“Security guard passed by.” Preston sprayed yet more cleaning fluid on the glass.
Elle inserted the second usb drive and started copying the program onto to the computer.
“Have you been made?” Mason asked.
She swallowed hard, which only made her even more aware of the dryness in her throat. It was a good thing she didn’t have to speak.
“Negative.” Preston again responded. He sounded the same as always with his damn nerves of steel. After a moment, he asked Elle, “Is your firearm accessible?”
She was startled by the question. Of course she had learned how to use firearms, and she’d become a good shot, but it suddenly occurred to her that if she had to fire her gun here, it would be to shoot a person, not some paper target on a shooting range. Could she do that? She wouldn’t let herself get preoccupied with that right now. “Yes.”
Even as she spoke she became aware of the weight of her handgun in the waistband holster over her leggings. It actually wasn’t easily accessible; it was under her jacket. She refused to look at Preston as she unzipped her jumper, then her jacket, and pulled out her gun, slipping it into the oversized pocket of the jumper.
He’d done that in the closet with his own firearm, she recalled: she just hadn’t thought to do it herself because she was so proud about picking out the correct size. Dammit. She couldn’t let herself get distracted like this. She glanced up to see him watching her.
“Just watching your six,” he said, holding his hands up.
She knew that was Navy SEAL talk for “watching your back.” She knew she should have just turned her attention back to the computer, but she couldn’t resist saying, “Always watching out for people, aren’t you?”
Was that a hurt look that flashed across his face? It was too fast for her to tell. “Standard operating procedure. We’re partners.”
For this op and this op only, she vowed to herself as she focused on the screen. What she saw on the screen wasn’t good. “We have a problem.”
There was a knock on the door. The security guard was back with another guy wearing the cleaning staff jumpsuit.
“Status on the problem, Bookworm,” Mason said. It was a good thing he could hear what was going on; he would at least understand why she didn’t respond.
“Do you have your identifications?” the guard asked them. The guy in the cleaning jumpsuit eyed them with open suspicion.
And Elle was sitting at the desk again.
“Sure,” Preston said, pulling off the ID hanging from his suit and handing it over.
Elle stood, pulling hers as well as she walked over to show them the phony ID. Hopefully they would be more focused on the IDs than the fact that she had been sitting at the desk.
The security guard inspected each one. She knew they looked authentic and should even be in the cleaning crew company database if they were checked. After the guard had looked them over, he handed them over to the guy in the cleaning jumpsuit.
“These are our IDs,” the guy in the jumpsuit said, studying them closely, “but I know everyone in my crew.” He looked up, eyeing first Preston and then Elle. “I don’t recognize either one of you.” Shit. He must be the supervisor or something.
The cleaning crew was large, nearly 300 people, according to Mason. At best he knew everyone by sight.
“We’re new hires.” Preston sounded as calm as if he was discussing the view. “This is our first night.”
“We’re cleaning on the twentieth floor right now,” the supervisor said. “We stick together. Violating that rule can be cause for termination.”
Oh double shit.
Preston’s apologetic look almost had Elle convinced he was contrite. “We’re so sorry, sir: we had no idea. We were just trying to get a head start on cleaning and saw no one was on this floor-”
“You started in this office?” The security guard was peering into the trash bag on the cart, which only contained the contents from the one trash can Elle had dumped in there. “This can’t be the trash from all the offices before this if you started when you got off the elevator.”
This office was the fourth from the elevators: it wouldn’t make sense to start there. The damn security guard should’ve been a detective.
The computer pinged. Of course it pinged right then. It hadn’t made a sound when she was duplicating the program.
“Now I know Headquarters told you getting on the computers is forbidden.” The manager strode towards the computer.
Elle was right behind him. How was she going to explain this? She racked her brain for a plausible explanation, but the only one she could think of was lame as all hell.
“I haven’t touched that computer: it was like that when we got here.” She tried to hide the note of desperation in her voice. “I was just cleaning up behind the desk-”
The manager’s eyes widened as he looked at the screen. “Someone’s logged onto this computer. I’ve been supervising in this building for seven years and have never seen one of these computers on unless someone was working late.”
He probably spoke the truth there: the company’s computers were programmed to go into sleep mode after thirty minutes of inactivity, so even if an employee forgot to log off, it would’ve been in sleep mode by this hour.
“I saw a guy leaving this office as we came in,” Elle blurted out. “He told us to make sure we got his office clean- that’s why we started here.”
“He said his office wasn’t always cleaned,” Preston chimed in. “We were just-”
“I think the two of you need to come down to the security office while we straighten everything out,” the security guard said.
“We can run these IDs through the company’s database.” The cleaning supervisor nodded in agreement.
Preston gave Elle a glance that clearly said, Time to break cover. Even as he caught her eye, he was swinging his fist towards the security guard, punching him right in the nose. The security guard staggered back in shock. “What the hell-”
Elle felt the manager grab her wrist. She yanked it back before he could take a firm hold, stepping away from him.
The security guard struck back at Preston with his baton as he called into his shoulder radio, “Situation in twenty-one-oh-eight: need backup NOW.”
Her instinct was to run as she watched Preston block the baton with one arm before hooking his foot around the guard’s knee and yanking, forcing the guard to fall. Yet she couldn’t leave the usb flash drive still stuck in the computer’s port there: it would give away too much.
The manager reached for her again, swearing, as Preston ordered, “Get out your firearm!” He yanked the security guard’s restraints from his holster.
Elle felt the weight of her gun in her pocket as she looked at the manager, who had paused and now stared at her with wide, fearful eyes. This wasn’t some terrorist. This was a guy working an honest job, supervising a cleaning crew. He didn’t deserve to get shot for doing his job.
As she hesitated, the manager lunged for her. Apparently he sensed weakness and decided to go on the offensive.
Elle stepped to the side, but he managed to grab her forearm. She swiveled, lifting her leg instinctively. Her roundhouse kick landed on his side, which wasn’t a very painful place for it to land, but it forced him to release her as he backed up. She attacked again, this time delivering a front kick to his abdomen. Using hands wasn’t advised: she would be as likely to hurt her hand as whoever she hit with it, while her legs were stronger. Besides, her kick wouldn’t kill him: she just wanted to immobilize him long enough to grab the flash drive and run.
She heard his “Oomph” as he fell to his knees, eyes wide. She’d knocked the wind out of him. He hunched over, clutching his stomach as he gasped for breath. She felt a moment of surprise. Those kicks actually worked. Damn. As her physical defense instructor had told her, men generally didn’t expect women to fight. It was crucial to take advantage of the surprise and be aggressive.
She hurried o
ver to the computer and snatched the usb flash drive out of it. She got a chance to skim the computer message: the program hadn’t uploaded because of something about the network. Dammit. There was no time to deal with that. She just needed to get the flash drive.
She looked up to see Preston had the security guard restrained with the guard’s restraints, his shoes off, and one of his socks stuffed in his mouth, leaving one foot bare. The strategy had been taught in training: pursuing someone barefoot or in socks was not advised, so it slowed them down if they had to put on footwear. Preston pulled off his shoulder radio, turned it off so the static, crackles and pops were silenced, and tossed it into the bottom of the cleaning cart.
Suddenly everything went sideways as something crashed into Elle, knocking her to the floor. The weight of the cleaning manager knocking into her was a surprise, but she immediately began fighting to push him off of her. He refused to let go, grabbing at her arms.
She tried to roll over, but she couldn’t: he was too heavy. She tried to knee him between the legs (this wouldn’t be a feint like with Reese but at least no permanent damage was likely) but couldn’t get the right angle. He got her flat on her back.
“Freeze!”
Both Elle and the manager looked up to see Preston standing over them. His gun was out and pointed at them. Neither one moved.
“Get off of her,” he ordered. “Slowly.” The steel in his voice was sharp enough to slice.
The manager’s compliance was instant as he released Elle. “Look, I’m just-”
“Stay on your knees.” Preston’s voice wasn’t loud, but it had a coldness that Elle had never heard in it before. She believed he was willing to shoot if necessary.
She forced herself to stand, willing her now jelly-like legs to keep her upright. Her heart pounded, and her hands were shaking. Jesus. She had actually gotten into a physical altercation with someone.
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear: take whatever you want-”
“Get out your firearm.” Preston’s glance told her she was on the receiving end of that order.
She tightened her arms for a moment and relaxing them, willing them to be steady, before pulling out her gun and training it on the manager. Her gun shook slightly at first, but then she forced her hands to be still. She stared into his eyes; they widened further as they met hers.
“Please, I’ve got a wife, three kids-”
“Cooperate and you’ll see them in the morning,” Preston told him as he grabbed the manager’s shoulder. The manager jumped at the ripping sound when Preston tore the sleeve of his jumpsuit off.
“I won’t tell-” the manager blubbered.
“Part of cooperating in this instance,” Preston said as he ripped off the other sleeve on the guy’s uniform, “is keeping your mouth shut.”
The manager pressed his lips together as he stared at Elle. His eyes darted between her face and her gun. She forced herself to keep her expression stoic: she couldn’t afford to show any weakness. When she had hesitated before he’d lunged right for her. Yet she still had an urge to let him know she wasn’t a monster, wouldn’t keep him from his wife and kids.
Preston motioned for the manager to move behind the desk; the manager followed on his knees, his clumsy movements hastened with obvious desperation. Preston tied the guy’s hands behind his back and then his ankles. He pushed him down onto his back, so he was hidden behind the desk, and pulled off his shoes before tugging on one of his socks.
“Don’t! I won’t-”
Preston took advantage of his open mouth to stuff the sock in it before looking at Elle.
“Let’s go.”
She strode over to the computer and grabbed the disk before following right behind him. “The cart?” She motioned to it.
“Ditch it.” Preston looked both ways down the hallways. Still empty.
She headed for the elevators, which were just a few doors down.
“We need to take the stairs,” Preston said.
“The elevator’s closer.” She was almost close enough to press the button for it.
“We can get trapped-”
She hit the button. “We’re twenty-one floors up!”
Preston remained where he was. “We cannot take the elevator-”
The elevator door pinged and then opened. Two more security guards rushed out.
Chapter 12
The guards came to an abrupt stop outside of the elevator at the sight of Elle’s gun, which she was still holding in her hands. Canada had much stricter gun control laws than the United States: these security guards probably weren’t used to even the threat of people who were armed, and they weren’t carrying firearms, just batons. She backed away as fast as she could, wanting to run full tilt to the stairs at the end of the hall but afraid to turn her back.
“Fire a warning shot!” Preston yelled as he ran himself, not bothering to focus on what was behind him.
“I- the ricochet-” A bullet could ricochet off the floor or a wall and hit someone.
Knowing these guards weren’t armed made her hesitant. She really needed to turn her back and run all out instead of this side-sprint she was doing, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn her back on them.
The guards ducked back into the elevators, and the elevator door slid shut. They were gone for the moment.
Elle turned and sprinted down the hall, glad she didn’t have to try running in heels today. He had already reached the door to the stairwell and flung it open, holding it just long enough for her to reach it before he started running up the stairs.
Up?
“Where are you going?” she cried out. What the hell was he thinking going upstairs? They didn’t have the gear to rappel off the side of the building.
“Air extraction required!” Preston shouted even as he ran up. He glanced down at Elle. “We can’t evacuate via the ground; they’ll have all the exits blocked before we make it down there.”
“Mas- he’s in a truck, not a helicopter!” And unless he or the van had some flying capabilities of which she was unaware, he couldn’t do a thing for them from the roof of this forty-story building.
“Bookworm, get up to the roof.” It was Mason. “Air extraction en route.”
Despite all of her common sense telling her to run downstairs where she had a fighting shot of getting out of the building, Elle began running up the stairs after Preston.
Another reason she hadn’t wanted to run up the stairs? It was a lot harder running up a staircase than down. Her thighs burned, and she was gulping air, but she had the sense that her body was working the way it was supposed to, at full capacity, and could handle it. All that physical training had done something after all, which was a good thing since this was a forty-story building.
Preston pulled out his gun, shooting at the lock to break it so he could open the door at the top of the stairwell.
The cold air blew in as he pushed the door open.
“Ready for air extraction!” he shouted.
Elle inhaled the cold air, not even feeling the urge to huddle against the chilly breeze. She was plenty hot enough after running up nineteen flights of stairs.
“ETA for air extraction is one minute.” How did Mason manage to sound so damn calm? Because he wasn’t on the run.
Preston turned in a circle, looking, before stopping and staring off into the distance.
Elle could just make out a dot of light. That dot of light was growing larger. As it got even closer she could see it was the light of a helicopter.
That must be their ride.
The wind from the helicopter’s blades was far worse than what Mother Nature was blowing about. Preston grabbed her arm. He shouted something, but the wind snatched away his words, so he just pulled her down in a crouch. After a moment of resistance, she followed suit.
Getting blown off the building would be a really sucky way to end this op.
The helicopter’s blades slowed down somewhat, but Preston was already tugging on her arm
again, hustling her over. Someone pushed a door open, and Preston lifted Elle up as she began to step into the chopper. The guy inside pulled her in before reaching down to help Preston.
Elle sat down and fastened her seat belt. The noise made it impossible to talk, and in the darkness she could barely make out the two men (the pilot and the guy helping them in) in the helicopter.
As soon as Preston was in, the guy in the back slammed the door shut and the chopper lifted off, flying into the darkness of the night. She fought to catch her breath. The only thing she could hear besides the helicopter was the pounding of her heart in her ears.
***
“Report.” Mason’s voice somehow managed to be intense yet toneless at the same time.
The three of them were in the private jet, flying back to Virginia. The helicopter had flown them to the air strip where the plane was kept, and Mason was waiting for them. He’d probably had the driver leave with him in the van as soon as Elle and Preston were made.
Elle had long since caught her breath, but she still didn’t feel up to talking. Her body was still, yet she felt as if she were quivering. How was that even possible? At least she wasn’t physically shaking.
“Security guard made us.” Preston looked perfectly calm in his seat next to Elle, as if this was just another op. They were facing Mason.
“You indicated the security guard hadn’t made you.”
“I didn’t think he had,” Preston said. “He kept walking when he passed by the office the first time.” If Mason’s questioning unnerved him, he didn’t betray it. “But he must’ve gotten suspicious: he went to get a guy, looked like the supervisor of the cleaning crew.”
“Didn’t you show them your IDs?”
What the hell was this about? Elle felt as if she was under interrogation. She started to glare at Mason. He had been listening on coms the entire time anyway, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
“Yes, but the supervisor wasn’t convinced.” Preston didn’t seem upset as he continued to explain. “He didn’t recognize our faces.”
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