Station Alpha: (Soldiering On #1) Page 9

  They wanted her to transcend her Puerto Rican heritage and succeed in a world that gave privilege to white skin and native English speakers. To move beyond all those negative things that people expected of her when they saw her heritage broadcast by her skin, darker than the white that was perceived as ‘normal’. That negativity burrowed into the deep corners of her mind, affecting her in ways she still wasn’t sure she understood.

  And Christine had learned to be ashamed of her heritage. She’d become what they called ‘western neutral’—a person that had grown up in a predominantly white, middle-to-upper-class world, without any connection to their parents’ upbringing. But Christine would never have the experience of being completely accepted by that world, either. She didn’t feel Puerto Rican, but she also didn’t feel entirely American because of the way other people treated her.

  She’d closed herself off from people, afraid to show her real self. She didn’t feel comfortable in her own body, as she was neither what people wanted nor expected from her, nor what she wanted for herself.

  After her parents had died, she’d thrown herself into her studies and her work. She wanted to achieve what they’d wanted for her—success. And she’d let everything else fall by the wayside.

  That was when she’d lost one of her last connections to them and their culture. Her belief in God. She hadn’t had enough of a connection to God to believe that He would do something so cruel as to take them from her for a good reason. And her faith had waned, and eventually disappeared.

  Even as all this occurred to Christine, she decided that the reason didn’t really matter. What mattered was that she was going to fix it. As soon as she got out of this strange limbo she found herself in, she was going to call her friends, and find a job that she was really passionate about that she could see herself in for the long term. Enrol in some Spanish classes. She didn’t know what she’d do about the relationship situation, but she couldn’t help but think that something significant was growing between her and Paul. It couldn’t just be a hero worship thing. Could it?

  Either way, she’d make that decision later, once she had time to figure it all out.

  For now, there was a mission—as Paul called it—they had to complete, one that might bring her closer to figuring out exactly what whoever these people were wanted with her.

  Paul was already talking to Blake when Christine entered the room.

  “I’ve got eyes on you. There’s a guard in the booth at the entrance, and one inside the front door.”

  “Copy,” came a crackling voice through the speakers. Christine perched on the office chair, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  “The back door has a sign that says it’s alarmed, so I might avoid that one, too.”

  Blake laughed, seemingly amused. “No problem, dude.”

  There was movement on one of the screens displaying a series of black and white images. Paul maximised that screen, and they watched the corner of the image as Blake hauled himself one-handed over the 7-foot fence, complete with narrowed tips that would be very painful to fall on. He avoided them with a surprising grace for such a bulky man. Even as he landed, his left arm was tucked in close to his body, not moving.

  From there, Paul clicked between multiple camera feeds, tracking Blake’s progress towards the building. He was barely a shadow, instinctively seeming to know where the cameras were and the best place to hide from them. If Christine hadn’t known he was there, she doubted she would have noticed him.

  She glanced at the two separate feeds of the security guards, but neither seemed alarmed by what they were watching. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Disik and Sons was in a sturdy, large building. Three stories high, it was surrounded by a car park and not much else. From what she could make out through the poor resolution and lack of colour on the screen, no lights shone from any of the windows. She had to hope that meant that there was no one inside.

  “Is the building clear?” she asked.

  “From what I can tell,” Paul replied.

  “What?” came Blake’s voice in a harsh whisper.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you,” Paul replied.

  “You must be Christine,” Blake murmured low into what must be a communication device in his ear. It occurred to Christine that there must be a stockpile of fancy equipment somewhere for the people of Soldiering On to use.

  Christine leaned forward. “Nice to meet you, Blake.”

  He chuckled in reply. There was a quick movement on one of the camera feeds, and then Blake was against the left face of the building, barely visible in the deep shadows that streaked across the wall.

  “I’m going for the second floor,” Blake told them. “Pretty sure I saw an open window up there.”

  “Blake, I’d tell you that you’re insane, but you know that already.”

  The man laughed in reply. “True enough.”

  Christine pulled the office chair closer to the screen in an attempt to get a closer look. It took almost a full minute for her eyes to adjust to what she was seeing.

  “Is he…climbing the building one-handed?”

  “Yup,” was all Paul said in reply.

  Using the strength of his legs to launch himself upwards from window ledges and small protrusions from the wall, in combination with his right hand to unerringly catch the ledges above him, Blake was moving up the wall at a surprising pace. He reached a steel rod and looped his left arm around it, hauling his legs up to a window ledge almost perpendicular to him.

  “He clearly has no left hand, but you’d barely notice. He’s mad. Amazing, but mad.”

  “We think he must have been a cat burglar in a previous life, but he claims he got it all from the military.”

  “I also rock climb in my spare time,” Blake huffed through the speakers as he locked his left arm around the steel rod even tighter, and used his right arm to slowly pry the window up. Nevertheless, she heard the flirtatious smile in his voice.

  Christine was riveted as Blake hooked his leg around through the window and slid himself inside. He disappeared from view, and she glanced at the other feeds, trying to get another glimpse of him. A security guard leaned forward, the movement catching her eye as her gaze slid past. She froze, watching him, seeing if he would raise an alarm. Paul, too, must have seen him, because he maximised the image.

  A few agonising seconds passed as the man stared intently at the screen. Then, the guard pumped his fist and cheered, throwing himself happily back in the chair.

  “Some kind of sports match,” she said with a relieved laugh.

  Paul let out a slow breath.

  “All right, Blake. Looks like no alarms were tripped. You’re good to go.”

  “Copy.”

  He moved then, darting through an open plan office space, using desks and cubicle walls for cover. Once again, he was almost invisible.

  “Any ideas on where I’m going?” he hissed.

  Paul flicked through the camera feeds. “Looks like there is storage in the basement. Lots of filing cabinets.”

  “Of course it’s the basement,” Blake replied sardonically.

  “The stairs are in full view of the camera. Nowhere for you to hide. Want me to cut the feeds on the stairs temporarily? Not sure the guard would notice.”

  “I think you’re going to have to.”

  “I won’t have eyes on you,” Paul warned.

  “Just do it,” Blake ground out.

  Paul did. One by one the screens went black. All was silent for a moment, and Christine didn’t dare breathe.

  “Cleared camera one,” came the voice muffled by crackles. Paul flicked it back on. Christine turned her eyes to the guard, watching him watch his program and hoped to hell he wouldn’t decide to do his job anytime soon.

  “Cleared two.” The image of the landing flickered back to life.

  “Cleared three.” Blake was huffing now, obviously moving at quite a pace down the stairs.

  “Cleared f
our.”

  The feed flickered on, and the system once again looked normal. One last glance at the guard proved that he hadn’t noticed a thing.

  “You’re clear,” Paul murmured.

  Blake darted into the long room that was stuffed to the brim with boxes and filing cabinets. Christine choked, knowing that it would take her many months—even years—to organise that much information. There was no way that Blake could go through it all in one night.

  Another problem occurred to her. Blake was going to be in full view when he looked in those cabinets. There was no way they could shut the camera down long enough for him to find anything useful.

  “Shit,” Blake murmured eloquently, clearly realising the same thing. “Any recommendations on where I start?”

  Christine dragged her chair closer so that she was flush with Paul.

  “What’s their categorisation system?”

  “Err…” he peered at the nearest filing cabinet. “It seems to be labelled ‘1984’.”

  “Okay, so it is categorised by time first. Can you open a cabinet for me? Preferably one of the more recent ones?”

  Without questioning her, Blake darted down the aisles until he found a label that said ‘2013’. Close enough. He tugged the drawer’s handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She heard his irritated huff through his mic.

  Without a word, he withdrew something from his pocket. Unfolding the dark fabric, he pulled out a few pins and Christine realised it was a lock picking kit.

  “Is there anything he can’t do?” Christine asked jokingly.

  Blake chuckled. “Clap,” he murmured. Paul rolled his eyes, but was clearly amused.

  The lock was open in no time, and Blake tugged the draw once again. This time it slid free.

  “Alphabetical,” Blake grunted after a moment.

  “All right. Do they have a system within the file itself?” Blake pulled out a file folder at random and flipped it open.

  “Chronological again,” he said.

  “Are the files on clients?”

  Blake flicked through some of them. “Mostly.”

  “We should find this year’s files first. Thank God they have a filing system or this would be a nightmare.”

  “What do you want me to look for first?”

  “Christine Ramirez seems as good a place to start as any,” said Paul, his voice tight.

  Christine shivered. Having been caught up in the excitement of the breaking and entering, she’d almost forgotten why they were there.

  “Copy,” was all Blake said.

  He searched a little more and found the most recent filing cabinet at the back. Once again he used his tools to open it. He found her file listed under ‘Ramirez’. Her heart leapt into her throat as he pulled it out and lay it on top of the other files. It was a thin folder – that much she could see even over the grainy camera. Blake flipped it open, then grunted.

  “Nothing much here. Just your employment contract and emergency details.”

  Christine groaned in frustration. “So it was all for nothing? We’ve got nothing to go on?” Despair settled over her, suffocating in its tempting blackness.

  Paul cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t say that. Blake, check for Vovk, would you? It might not be in this year’s, so check back a few years and see if there is any connection between the two.”

  “Copy.”

  Blake got to work, going through multiple drawers. Christine turned to Paul. “Thank you,” she told him sincerely.

  “It’s all right,” he told her with a brief smile. “I know how easy it is to lose hope.”

  He turned back to the screen and Christine did the same, glancing at the security guard as she did so.

  She froze, gripping Paul’s arm.

  The security guard was standing up, eyes still glued to the game. He stretched, and she had the hope that he would sit back down, that the allure of his sport would prove too strong. Unfortunately, he adjusted his belt and wandered away from his desk, moving in the direction of the stairs.

  “Shit, it looks like the guard is making his rounds, Blake.” Paul’s jaw was tight, and she could see the muscle working there.

  “Nearly done,” Blake murmured, his more hurried movements the only sign that he was concerned.

  “Ha!” he exclaimed as he jerked open a drawer. “There is a massive file here on the Vovks.”

  “You don’t have time to read it, so you’ll have to bring it with you. Just get out of there.”

  “Copy that.”

  They watched as he moved swiftly out of the room, and towards the stairs.

  “Nope, you’re too late, the guard is coming down. You’ll have to hide.”

  Blake cursed good-naturedly, then slipped back into the filing room. Only a few seconds passed before the guard appeared in the hallway. Blake had disappeared just in time. The guard trotted unhurriedly towards the filing room where Blake was now wedged between two cabinets, checking the other rooms along the way as he went.

  The guard stepped into the room, his head swinging back and forth as he scanned the long rows of cabinets in front of him. He walked a few more steps, moving closer to Blake with every second. Christine’s heart stopped as the guard paused right near Blake. For an endless minute, she thought he’d been spotted.

  But the guard turned on his heel and walked out of the room and into the corridor. Christine’s heart didn’t start beating again until the guard was safely scanning the next room.

  “Get the hell out of there,” Paul hissed.

  “No need to tell me twice,” Blake replied, and moved towards the door. He peered out first, making sure the guard was still in the next room before he made a dash for the stairs.

  Paul didn’t bother blacking out the cameras, so Blake sped up the stairs, still clutching the file in his hand. Rather than make his way back up to the third floor where he’d entered, he beelined for the front door. He strode past the security desk without a second glance and walked right up to the front door. Christine was about to ask what he was doing, but she realised that with the indoor guard downstairs, there was no one watching the cameras.

  Still, it was a relief when he pushed the after-hours opening button, and the door slid open. Blake stepped out into the night and melted back into the shadows.

  Christine took her first proper breath in what felt like hours.

  Chapter 11

  It had been late when Blake made it to the safety of the Soldiering On offices, so despite their almost painful curiosity, Paul and Christine decided to wait until morning to see if there was anything useful in the file on the Vovks.

  Paul had spent a restless night, tossing and turning, his thoughts bouncing from one place to the next. First on his mind was the strange moment in the office earlier that day, where he could have sworn for a brief flicker in time that Christine had wanted him to kiss her. And while that memory had nearly been supplanted by the later excitement, it roared back with a vengeance now that he was lying alone in his empty bed.

  Perhaps the attraction he’d been feeling—the one that just kept growing exponentially the more he spent time with her—wasn’t one-sided. Perhaps, just perhaps, that given enough time, she might start to feel the same way about him. Hell, maybe she already did, just a little.

  There were a lot of maybes. Maybe she didn’t feel the same way after all, and never would. Maybe she would if given time to let it grow. Maybe it was all a product of him saving her. Maybe he was delusional and living a fever dream. He simply couldn’t be sure.

  He did know that there was a way to find out, but he was also smart enough to know that in the midst of a dangerous and life-threatening situation probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up.

  After pondering those issues, he decided to wait until after they caught the bad guy and she could get her life back to suggest that maybe they could consider going out sometime.

  That resolved, his brain moved on to the next problem: that of keeping Christine safe and hurryin
g the process of resolving these issues along. With the added motivation of knowing that he wouldn’t make his move until then, it became even more imperative that it happened as soon as possible.

  That file had to be the key, otherwise they were back at square one. Instinct told him there was something fishy about the Vovks. But he couldn’t make plans to take them down until he figured out what it was.

  Paul eventually drifted to sleep with the image of soft hands and a welcoming smile filling his mind’s eye.

  Paul woke early—a product of his restless mind—and called Duncan as soon as it hit 8am.

  “You in the office yet?”

  “Pulling in now. I heard last night went well?”

  “A few tense moments, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Blake’s nuts, but he’s cool under fire.”

  Duncan grunted in agreement. “So what’s up?”

  “Blake left the file at the office last night. The one on the Vovks.”

  “I’ll go through it, see if there’s anything of use.”

  “Sure.” He hesitated. “However, I know Christine will want to see it, and I think there would be some value in letting her look. She’s good with information, and will know if any connections to her jump out. I’ll give it a pass, too.”

  “Saves me the trouble. Should I send someone over with it?”

  “Best not to. If I were them and trying to find us, best bet would be to follow the people leaving the office, since chances are good you’d know where we are.”

  “True enough. I’ll have someone scan it all and send it through.”

  “Thanks.”

  They disconnected, and Paul swung his chair around to reveal Christine standing in the doorway. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she leant against the door frame. Still in her pyjamas, she’d clearly woken up not long before. Her hair was messy, and her eyes still had a trace of the fuzziness of sleep.

  She yawned loudly. His heart flipped, as if in celebration of the domestic scene that she presented. The only thing that would make it better was if she’d just risen from his bed. No, he realised, it would be if they were both still in the bed. Together.