9—Dallas （Restricted Area）
“You wanna help me write the report?” Chad asks as we retreat from Jarvis’ dressing room.
My mind is reeling, my heart racing at what I just found. Those ominous notes could only be referring to one person and one relationship. I’m desperate to review the photo and learn more of Jarvis’ bid to hurt Larinda, but not until I’m alone. I can’t trust anyone, especially the world’s worst spy right here.
“It’s for the big boss,” Chad adds with a sly smile I’m in no mood to interpret.
What are we even talking about?
“Hey, I’m gonna head back to the bus,” I say.
His expression falls. “So you don’t want to write the report with me?”
“What report?”
“The report. For Mr. Sandeke.”
I’m so lost. Who the hell is Mr. Sandeke and why does he need a report?
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
Chad looks disappointed, but I don’t know how I’d be any help writing a report for someone I don’t know about things I also don’t know.
“Fine, then I’m not putting your name on it.”
“That’s fair. I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just need to?—”
“Hey! You can’t be back here!”
We freeze at the hostile shout and twist back to find three large, disgruntled men stalking toward us.
Security. Crap.
“No, it’s fine. I’m with Larinda,” I say at the same time Chad says “I’m with Jarvis.”
Double crap.
The security guards must not be moved by our assurances when they form a human wall and motion us in the opposite direction.
“Seriously, guys. I’m Val Andrews, Larinda’s producer,” I say, stepping toward them. Frustrated, I reach for my all-access badge, and…
Oh shit. I left my pass in Jarvis’ dressing room!
“And I’m with Jarvis!” Chad repeats, adding a salute that doesn’t actually help.
“You’re with Jarvis,” a guard says dryly. Okay, I do skeptical but this guy nailsit as he scans Chad’s pink polo shirt and khakis.
“Yes. I’m Chad Smith, the Administrative Talent Liaison for Reedweather Media vis a vis Sandeke Telecom. I’d give you my card but they’re gone.”
A hundred percent sure Chad’s business card wouldn’t get us out of this situation anyway.
“Great, so that means you both have security passes,” another guard says. The way he’s looking at our chests means he’s noticed we don’t have those.
“Yes. And we do,” I reply as calmly as possible. “It’s just, I left mine in Jarvis’ dressing room and?—”
“I thought you said you’re Larinda’s producer,” the man says, crossing his arms.
“I am, but?—”
“It was for the Smile Surprise photo campaign,” Chad explains. “Well, and for the report, but mostly the campaign. We haven’t decided whether to include images in the reports,” he whispers to me.
I fire a hard return look and silently beg him to stop “helping.” He winks.
“Media aren’t allowed back here. No one is without a pass. Let’s move.”
They grab our arms and drag us in the opposite direction of where I need to go.
“I’m telling the truth!” I say, tugging against their grip. “Call Larinda. Steve, Bruce—anyone! They’ll tell you.”
“We don’t have to. That’s why there are passes.”
“Yeah, but?—”
He jerks me forward, and I try to rip my arm away. All hope of a brazen escape fades when someone grabs my other side.
Shit shit shit!
“Let go of me!”
“We’ve got a situation in corridor E,” the third says into an earpiece.
A situation?!
“OMG. We’re getting arrested,” Chad whisper-shouts.
How is he happy about this?!
“I’m telling the truth!” I say. “We’re part of the crew. We have bunks on the?—”
“Shut your mouth or we’ll shut it for you.”
Would he? I can’t tell but he definitely stole that line from page two of the training manual for fictional mobsters.
Fear and anger course through me as they lead us to an empty room at the end of the hall. Panic joins the mix when they force us inside. Can they do this? Don’t they need a warrant or something? I want to see that manual.
“You’ll wait here until we sort this out,” one of them barks.
The other one is still talking into his earpiece. “Yeah, we got two for trespassing. Maybe one for assault and attempted kidnapping.”
What?!
“Yeah, call them in. The tall one is being difficult. Blond one is cooperating. We’ve got the suspects in the northeast holding tank.”
What is happening right now?
“We’ll be back,” the guy growls, then slams the door.
I don’t even bother checking to see if it’s locked.
“This is so friggin’ cool! I’ve always wanted to get arrested!” Chad cries.
I clench my fist and glare at him. “We’re not arrested, and this is not cool.”
“I can be in a documentary now!”
“That’s not how that works. Dammit! This wouldn’t even have happened if you hadn’t made me take off my security badge. Wait, why aren’t you wearing yours?”
He shrugs. “Same reason. It was getting in the way of the camera. All tangled up, you know?”
He fishes through his pocket.
And pulls out his badge.
“You had your pass this whole time?! Why didn’t you show it to them?!”
He gives me a patient look as he loops the lanyard around his neck. “Because you didn’t have yours. If you were going to prison, so was I. Leave no man behind.”
That’s… kind of sweet, actually. Also ludicrous.
Ah!
I lock my hands on my head as I start pacing. We have to figure this out before the real cops come. I pissed off security just enough to give them incentive to make my life difficult. The Mer-Nut king over there will be fine with his “cooperation” label (and badge he magically found), but I’m still screwed unless we come up with a solution.
I pull out my phone to call Larinda but there’s no service in this arena dungeon. Of course not. Why would something swing my way?
“Fuck,” I mumble, lowering to a squat while I think. Within seconds, I’m fully seated on the cold, concrete floor, leaning against the wall of our “cell.”
Chad looks like he’s rehearsing for his documentary interview.
“Do you think I should have an accent?” he asks. “I should, right? Possibly from Oregon? They have the best trees if you’re into that sorta thing.”
I don’t even understand the question enough to respond.
“What exactly is it you do for Jarvis?” I ask instead. “Why are you here?”
Maybe it’s all an act with this guy. Maybe he’s really some genius covert operative who does this crap to trick people into letting down their guard. Then when you least expect it?—
“Oh man! I think this ginormous pile of boxes is all paper towels. It can’t be, right? What would you even do with that many paper towels?!”
Or not.
When he approaches the mountain of janitorial supplies, I prepare to stop him from whatever bad idea is forming in his head. There’s no way I’mrestacking those before going to prison for not having the proper badge.
“You said you’re a spy,” I continue, trying to distract him from getting us in more trouble. “What exactly is your… mission?”
Yep. I just said that, but it’s totally worth it when he forgets all about the towel windfall and drops to the floor in front of me.
He leans forward and scans the empty room as if there might be surveillance. If there is, I’m positive they’re way more concerned about Chad messing up their piles than whatever he’s about to say.
“I could get in a lot of trouble for telling you that. There’s a code, you know.”
“Yeah… I got that. But if I’m going to be your… asset, you’ll have to tell me what I’m supposed to do, right?”
“Hmm. Good point.” He wraps his arms around his legs and rests his chin on his knees. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you can’t freak out and blow our cover.”
Pretty sure we’re way past that.
“I promise.”
He nods and checks once more for the invisible threat. “The powers that be think Larinda is up to something.”
I nearly choke and come dangerously close to breaking my promise of not freaking out (with laughter).
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. One never makes light of spy subversions. It’s in the code. You’d know this if you helped with the report.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Anywho, you know how Larinda is the spokesperson for Brighthouse like Jarvis is for Sandeke Telecom?”
“She used to be, but not anymore.”
“Or so she says.”
“No, she really isn’t.”
He winks. “Exactly. She isn’t.”
“She isn’t.”
“Okay, well, she might be, and if she is, then she’s probably planning her revenge.”
Her revenge? Larinda doesn’t even hurt insects. Not kidding, she’s terrified of them but insists on having them safely removed from a room and reinhabited in their natural environments.
But I’ve learned arguing with this guy gets you nowhere except a locked storage closet with a crap-ton of paper towels.
“Revenge for what?” I ask.
“Do you remember about a year ago when fellow telecom giant Brighthouse had that ransomware attack during their video game event that almost ruined them but sadly didn’t?”
Disturbingly, I do. Very well, since my sister and good friend Nash were a huge part of that whole blowup. But I’m thinking that information might hurt my chances at more intel, so I keep it to myself. Dirty spy move? Probably, but desperate times…
“I remember something about it,” I say casually.
“Well, we did that. I did that.”
Pretty sure Nash and Paige did it, but whatever.
“Okay. So what does this have to do with the tour and Jarvis?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out,” he says in a low voice. Oddly, he doesn’t wink with this one. It felt like a winking moment.
“So you don’t actually know why you’re here.”
Guess that makes two of us.
“Don’t be silly! Sandeke Telecom is sponsoring this tour. I’m representing their interests.”
“But you don’t know what those interests are.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. Then furrows his brow and huffs. “Well, I also run our merch table.”
Oh right. The mutant fish.
He waves me off. “Anywho, the point is, if Larinda and Brighthouse are planning to exact their revenge on Sandeke and Jarvis for the ransomware thing, I’m here to stop it.”
I have zero faith he’d be able to do that, but since there’s also zero chance of that happening, I guess the math works.
“Okay, well, I can assure you that Larinda does not represent Brighthouse anymore and therefore has no intention of exacting revenge on anyone.”
“Right.”
Now he winks?
My response is cut off by scraping at the door, but any relief fades when it opens to what appears to be an entire contingent of security personnel. Fantastic…
Accompanying the three guards who “arrested” us is a woman who could be their boss, two people who look like actual police officers—and Jarvis. It’s the last one that scares me the most, especially when he settles a vicious look on me.
Yeah, I’m guessing he’s not here to return my badge.
“These guys with you?” the woman who’s probably the security boss asks.
“He is, not him.”
I don’t need to see Jarvis’ emphatic finger point to know which of us got which label.
“You, out,” the woman says to Chad. Her gaze drifts to the lanyard that’s now around his neck, and I see the confusion on her face before she pats herself on the back for resolving this crisis.
“You can go back to work. You, come with us,” she says to me.
“But I?—”
“Didn’t we discuss this already? Do we have to put you in real jail?” one of the guards says. Jarvis’ smug look might be worse than the prospect of real jail.
“No, of course not,” I rush out when someone grabs my arm. “He’s right. I don’t work for him. I’m with Larinda. Like I said from the beginning!”
“Right. You’re with Larinda but your pass is with Jarvis,” another guard says. “You holding on to his pass for him?” he asks Jarvis.
Well, I know what that response will be.
“Not that I know of,” Jarvis replies with a sneer. “We done here? I was in the middle of having my belt loops redone.”
“Of course, Mr. McKinnley. We apologize for the disruption.”
“He hates me!” I cry. “Of course he’s going to?—”
“You need to shut your mouth,” the head guard snaps at me. “You’re in enough trouble.”
I clench my fist in frustration and turn to my last hope. Chad and I were besties a minute ago. “The code” and all that? But his apologetic look doesn’t inspire a ton of confidence. Nor does the long string of words he mouths that I can’t interpret.
He’s still talking silently when the crowd of security personnel drag me down the hall in the other direction. How many resources are being wasted to bust a guy for dropping a lanyard?
“Leave no man behind, right?” I call out, twisting back for a targeted look at Chad.
He nods. Then winks.