Chapter Thirty-Seven
Giselle drummed her fingers idly against the surface of her desk, her fingernails providing a clacking, staccato beat for her thoughts to dance to. It was the only outward sign of the trepidation she felt towards the situation at hand. She had remained in her office, just as she had promised Tyrone she would and, while she considered herself a patient woman, she had found this particular situation to be altogether too urgent to ignore completely. So, she had done what most people tended to do when given an unoccupied block of time while having no particular idea as to how they should constructively fill it; she had directed her computer's web browser to the plethora of videos on the internet.
Of course, it was mere minutes later that the power cut out, plunging her office into darkness and leaving her blinking at the dim reflection of the moon gleaming off her now-blank computer screen. Taking a few steadying breaths to calm herself, she counted to ten and nodded in satisfaction as the secondary lights kicked in; a handy feature she had insisted on having installed on this floor and in her penthouse upstairs, though she had never thought she would actually need them. And sure, they weren't much more than orange-toned, glowing strips set in the cracks between the floor, walls and ceiling, but they were enough to see by and that was better than nothing.
Getting to her feet, Giselle moved to the window and looked outside. The thin sliver of the waxing moon hung in the sky above, but what interested her most was the building across the street; it was shorter than the Icarus building, but the important detail about it was that she could see lights from some of its windows. Frowning, she let that particular fact process for a moment. We're the only ones who are out? Someone must have tripped a fuse; I just hope it wasn't deliberate. I'd better get a hold of Tyrone and see if he knows what's up.
With the power out, there was no point in trying the phone on her desk and she wasted no time on it. Moving toward the door of her office, she picked up her suit's jacket from where she had left it and ran her hands over the material as she hunted for her pocket. Locating a bulge in the fabric, she found the pocket's opening and slipped her cellphone out and into her hand. Flipping it open, she felt a certain smugness at her ability to dial her security chief's number in the dark; she had done it often enough in the past several months that her fingers knew the motions without any assistance from her eyes. With the phone ringing, she sat back at her desk and turned her chair towards her window so she had something to look at besides her orange-tinted office.
Once the line picked up, she caught herself before she could sigh audibly in relief. "Tyrone, it's me."
"Giselle? Is something the matter?" was his reply, causing her to roll her eyes in exasperation.
"Tyrone Burgess, only you could ask me something like that in the middle of a power outage."
She heard him chuckle quietly. "Okay, I'll give you that, but I was asking about up there. The back-up lights came on, right?"
She tugged apprehensively at a strand of her hair, which she had not yet bothered to put back up. "Yes, they did, but that hardly makes me feel any better. Do you have any idea why we're in the dark? I can see our neighbours across the street from my window and they've still got power, so it's not a proper blackout."
"It's probably just a fuse; I'm heading down into the basement now to take a look. Keep your phone on you so I can get a hold of you, just in case, but I'm sure everything is fine."
She had thought the same thing, but hearing it from someone else seemed to make the suggestion more believable. Giselle felt herself relaxing, though only a little. "All right, but I want an update soon if you can't get it fixed. I'm not going to just wait up here in the dark all night, you know."
He laughed at that. "I'll keep that in mind. Talk to you soon."
Hanging up, Tyrone tucked his cellphone back into his pocket. Picking up his flashlight, which he had balanced on his knee during his and Giselle's conversation, he turned it towards the wall. The fuse box was there; a simple, grey box of metal tucked into the corner of the basement, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. The door was still ajar and he shut it carefully, flipping the latch that held it closed into place and sighing quietly to himself, feeling the touch of guilt tugging at his focus for having lied to Giselle. Shaking it off, he turned and ascended the basement stairs. By the time he reached the hallway, he was already back to barking orders into his radio.
"All night guards meet on the ground floor and await further instructions," he began. "Murakami, remain in my office for the time being and wait for your orders."
"Roger that, Sir," was his second-in-command's reply, though he could hear a certain questioning note in her voice. "But, Sir..."
He didn't have time for hesitation tonight. "What, Murakami?"
Her response still seemed slightly uncertain; he supposed he couldn't blame her, after accidentally letting Lawson and Carmichael go last time he had given her a hard time for days. "It's about the man you directed up here; he says his name is Jason? What should I do with him?"
Jason; he almost moaned the word internally. He had forgotten about him. "Keep the idiot with you, at least then I'll know where he is. I'm trusting you to keep him out of trouble, all right?"
"Yes, Sir," she replied, more confidently this time.
Placing his radio back on his belt, Tyrone shook his head slowly. You're getting soft, Tyrone, at this rate you're going to need a new line of work...
Walking quickly across the darkened lobby, lit only by the flashlights of the first guards to arrive, he nodded at his subordinates and continued on. Reaching the stairwell, he began to climb. Upon reaching the second level, he pulled his key ring from his pocket, where it was usually kept; Tyrone was not fond of the incessant jangling noises it produced when on his belt. Flipping between the dozen or so keys on the metal band, he found the one he was after and fitted it into the lock of the door. Turning it until he heard the click of the lock, he nodded in satisfaction, turned from it and continued climbing.
Hearing footsteps descending the stairs above him, he held himself to one side as a group of guards, their uniforms startlingly white in the beams of their flashlights, passed him by on their way to the ground floor. Exchanging a simple nod in passing in place of their usual formalities, Tyrone resumed his upward trek after the dozen or so men and women had cleared the way. Reaching the third floor's door, he locked it as well before moving on. Shining his flashlight upwards, he saw the seemingly endless staircase above him, disappearing into the dark beyond the beam's illuminating reach.
Forty-six to go, he sighed inwardly, giving what he saw a reproachful glare. He soon discovered that it was not to be a lonely task, however, as his phone began to ring shortly after he had locked the next two doors. Answering it, he heard the familiar tone of his employer cutting through the oppressively silent darkness around him.
"It's been ten minutes since the blackout, are we on schedule?"
"Yes, Sir," he replied swiftly. "I've just finished locking up the fifth floor."
The man sounded pleased with this. "Good, you're making excellent progress. I trust our intruders were allowed a proper head-start?"
Reaching the sixth floor, Tyrone slipped his key into the lock and gave the knob a fruitless twist to be sure it was secure. "Like I said before, I saw Lawson sneaking past me not long before the blackout, but didn't let on I had. She's definitely had enough time to get to the top few floors by elevator."
"And her companion, the one I've expressed concern about?"
Tyrone, in the midst of climbing to the seventh floor, rolled his eyes. "Her companion is that Carmichael kid, Sir, not Black."
His employer's tone became a condescending one. "Please. Use your head, Tyrone. Have you ever seen the two of them together? Carmichael and Black, I mean."
Tyrone blinked. "Well, no, but since they're not working together I figured that was normal."
"Fool. If Black can deceive people by changing his appearance, there's a very re
al possibility that he and Miss Lawson's fair-haired companion are one and the same person."
Bristling slightly at the insult, Tyrone felt himself retorting before he could swallow it down. "Carmichael was beaten senseless in an alley not ten minutes before Black crashed my meeting with Lawson at the Lord Elgin, Sir. Explain that to me."
"How far away was the alley?"
He slammed the key home into the lock of the seventh floor's door, twisting it a little more forcefully than he would have normally. "A couple blocks, but what's that matter? The man was unconscious, beaten unrecognizable!"
His employer chuckled. "And was he so badly wounded the next time you saw him?"
Tyrone frowned. "I haven't seen him since; not his face, anyway. The last time I saw him was on the camera footage of their attempt to sneak in here. I'd just assumed his injuries were hidden by his disguise, or something."
"But did you check?"
The big man's silence was answer enough. "I thought as much. No, Tyrone, the man we are dealing with is beyond your comprehension. I don't know who it is, yet, but I believe I know whom he is associated with. That is why I'm having you lock these doors, to limit the amount of space he has to manoeuvre in. It is why I had you ensure that the elevators could absolutely not be used by turning off the power; simply locking them would not be enough if he was able to impersonate you and rescind the order. If this man can fool people so completely, the only option is to give him no one to impersonate. The men I sent there each have a radio and will stay in constant contact, so he cannot fool them; everyone else will be stationed in groups as they secure the ground floor. There will be nowhere for this man to hide."
Tyrone, having reached the eighth floor, paused. He had to admit, the plan was a thorough one. "And what about Giselle? She's in her office right now, alone. Shouldn't I take a group with me to go make sure she's safe?"
His employer's tone was a hasty one. "Oh, I'll have the men upstairs see to her safety, don't worry."
"Very well, Sir," he acquiesced, though he did not feel very reassured at all.
Whether the man noticed Tyrone's doubts or not was unclear, but his voice became serious as he returned to the matter at hand. "Good. Now then; when you're done locking up, take your second in command and withdraw to the ground floor. I need you to make sure that none of your guards go wandering into the stairwell; they might hear the echoes of what is happening up top. The team is equipped with silencers, but only for their side arms. We don't want any good Samaritans getting it in their heads to contact the local authorities."
"Understood, Sir. I'll move as quickly as I am able."
"You do that. I'll call back if I need to adjust any of your orders."
Hanging up the phone, Tyrone's employer folded his hands briefly. Tyrone's recent behaviour was less than encouraging; perhaps he had kept the big man in one place for too long. Shrugging, he decided that he would see to it once the business here was concluded. Dialling a different number, he waited for his contact to pick up. Once he had, he began speaking immediately. There was no time for pleasantries today.
"Lieutenant, this is your client speaking. Tyrone Burgess is in the process of locking the lower floors and should be finished within half an hour at the absolute most, so I'm letting you off the leash. Make your plans as you see fit, but from here on out you can consider your mission in progress. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir," came the quick reply. "Sir, we are to wait for Burgess to withdraw before we begin?"
Picking up an empty martini glass from his desk, the man rolled the olive inside around idly, before setting it back down. "No. Tyrone knows his orders; he'll get out of the way in time."
"Roger that. To confirm, then; our mission is to purge the building from top to bottom, excluding only the bottom floor."
Plucking the olive from the bottom of the glass, the man caught a smirk crawling onto his face. "That's right, Lieutenant. Keep the mess to a minimum if you can, though, would you?"
"Understood. We'll be as mindful of your property as possible, Sir."
"Thank you. And good luck. You just might need it."
Hanging up, the man let his smirk grow into a properly smug grin. He didn't know who this 'Black' really was, but it didn't matter. He would be dealt with tonight. Crushing the olive in his hand, he tossed the flattened, juicy mess back into its glass. Quick, a little messy, but efficiently dealing with the issue at hand. Pressing the intercom for his assistant's office, he ordered another drink.
In Icarus' Shadow Page 53
