Chapter Eight
We stare at each other in stunned amazement. Brodie takes the notebook from me and turns over the pages one at a time. She even holds the pages up to the light to see if any words have been etched onto the paper.
“You’re sure the book is important?” she asks skeptically.
“Absolutely. The man dragged it out of his pocket with his dying breath and forced it on me.”
Brodie nods. “Okay, let’s head back to the car.”
We return to the vehicle and spend the next half an hour in the front seat examining the book from front to back. At the same time it grows lighter in the street outside. People walk past the vehicle on their way to work. A street cleaning machine zooms down the road. A café owner starts setting out tables and chairs onto the sidewalk. Another day in the Big Apple.
Finally Brodie puts the book down between the seats. “The book is a dead end. For now.”
“What do you suggest?”
She thinks for a moment. “What about Cygnus Industries? We could go back to see what we can find.”
I raise an eyebrow. “To see what we can find? You mean, like bad guys with guns and psycho doctors? You might have super powers, but –”
“I don’t have super powers,” Brodie starts. “Well, actually I sort of do, but that’s beside the point. I still think Cygnus Industries is the safest place for us right now.”
“How do you figure that?”
“They’re probably turning this city upside down looking for us,” Brodie explained. “Cygnus Industries is the last place they’d expect us to return.”
I can’t fault her logic. It seems so unlikely we would return there that it’s probably the one place we should go. I nod.
“Okay. But you’re Batman if the bad guys turn up.”
She smirks. “Okay, boy wonder.”
We drive across town to Cygnus Industries. Taking care to park some way down the block, we approach the address carefully. The body and the damaged car are long gone, of course. All that remains is a little broken glass on the road. We stroll past it nonchalantly and enter the main lobby. It’s an older building, but clean and well maintained. We make straight for the elevators and reach the floor without incident.
The door to Cygnus Industries has been broken open; the lock is hanging on by a single screw. Obviously the men who attacked our contact didn’t bother knocking. A zigzag of police tape is strung across the front. No sound comes from within. Silently, we push the door open and ease our way between the police tape. We close the door behind us.
“Wow,” says Brodie.
Wow, indeed. Imagine a fairly typical office with filing cabinets, desks, computers and partitions. Now imagine it has been turned upside down and every file and piece of paper taken. Desks upturned. Computers smashed. Even the water dispenser had been pulled off the wall.
“They obviously don’t have a cleaner,” I say.
We start to methodically search every filing cabinet and desk for papers and find exactly – nothing. Not a single page has been left behind. We even start lifting furniture and still find nothing. Not a business card. Zilch. There is a smaller room that leads off the main office of Cygnus Industries. Possibly it was the manager’s office as all it contains is a desk and a wardrobe. We search the drawers of the desk and still find nothing.
I try plugging in one of the computers, but it simply gives me a blue screen. It doesn’t even start to boot up.
“Holy hell,” I groan. “This place has been stripped clean.”
“Wait a second,” Brodie holds up a hand. “Did you hear that?”
We both freeze. I realize Brodie is referring to the elevator. It sounds like the doors are closing. We look at each other. If someone is coming to this office there are frighteningly few places to hide. There is the desk in the manager’s office which can fit about half a body under it. Then there’s the wardrobe behind it.
We quickly scoot into the office and climb into the wardrobe. Standing there with the door slightly ajar, I peer out to see if anyone enters the main office. At the same time I’m conscious of how close I am to Brodie. She is only a few inches away. My eyes stray to her face. Her lips.
She whispers. “Keep your mind on the job.”
I avert my eyes. At that same moment I hear the front door to the office creak open. A shuffle of feet. Someone clears their throat. The drawer of a filing cabinet is eased open. More footsteps.
Finally someone steps into view. It’s a kid a couple of years younger than me. He is of Asian appearance. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. Black hair. Round face. A bit overweight. He looks completely focused on carrying out the same identical search we have just completed.
I catch Brodie’s eye. The whole thing is bizarre. To make matters worse, I know it’s only a matter of time before he enters the manager’s office and opens the closet to find – us! A horrible thought goes through my mind. It’s terrible, but I can’t help it. No, no, no. That’s too awful. Do not even think about it.
Because all of a sudden I can imagine myself leaping out of the closet and scaring the daylights out of the kid. A smile creases my lips.
Brodie looks at me, frowning and I simply shake my head.
Don’t worry.
I’m one of the good guys.
At that moment things take a slightly radical turn. The kid suddenly freezes. At first I think he has heard us in the wardrobe. Then I hear a grunt and I see the kid race for the door. Two men crash tackle him to the ground. He hits the ground.
My stomach turns over. One of the men punches the kid – hard – in the stomach and I see him roll up like an injured bug. The men lift him to his feet, drag him into the office and throw him on the manager’s desk. One of them holds him down while the other one navigates around the desk. The man has his back to us; he is so close we could reach out and touch him.
“You’re gonna tell us everything you know about The Agency,” the man says.
“Please,” he gasps. “I don’t know anything –”
“You’ll speak or –”
That’s as far as the man gets. At that moment Brodie pushes open the door of the wardrobe and taps the man on the shoulder. He turns around in astonishment.
“Surprise,” she says.