seven people had access to those training recordings. And only one of them,” Raj’s voice held lethal promise, “is currently in the facility’s east wing.”

The emergency lights painted everything in shades of blood as Liv let herself be pushed exactly where the mole thought they wanted her. Sometimes, the best way to spring a trap was to let your enemy think they were springing theirs.

The emergency lighting painted everything in crimson as the hostile teams closed in. Liv’s tactical position looked completely compromised – exactly as she’d planned.

“You know,” her voice carried pure silk as she noted their formation, “there’s something fascinating about people who think they understand Sinclair protocols.”

The strike team commander’s hand signal flickered again – another Blackwood variant that shouldn’t have been known outside the family training rooms.

“They get so focused on the patterns,” she continued, her smile turning dangerous, “they forget to ask why those patterns were so easy to study in the first place.”

Sebastian’s aristocratic features settled into lethal anticipation as he caught her meaning. The Sierra Team operators exchanged knowing looks, recognizing the setup from their own earlier mistake.

“Father,” Liv activated her secure comm. “Execute Protocol Sanctus Umbra.”

The facility’s emergency lighting suddenly shifted from red to deep purple. The hostile teams’ confident advance faltered as they realized their tactical displays had gone dark.

“Fascinating thing about family protocols,” Liv’s laugh held no humor as she moved with deadly grace. “The real ones are never written down. They’re passed down, generation to generation, hidden behind the masks we let everyone study.”

The strike teams’ formation broke as they realized their carefully studied combat patterns had just become a liability. Every defensive position they’d taken, based on Liv’s documented protocols, had drawn them perfectly into overlapping fields of fire.

“Now then,” her voice carried pure predator as Sierra Team moved to flank the suddenly vulnerable hostiles, “shall we discuss why studying the mask instead of the face beneath it was your second mistake?”

The purple emergency lighting cast otherworldly shadows as Protocol Sanctus Umbra reached full activation. The hostile teams’ tactical advantage evaporated as years of studied patterns became their perfect trap.

“Fascinating thing about ancient protocols,” Liv’s voice carried lethal silk as she moved through the chaos with practiced grace. “They’re hidden in plain sight, waiting for the right moment to remind us why they were sealed away.”

Sebastian’s aristocratic features showed dangerous appreciation as the trap completed its deadly geometry. Every position the strike teams had taken, based on their careful study of Liv’s training sessions, had drawn them into perfect killzones.

“Sierra Team,” her command cut through the confusion. “Execute Pattern Seven.”

The operators moved with professional precision, their earlier grins now predatory as they helped complete the encirclement. They’d recognized the setup because they’d fallen for the same calculated display of apparent weakness.

Through the facility’s secure feeds, they could see the mole’s position in the east wing suddenly shift from confident observation to dawning horror.

“You see,” Liv continued as her forces systematically neutralized the trapped strike teams, “the problem with studying someone’s combat patterns is making sure you’re studying the real ones.” Her laugh held no humor. “Not the ones they spent five years carefully crafting for exactly this moment.”

“Father,” she activated her secure comm as the last hostile team realized their mistake too late. “The trap is complete. Shall we show our mole why the real Protocol Sanctus Umbra was never meant to leave the family vault?”

The facility hummed with deadly anticipation as years of careful planning reached its perfect conclusion. Sometimes, the best way to win wasn’t just to set a trap – it was to make your enemies think they understood you well enough to avoid it.