Chapter 35 #2
Some of them seem to know each other and are talking, but Andrea and I keep to ourselves.
Even once we’ve made it to the penthouse, we don’t talk to anyone.
The entry hall, as well as the grand living room and the reception room—the closest thing to a ballroom one can get in a penthouse—are crowded with designer-clad guests.
The catering staff swerves among them with trays of food or drinks, discreet and efficient.
We each take a glass of champagne, but don’t drink from it. Our clear-mindedness is essential tonight, and we can’t risk it. “Okay, an hour of mingling,” Andrea whispers. “Then we get into action.”
I nod. We agreed it would look extremely suspicious if we were caught in Becker’s office so soon after arriving. So, we’ll walk around, make small talk, and then find an opportunity to disappear.
It might be some degree of paranoia, given what’s on my mind, but I feel as though we attract more eyes than we should. But then, the most stunning woman in attendance is on my arm, so maybe it’s only normal.
We come across a few people I know but haven’t seen in a long time.
They ask how my parents are doing, and because I haven’t spoken to them in months and might never again, I answer with mundane bullshit.
It’s not like they actually care, regardless.
Half an hour into this, someone mentions the “terrible misunderstanding” I went through earlier this year, with that “nonsensical arrest.” The topic quickly attracts the interest of other attendees, and I’m soon regurgitating more bullshit.
I fucking hate this. Small talk makes my skin crawl, and having to do it with these people is insufferable.
The conversation has switched to the state of our Department of Justice when a distraction comes.
The quintet has stopped its music, and Norman Becker is in the center of the room, tapping his crystal glass with a spoon.
“Now?” Andrea asks, voice tight with anxiety.
In our effort to remain under the radar, we haven’t made our way too deep into the room. We can slip out the door while everyone’s attention is on Becker. “Yes,” I answer, taking her hand again.
We step out of the room quickly but not rushing, and I pull my phone out. As planned, I push a button to send Iris a command and wait for her confirmation. When it comes, I tell Andrea, “She’ll anticipate our route and loop the camera feeds as we advance. Let’s go.”
Discreetly, we make our way to the office. Andrea leads, knowing this place far better than I do, and we’re soon at the door. Her hand trembles when she tries to open it with the duplicate key, but she manages. I push her in as soon as the door is open and close it behind us.
My ears are drumming with uncontrollable anxiety. What the fuck are we doing? Planning and executing are vastly different, and I only now realize how perilous this whole thing is. We aren’t spies or thieves. We’re fucking nerds who are at our best behind a computer screen.
Thankfully, Andrea manages to think past all that and keeps us going. “Do we lock it back?” she asks.
“No. Getting caught in a locked room is impossible to explain. This way, we can pretend it was unlocked the whole time.”
“Smart. Okay, the safe’s over here.”
Gathering her long skirt, she heads over to a second door while I pull out my gloves. By the time I’m done putting them on, she returns with the camera she hid a couple of days ago. I take out the cable we brought, and we plug it into my phone.
“Please, please, please,” she begs as the application loads. A few video files appear, and she lets out a victorious “Yes!”
It looks like Becker opened his safe more than once. I waste no time opening a file, and we watch as Becker’s hand appears on the screen. He types in a twelve-number combination. We rewatch it, and it seems Andrea has the same doubt as I have. “Is that one before the last a six or a three?”
“I’m not sure.”
I open another clip, and we watch the same thing happen again. It’s impossible to tell in this one either. I’m trying to think about what the numbers could mean when Andrea says, “Look, there’s more than a laptop in there. He keeps some kind of notebook, too.”
The video, still running, shows the hand taking out a leather-bound notebook indeed. “We need to try a combination,” I decide.
“What if we get it wrong?”
“We have two tries. If it’s not three, it’ll be six. It’ll work, freckles.”
She nods in agreement, but I can see how worried she still is. “We’ll get out of this, my love. I promise.”
When she nods this time, there’s more assurance in it.
We walk into the closet together, and I lower myself to see the digital screen.
It lights up with a touch, and numbers appear.
Careful not to make a mistake, I type in the combination with a three, then press the button to open.
The screen turns red with a warning sound.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
Andrea is right by my side, passing a hand over my upper back. “You can do it, baby.”
I close my eyes and take a long breath, aware of what will go down if the next input is also wrong. Becker and his goons will storm the place before we have time to even consider an escape. I can’t let that happen. Not with my freckled dork right here with me.
Opening my eyes again, I focus on the digits and enter the password, using a six this time. The tip of my index finger hovers over the validation button. This isn’t how we end. No way the universe planned it this way.
Invigorated by the idea that something greater than us is pulling the strings, I press the button. The screen turns green with a little blip, and the door unlocks.
“Fuck yeah!” Andrea whisper-shouts, her hand on my back, fisting and tugging at the fabric of my tux with excitement.
From then on, it’s as though we’re on autopilot. I take out the laptop and the notebook, and while Andrea settles on the desk to open the computer and get the hard drive, I take everything out of my pockets. The cloning station, its cord, and the SD card with its adapter.
I set it next to Andrea, find a plug, and shove the cord into it.
As soon as it’s over, I focus on the notebook.
Whatever’s in there, we’ll probably find a use for it.
I don’t even take time to look at what’s handwritten on the pages.
I snap pictures, turn the page, snap, turn …
It seems endless, but it’ll be worth it.
“Okay, I’m done,” Andrea lets out. I’m starting the cloning.”
“Good. Let me know when it’s over.”
“Yeah.”
Whatever chemistry is firing up in my brain, it seems to slow time. I’m more focused than I’ve ever been, eyes set on my mission, determined to carry it through.
“Almost done,” Andrea says after a moment has passed.
I take more pictures, vaguely seeing that every page is set up the same way, with a title, then a list of names, and a small paragraph below. Whatever this is, Becker wants to keep it locked in and secret.
“Okay, it’s done,” Andrea asserts.
“Good. Time to assemble the laptop again.”
“On it.”
I’m barely halfway into the notebook. I’ll never take a picture of every page. Switching tactics, I begin filming instead and flip through the pages. Hopefully, we’ll be able to read the rest of it. There should be enough light.
It only takes about two minutes for Andrea to let out, “All good.”
“Me too. Let’s return everything to the safe and ditch this place.”
“With fucking pleasure.”
We walk up to the closet, and Andrea puts the laptop first, as it was placed, before I set the notebook on top of it.
“We’re good, I think?” she hesitantly says.
“I think so, yes. It was exactly like this when we opened.”
“Then I’ll close it.”
She sends her gloved hand into the niche and pushes the steel door closed. The locks snap into place, and the screen lights up to write “Locked.”
There. We did it. We not only have whatever is on that laptop, but we also got extra information from the notebook. This went even better than I imagined, though we aren’t out of the woods yet.
“I can’t believe we did it,” Andrea breathes out, sounding less overwhelmed than she did before.
“We’ll have done it once we’re out. Come on, let’s—”
My words die with the darkness that suddenly falls on us. The lights went out. We’re in perfect obscurity, completely blind in the last place in the world where we’d want to be. Fuck, this is Iris’s warning. Someone’s coming this way.
Andrea is faster than I am at reacting, turning on her phone’s light immediately. Shit, we forgot about that. I’m still trying to decide what to do when she launches herself at the desk to get the screwdriver she left there.
“Get the card out of the cloning station!” she orders before running to a corner of the room. There, she drops to her knees and begins unscrewing a brass floor vent.
Understanding what her clever brain just came up with, I gather everything we wouldn’t want to be found with and join her.
As soon as she has the vent opened, I hand her everything, and she throws it down there.
The camera, the cloning station, the adapter, the duplicate key …
When it’s all down, she lowers her arm in there and pushes it all to the side, out of view.
She’s just done when the lights return. Fuck, the thirty seconds are gone.
“Your gloves,” she demands.
I snap them off, and she throws them in the vent before returning the cover to its place. She screws it back on and then lets the screwdriver fall through a gap in the design.
That’s when we hear voices. Coming closer. And fast.
“What do we do now?!” Andrea whispers, panicked.
The rush from earlier has returned in full force, and my brain calculates every option and outcome. There’s only one solution to this. Only one reason we could be in a room we shouldn’t be in, isolated from the rest of the guests.