Chapter Twenty-One
Tyrone Burgess glared at his empty mug of coffee; he had gotten precious little sleep last night and the black liquid was the only thing keeping him awake enough to be even remotely pleasant. Giselle had dragged him upstairs to the penthouse suite for a security lecture; apparently she had gotten a call from some higher-up, though she hadn't specified whom, and been inspired to double-check every measure he had put in place. Even after he had convinced her everything was fine, she had still asked him to clean all sensitive materials pertaining to his underworld connections out of the secure safes, just to be sure. Never mind that the police had ordered the searching of his motel room to be set today, of all days, making it impossible to store the incriminating documents there until evening, at the earliest.
He growled to himself and stood up from his desk, toting his mug along as he went in search of a refill. His secretary, a young man in his early twenties with short, copper hair, gave him a slightly panicked look as he emerged; a quick glance to the corner of the room confirmed that there was no coffee immediately prepared. Grunting a vague reassurance to calm the still-seated man, he headed through the door to make for the staff room down the hall, ignoring the various employees and security personnel scrambling from his path as he went.
When the giant of a man returned, it was without a mug in hand, let alone any coffee. His receptionist knew better than to even draw his boss' attention when he had been denied his caffeine a second time; he had put a fresh pot on, but it was not yet ready and it was not a wise idea to speak until it was. Burgess stalked past with only a grunt in his direction, but that suited him fine.
Slamming the office doors behind himself, Burgess took a moment to survey his office; his expression changing, slowly, from one of brooding anger to a quiet, smug smile. His torso began to compact, his hulking shoulders beginning, and ending, the smooth-but-unsettling transition to a thinner build. His dark, satiny skin also took on a new, far paler tone, while Burgess' uniform became a much more ragged set of attire. By the time he reached 'his' desk, Orion was entirely himself again and already running idle fingers over the polished surface, as if expecting the furniture to tell him where it hid its secrets. Moving to the rear of the desk, his eyes slid over the drawers, quickly seeing that one was locked. Fortunately enough, the key was still in it, which suggested that Burgess had not gone far. He would need to be quick, then.
Twisting the piece of metal, he pulled the drawer open and saw several large folders within. Tutting quietly, he chastised an imaginary Burgess in a whispered, condescending tone. "Oh, Mr. Burgess, for shame. I had taken you to be such a cautious man, but to lower your guard in such a way is truly disappointing. I hope that your secrets will be more impressive."
Thumbing through the bound documents, he pulled the top-most one free to examine its contents with a small smile. Checking the next, the smile only grew; and it did again for each folder he checked, until his expression could almost be mistaken for one of happiness. Burgess had been a naughty boy indeed, as Miss Lawson had suggested; these records proved it beyond any doubt and put this company in some considerable risk as well. It would not even require the contents of all the folders to do it. But how to walk them out without drawing suspicion to himself? He frowned, trying to remember Thomas' experience with this place, but found it aggravating and largely fruitless. The memories simply would not come as he wanted them to; no matter, he would handle it himself if it was necessary.
Burgess, meanwhile, had found his coffee in the lounge room and had taken a few minutes to sip it quietly, stabilizing his mood somewhat. Drawing a second cup from the pot, he had then started back to his office, but had felt it wise to check up on his security monitors en route. Stopping at the room adjacent to his office, he nodded briskly to Murakami, who had the duty of watching the screens this morning. Sitting to review the footage set out before him, he gave particular attention to his 'back door', in case the camera was behaving oddly. Seeing that it was not, he smiled in satisfaction.
"Enjoying your coffee, I hope, Sir? There's nothing quite like the first cup in the morning, is there?"
Blinking, Burgess looked to his second-in-command. "First? I've been in my office for almost two hours, Murakami."
She frowned back at him, tugging idly on her ponytail. "Really? But that doesn't make any sense, Sir. I saw you on the monitors, walking through the front door, not ten minutes ago."
Leaving his coffee cup where it sat, Burgess stood and exited the room without giving the now-confused woman an explanation. Another him? That was impossible; but if nothing else, something was going on. Striding to his office, he stopped as his receptionist fixed him with the same confused expression Murakami had.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded at his receptionist. "Let me guess; I was just through here?"
The copper-haired man nodded mutely and Burgess brushed past him, but paused before opening the doors. "Everything is fine; I'll sort this out." Flexing his muscles, he threw open the doors and strode inside. He had been under a lot of stress, lately; he was looking forward to relieving himself of it.
In Icarus' Shadow Page 34
