by Nina D'Aleo
It was official—God hated me.
“Yes, I have actually.” I managed to keep casual. “I found it under my desk yesterday. I should have given it to you straight away—”
“Except you were too busy breaking into Twentyman’s computer,” Byter said without too much subtlety; luckily his beard stifled some of the volume. His cheeks flushed an angry red.
My mind snuffed out on me like a rat jumping a sinking ship. I just stared at him wordless, witless.
“I know you’re trying to find out who hurt Dark, but stealing from a friend is not the way to go. Dude, the amount of time I’ve spent trying to help you. You could have got me fired, or arrested. I covered for you, but this is the last time. Consider us—un-friended.” There was an awkward pause and then he stomped off.
I watched him leave and instead of mourning a friendship lost all I could think was it was lucky he had forgotten to take the override. Byter reappeared a second later and marched back toward me. I dragged the device out of my pocket and put it into his outstretched hand. He stormed away again and I decided now was as good a time as any to eat the emergency chocolates. After all, I didn’t have to worry about putting on weight—being a decomposing corpse would take care of that.
I sat there compulsively stuffing my face with chocolate while I stared at my blank computer screen. This went on for a while before a little voice inside spoke up and reminded me of something Rocco had said: “You’re a trained operative of the most covert organization in the world. You make a living from deception and manipulation.”
He was right. I was trained for this—I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and take control.
I shoved the remaining chocolates back into the drawer. I needed to go to Medical Division and access their system. I had no idea how without the Shake override, but I’d have to figure that out along the way. I stood up and headed back toward Marissa at front desk.
She was on the phone, but smiled brightly at me as though we were now best friends, which I thought might work to my advantage. She hung up from the call and leaned forward.
“I need to go down to Medical for a few minutes,” I told her. “Are you able to give me a temporary clearance?”
Usually we’d need to explain why we needed a clearance, but when trying to lie convincingly the fewer details the better.
“Sure,” she said easily, her French nails clicking on her keyboard. “Until ten-thirty am okay?”
I checked my watch—six-fifteen—plenty of time.
I nodded.
She handed me the temporary pass and I headed for the internal elevators. The doors parted, I entered, swiped the pass and pressed eight for Medical. A few other agents bustled in before the doors could close. They all wore white coats which meant they were Medical Division operatives and more likely than not Shaman soldiers. Rocco’s warning to keep to populated areas replayed loudly in my mind.
I pressed myself into the corner, trying to make myself invisible while images of the elevator becoming a human-sized microwave haunted my thoughts. Thankfully the others didn’t seem to even notice me and we reached level eight without incident. I followed the group out of the elevator and just kept following them, past the check-in desk, where the attending agent stood occupied by a walt drop-off, and into the halls. My heart thudded heavily in my chest. I trailed them past the closed laboratory doorways and a chill ran over my skin. I’d always found Medical level creepy, but now that I knew what was happening there it wasn’t creepy, it was horrifying. I felt cameras watching and recording me from all angles. I had to get this right. I saw my chance as one guy broke away from the group and turned to unlock an office door.
I stopped beside him and said, “Excuse me.” I gave what I hoped was a warm and open smile. “I feel so stupid, but I was supposed to bring a file down to your manager, and I realized I didn’t actually transfer it to my USB.” I held up the small device from my pocket. “It’s stored on the intranet. Any chance I could use your computer to grab it—save me the embarrassment of going back up?”
As soon as I said it, I realized that if it were stored on the intranet the manager’s computer would have access to it. I silently kicked myself. I’d blown it. The guy looked a little confused as well, but then his face smoothed and he smiled, showing very straight white teeth.
“Sure—sure—come in,” he said. “I’ve done that before.”
I figured if he was a Shaman, he mustn’t be a telepath—either that or he was inviting me in to kill me. I paused in the open doorway, then forced myself to walk in. His office was cluttered and disorganized with precarious towers of papers and books everywhere. Frosted glass doors led from the office space into a laboratory.
The guy booted up his computer, shook in, then gestured to his chair. “Help yourself,” he said, giving me another wide smile.
“Thanks,” I replied, noticing he was giving me a lot of eye contact. I hoped it was just male interest.
He went to the other side of the office and started pushing books back onto the jumbled shelf. I sat down, pushed the USB into the port and opened up the intranet. On top of that screen, I opened his files and ran a search for the List. After a few minutes, the guy glanced back at me. I smiled at him over the top of his computer. He smiled back. Several more minutes in and the search came back with nothing. I gnawed the inside of my mouth in frustration. I had to face the possibility that the List wasn’t actually kept on any accessible system, that maybe just one person, possibly even the Horseman himself, kept the List. Maybe it was even a hard copy. I was searching for a ghost. I knew I couldn’t take any more time without arousing suspicion.
“Thanks.” I stood up and pushed his chair back in.
“Not a problem,” he said, stepping toward me, flashing another dazzling smile. He looked like a spray-tanned shark.
“Well, have a good day,” I said and made a speedy exit from the office.
I moved back toward the elevators, keeping my head down. Halfway there, I glanced back and saw the guy coming out of his office. He looked one way and then the other, saw me, and headed quickly my way. My heart bucked. He knew what I was doing. I was in trouble. I sped up the pace and reached the elevator. I thumped on the buttons loud enough to make the desk attendant look up, but the elevator seemed stuck way up on level one. I sensed the guy closing in behind me and broke for the stairs.
I barged through the door and sprinted upward as fast as I could move. I heard the guy enter behind me and the thud of his boots on the concrete steps. However fast I was going, he was much faster. I reached the landing of the seventh level and saw the exit doorway. I didn’t have clearance to enter, but made a split second decision to try to break in. I had zero chance of actually getting through, considering it was made of reinforced steel, but at least the effort would bring security running.
I leaped toward the door and Rocco’s mobile device dropped out of my pocket. I scrambled to grab it and tripped on the step. I dropped to my hands and knees and a shadow fell over me. I reached for my gun and looked up expecting to see the guy leering down at me, but he wasn’t leering, he was just smiling—not a crazy I’m Gonna Enjoy Killing You smile either—a normal smile. He held out my USB stick and I realized I’d left it in his computer. He was chasing me to give it back. I took the memory stick and forced a smile onto my face.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling weak from the sudden rush, as well as dumb, really dumb.
“Getting some exercise?” he said.
I nodded and used the rail to help myself stand. I slipped the device into my pocket. “As you can see, I need it.”
He shrugged graciously and started to say something, then jolted the way the rebels did whenever Omen called them through their minds. But this guy was probably not a rebel—which meant it wasn’t Omen calling—it was the Horseman.
“I’d better go. Thanks again,” I said. The agent didn’t respond, just remained frozen in motion. I really didn’t want to be there when he came back to re
ality.
I knew I couldn’t get through to level seven, no matter how long I stood there kicking the door, so instead I took off, sprinting up three more flights to level four—Surveillance and Technical Operations. I swiped my hand across the security panel and pushed the door open. I dared a glance over the railing back down the stairwell. The guy was still standing where I’d left him. Whatever the Horseman was telling him was lengthy. I went through the door and headed fast to the elevator. I took it up to level one.
I practically ran to my desk and slumped down low in my chair, shaking and sweating like an animal. I couldn’t believe I’d tripped over. Amateur. I’d put myself at serious risk and I still hadn’t found the List. An idea occurred to me then, one so simple that I had no clue why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.
I picked up my work phone and dialed the General. This time he answered after a few rings.
“Silvia, how are you?” he said, his tone carefully neutral.
“Good—thank you, sir,” I said, framing my words in case we were being listened to. “I’m just working an angle on the Omen case … the brief says that he broke into Conference files and stole a lot of data. I was worried that that information could include walt identities—that he might be planning some kind of exposure …”
The General thought then said, “I understand your concerns and I’m glad you’re considering his motivations, but as I understand it, Omen didn’t get to anything too serious. All the highly confidential information is kept under the watchful eye of our Head of Security and his report wasn’t troubling.”
“Oh—okay,” I said. “Well that’s—that’s good—not so good with tracking him, but good it’s safe … thank you, sir.”
“You’re thinking along the right lines,” the General said. “Keep going. Keep working on it and so will I.” It sounded like encouragement, but I heard the meaning behind the words, keep acting normal—but whatever that was I had no idea any more.
“Goodbye, sir,” I said and we hung up.
I went into my computer and clicked into the shared work files for Op Services and brought up the company’s organizational chart—or at least the one they made common knowledge to agents. I ran my finger over the screen searching through the divisions and titles until I found it—Head of Security.
“Agent Mikembe Masekela,” I read it out.
Here was the man I needed to talk to. I jumped up, and with a quick check around for Eric, I headed back out to Marissa. I asked if she could ring Security to make an appointment for me with Masekela. She told me that he didn’t take appointments to meet with agents at my level, but added in a hushed whisper that if I really needed to talk to him, I could try to catch him as he left the building to go home. She gave me a roundabout time of when he usually passed through and I slunk back to my desk. I thought if I sat there all day, in the office full of other agents, maybe I’d be all right—maybe. I took out my phone and checked Dark’s location. It came back with the hospital—he was still there—we still had a chance, but I had to get this right.
26
It was a good thing that the boyhood Mikembe Masekela had dreamed of becoming a secret agent and not a stand-up comedian. The man had zero sense of humor and even less sociability. I’d had better-flowing conversations with pieces of furniture. Despite me trying every trick in the book to melt him, Masekela (Codename: Goliath) remained a slab of steel. He stood with his arms crossed over a mountainous expanse of chest while I babbled on and on and on, feeling increasingly shrunken under his hard stare.
I’d spent the remainder of the day hiding at my desk, researching his profile, while I awaited my chance to question him. Finally two hours after my shift had officially ended and eight minutes to eight, the man had emerged from level six and I’d just managed to corner him beside the water cooler in the entrance hall. According to my research, C11’s Head of Security, who stood just over seven foot, was a forerunning expert on both ground and cyber tactical protection, had a black belt in just about every martial art possible and was a member of QN7—a highly select group of people with the most impressive IQs in the world—which made him scary smart as well as just plain scary. It didn’t help matters much. Something else that didn’t help—I’d been too scared to go to the bathroom the entire day and now I desperately needed to go, and there was a guy at the water cooler who had been filling up his bottle for what felt like the last hour.
“So …” I said for the fifth time in a row, trying to block out the tinkling in the background while racking my brain for something to say. There was only so long my monologue about the weather was going to hold up. “So …” I swallowed. “I was wondering if you were free, and if we could go for dinner … together.” I mentally kicked myself. That had come out sounding a lot more suggestive than I’d intended. I think I’d even raised an eyebrow.
“I’m married.” Goliath spoke for the first time, his voice a very deep bass.
“Oh, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean like that, I meant as colleagues,” I tried to explain.
“I make it a rule not to associate with colleagues outside of work,” he told me.
“Right.” I swallowed again. “What about just a coffee then?”
“I don’t consume caffeine.”
“Scotch on the rocks?”
“I don’t consume alcohol.”
“How about a Cuban?”
“Good day, Agent Silver.” Goliath stepped around me and strode toward the external elevator. I followed him and entered the elevator with a group of other agents going up to the lobby. There was no reason for me to return to my desk and I needed to get something, anything, out of Masekela before the chance passed. The security chief positioned himself as far away from me as possible and I didn’t really blame him. My approach had sucked. What was I thinking? No further opportunity to speak presented itself in the ten-second ride up.
Rocco was waiting for me again beside the hibiscus. He eyed Goliath as the big man cleared the lobby in a few strides and left the building, briefcase in hand. Rocco and I met up in the middle of the lobby and did the routine greeting—hug, kiss, whatever, whatever—and then we left the building. Rocco was careful to keep us close to the wall and behind groups of other people as we made our way around the building. At this later time, the rush-hour crowd was home and the dinner crowd had arrived. Dressed up or dressed down, their mood was a whole lot lighter.
“Any changes with getting Dark out?” I asked Rocco, as soon as we were clear of Headquarters.
He shook his head, his expression grim. “I’ve sent two people I can trust to watch Omen’s people and the assassins. I’ve told them to intercede if anything happens. It’s the best we can do. Omen doesn’t trust me. He’s starting to suspect everyone.” He led the way into a side street where he’d parked a replacement vehicle. He opened the door for me and I felt a flash of fear as my thoughts returned to the morning’s attack. Having been almost blown up in a car wasn’t going to help my whole driving phobia. I could see intensive therapy in my future—a lot of it—if I survived. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to climb in.
“And you? Any luck with Masekela?” Rocco asked as he slid behind the wheel. I’d sent him a cryptic message during the day, which he’d obviously deciphered.
“The guy is a seven-foot vault,” I told him. “A happily married, teetotal, non-coffee drinking, smoke-free vault.”
“I guessed that,” Rocco said. “His mind is the same—locked down—no spaces in.”
“Is he Shaman?” I asked.
“No, just a higher-level human.”
“Awesome,” I muttered. What even did that mean? Humans have levels? My head was pounding. “What am I going to do?” I felt like laughing, not a good sign considering nothing was funny in the least. “I can’t go back to Omen empty handed.”
“No you can’t,” Rocco said. Even he looked tired and worn, with darkness shadowing his eyes.
“There’s only one other thing we can do,” I sa
id and he waited for me to continue. “Break into Masekela’s house and hack his system.”
Rocco gave a nod and said, “Funny you should say that—it’s exactly what I was thinking. I did a drive past his residence today. He’s got major firewalls and premium surveillance in place. We have to assume that means he takes his work home with him.”
I felt a flash of hope that was quickly dissolved by the reality of what we were planning.
“Okay,” I said. “So we’re going to break into the house of the Head of Security of the most highly protected intelligence agency in the world and steal highly confidential information which he’s made it his life’s work to protect.”
Some things are less daunting when you say them aloud. That wasn’t.
“You’re forgetting something,” Rocco said.
I looked up at him.
“He’s human. I’m not.” The headlights from a passing car crossed his face and his eyes shimmered silver-blue. I saw his point.
“Are you ready?” he asked me.
“No—I have to go to the bathroom,” I told him.
“You’ll have to hold it,” he said.
“I have been holding it—for about six hours. I have to go. Right now.”
Rocco glanced out his window, then gestured. “Behind the car.”
I didn’t like the idea, but at this stage it was either behind the car or inside the car.
We both got out. Rocco hovered at the front keeping guard and I went to the back—into the alleyway. Goodbye dignity.
Once we were both back in the car he turned to me and said, “All right?”
I gave him a look that said, What part of this could possibly be all right? He left it at that.
Rocco swung the car out of the alley and headed west. The further we drove the smaller the buildings became until the city scrapers had shrunk down to residential houses. Being so close to the city, these places were the oldest: the original houses built when Toran-R was first established, when it was little more than a large town with dirt roads. Many of the houses had been revamped and rejuvenated; some had been knocked down and rebuilt into modern designs. Rocco handed me a parcel—a sandwich, drink and chocolate bar. My empty stomach growled in anticipation.
