Cardinal, (Citizen Saga, Book 2) Page 15

  "We'll check it is empty first, my lady," one said, addressing their employer, then nodding to his companion to do just that. When the man had passed us, the first guard looked back toward me. "Thank you, Honourable...?"

  I could hardly give him my real name, which in earlier times would have put their unease at complete rest. Not so much anymore. Selena Carstairs was a wanted woman. Just not wanted for a crime, rather the fact she'd been abducted instead.

  Harjeet had chosen an identity that would blend in. Not an uncommon Elite surname, nor too low on the rung to have not walked the paths of the vaulted SkyPark without turning heads. But an identity that didn't actually exist.

  "Honourable Carolyn Wentworth," I offered. The Wentworth name was old and well respected.

  Also, a huge enough family for me to be lost in the thick of it.

  "Oh, a Wentworth!" Lady Markham exclaimed. "Do you know Dorothy?"

  I did, as it happened. Quite well.

  "Oh, yes," I said, turning towards Lady Markham and purposely dismissing the guard. If he pushed for a body search, most inappropriately but nevertheless quite valid, I'd be found out in a flash. But my back to him sent a message. One I hoped he believed. "My distant cousin. I still haven't recovered from her last birthday party or the joke her brother played."

  Only those who were invited knew of what Dorothy Wentworth's brother had done to the fruit punch. And they had all been sworn to secrecy. Of course, secrecy for an Elite meant not talking to the press or a Citizen. You could gossip amongst yourselves with ease. But by mentioning it, I hoped to convince both Lady Markham and her guard of my Elite validity.

  "You were there?" she asked, delighted at having first hand knowledge.

  "And I tried the punch."

  Her hand flew to her mouth in an imitation of my earlier act. Though hers wasn't an act.

  "No! Did your tongue...?"

  "Oh, yes," I said, shaking my head. "For three whole weeks I refused to talk, lest someone saw the green."

  She burst out laughing just as the first guard returned, declaring the bathroom safe.

  "Shall we?" I said, again ignoring the guard at my back.

  Lady Markham nodded.

  The guard remained silent.

  I slipped into the bathroom and slipped her keycard from her bag as soon as the door closed.

  Now to get out of here as quickly as possible.

  Damn, I should have tipped the milk and not the honey into the woman's lap.

  Chapter 25

  She Was Still My Lena

  Trent

  I was sweating and I hated fucking tea. Four hours of pretending to enjoy high tea like some pansy-arsed effeminate Elite in the full heat of a Wánměi cloudless day. My... worst... nightmare.

  If it wasn't for the fact that Lena looked equally as appalled at her surroundings as me.

  Although, you wouldn't know it to look at her. She must have consumed eight cups of tea - or maybe she was watering the pot-plant to her side, who knew with Lena - and I lost count of the cupcakes eaten. Sooner or later the woman would start to turn a little green. But she stuck it out and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why.

  It certainly wasn't for the experience, because no sane person would put themselves through this for four fucking hours straight. Even Alan had given up on the casino, having lost several hundred credits and calling it quits before he was forced to dip into Lena's stash. He was now sitting in the air-conditioned comfort of one of the theatres, enjoying an action movie. Like a real man.

  I rubbed a hand over my face and then tried to wipe the sweat from the back of my neck.

  In a dinner suit. Who wears a dinner suit to the pool?

  If I could get away with it, I'd be throttling Lena's little neck right about now for putting me through this shit. But she was here for a reason. Clearly. And I was not going to call her on it until I knew what that fucking reason was.

  And then she stiffened, eyes coming up from her vid-screen, which I was sure was only a prop, and focusing in on a group of Elite women who had just arrived. I sat up straighter, tried to identify any of them, but came up blank. Clearly upper Elite. Married to Overseers maybe? None of them were Overseers themselves. I knew every single one of them. But their wives? Not so much.

  I forced myself to relax again, effecting an uninterested pose, and watched from the corner of my eye.

  More high fucking tea. The Elite of Wánměi were threatening to drown us in it.

  The women took their seats and started yabbering away as only Elite can. Lena leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning the entire stretch of the SkyPark down by the women, thankfully unable to spot me, her hand adjusting the bionic-ear she had in place.

  OK. So she was here for these women, or one of them in any case. But why?

  "Si," I said under my breath.

  "Yeah, boss?"

  "Can you get iRecs on the women Lena is watching?"

  "On it."

  Silence again. We'd spoken barely half a dozen words to each other since this laborious afternoon began.

  I waited. And waited. As Si hacked the cameras in the SkyPark. And waited some more.

  "Security's tight," he finally announced. Not something I didn't already know. "But the only one of real interest is Lady Melanie Markham, wife to..."

  "Overseer Jeffrey Markham," I offered.

  "Bingo." Pause. "What's she after, boss?"

  I had no idea what Lena was after, but an Overseer's wife could not be good news.

  I didn't bother answering, just kept on watching the scene unfold, feeling like a vice had my stomach in an impossibly tight grip.

  Then Lena stood, and the vice tightened enough to make me grunt a breath out in reaction.

  This was it. Four hours of heat and useless Elite and high fucking tea. This was it.

  I watched, still seated, in case I made a move and gave myself away. I'd managed to stay out of her line of sight the entire time, but she was walking now. One twist of her head and she'd see me.

  I held my breath.

  Her head down over her vid-screen - which I was sure was still a ploy - she approached the area where Lady Markham was seated with her friends. A waiter arrived carrying the obligatory towers of sugary goods. A second waiter brought the tea cups, milk and shit. A third stood back, waiting for a gap, to deliver the hot tea and water.

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, feeling sweat trickle down my spine.

  Then the most hilarious thing happened.

  Lena tripped the first waiter with a lightning quick move of her foot beneath his - don't blink now or you'll miss it kind of move - and in the ensuing panic she elbowed the second waiter, flicking the honey pot all over Lady Markham.

  I snorted. Thankfully the yells and shouts from across the deck hid my very non-model like behaviour. And even the chuckle afterwards was lost to the chaos.

  Arms flailing, screams escalating and above it all came Lena's calm and oh so very Elite reprimand.

  "Oh, my goodness! Have care, sir! The lady's dress is quite ruined now. This is most unlike The Quay!"

  I shook my head in utter disbelief.

  "Not at all model," a lady declared.

  Lena was reeling them in. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat back to enjoy the show.

  "Indeed," she said. "Quickly now. Go fetch the Honourable something to clean this up."

  They jumped at her command. The type of command you knew was given from a position of authority. This was Lena as I had truly never seen her before. Regal. Imposing. Entitled.

  If it hadn't been for the tick in her jaw, the rapid beat of the pulse in her neck, I would have said she wasn't batting an eyelash. Well, she wasn't, her face was Elite perfect. But her heart. Oh, no. Lena's heart was no longer Elite.

  I think I fell for her a little more because of the dichotomy she displayed. Recognising the sense of loss she must be feeling, the dissociation with what she had once been.

  "Oh, no," she a
dded, when she turned her attention to Lady Markham again. "This will not do." I smiled, truly enjoying the performance now. "Let me help you, my dear. The bathrooms have excellent facilities here."

  Oh, bravo. But what did the Lady Markham have that Lena desired?

  "No need, Honourable," the lady in question announced, and I found myself once again holding my breath. "I'm sure I can make it to our suite in order to change."

  Lena's smile didn't even falter.

  "And ruin your afternoon because of a Citizen's mistake?"

  Oh, the condescension was a nice touch indeed. But I saw it for what it was. An act.

  Lena no longer believed.

  "She is right, Melanie," one of the women at the table offered, as I stood from my chair and started to make my way behind the gawking Elite spectators. Hidden for now, but moving closer to make my pursuit.

  Lena was about to run. But only after she got what she came for. I needed to be ready.

  I missed most of the inane comments from Lady Markham's companions as I made my way through the now surprisingly thick crowd. So much for model behaviour, everyone was eavesdropping without attempting to hide the fact that they were.

  But I did hear Lady Markham say, "Thank you, Honourable. For your guidance on this most unpleasant event. But I am sure you have places to go. I shall be fine with my friends."

  "Nonsense," Lena said breezily. She might have said it breezily, but I was thinking Lena was one of the most tenacious people I had ever met. "I have honey all over me as well. We are two sticky bees together. We shall stick together," she announced.

  Brilliantly, I thought. She was utterly stunning. I was sure there was nothing Lena couldn't attempt and succeed at if she only tried.

  This woman astounded me. God alone knew what she was up to. Or maybe Harjeet knew as well. But Lena wasn't the stranger I had thought she might have become. She was still my Lena. That much I could tell.

  As the ladies tittered, and a few more words were exchanged, and Lena finally led the way off the SkyPark with her prize, I decided I'd let this play out without my interference for now. I'd observe. I'd wait. And when she was done here, I'd follow her home.

  If I was wrong and Lena was playing us, teaming up with Harjeet to bring us down, then I'd do what I had to do.

  For now, Lena had earned a stay of execution.

  Why?

  I sighed, as I positioned myself at the other end of the hallway they'd used - the guards standing outside the bathroom doors waiting patiently, my position obscured for when Lena would eventually emerge - and told myself, it was because I could learn more this way, rather than going in guns blazing and making demands.

  Lena wouldn't respond well to demands.

  And for some fucked up reason I wanted Lena to respond well. The fact that I was acting as her shadow, like Isha did for Harjeet, just made me cringe inside.

  The need to protect her, trust her, overrode all other thoughts.

  And it did help that Overseer Markham was more liberal a politician than most.

  Just what the hell did Lena want from him?

  And how could it be used to further the revolution?

  Chapter 26

  And I Really Wasn't Sure How To Take That

  Lena

  It was almost five o'clock when I entered the penthouse floor. What had started out as ample time, to get in and get this done, had whittled down to mere minutes.

  Overseer Markham finished work at five on the dot each day. If I was lucky, he'd stop off at the casino before heading to the suite. Lady Markham had told me she'd only just met up with her friends, and with some surreptitious encouragement from me in the bathroom, was now determined to spend as much time as necessary to catch up with them in the SkyPark.

  I'd given myself two hours for her. But the Overseer was a definite concern.

  The penthouse floor was empty. In this particular tower it housed two suites. The Chairman and The Presidential. I didn't need the blueprints I'd downloaded from Harjeet to know which was which; they were both labelled in fine script on gold plaques. Harjeet had not advised who was staying in The Presidential, but thankfully they weren't walking the halls.

  I paused at the door to the Markhams' suite, sucked in a deep breath and then slid the keycard through the reader. There was an eScanner to the side, for hotel staff and the like, but most guests still preferred the ability to stay under aliases; a mini revolt against the system, which the Overseers seemed to allow. Not that the Markhams would be utilising that old school tradition, but the keycard was an easier way to gain access, than hacking The Quay Resort's staff profiles and imitating one of them through a retinal eye scan.

  Security here was too tight to affect my normal tricks.

  But keycard in hand, the door unlocked without issue, and I quietly offered a redundant, "Housekeeping," as I pushed through the gap.

  Silence blessedly met my ears, the suite giving the appearance of magazine perfect; empty and fashionable, but otherwise unloved. I glanced around the main room, noting the wall of windows opposite displaying a brilliant early evening Wánměi sky across a modern glassed in balcony, the bamboo flooring polished to a high shine leading towards the over-large sliding doors, and the tightly and intricately woven silk thread rugs covering most of the space in between. There was a baby grand piano in one corner, cream sofas dotted throughout, and mirror images, almost, of sitting areas, divided by a modern cabinet with back-to-back vid-screens; so one guest could watch something on one side, and another could watch something else on the other. The two divides were mostly open to each other, so the practicalities of that act seemed not well thought out.

  Gold lamps with cream shades blended in to the muted browns and tans of the rugs, complementing oriental bi-folding screens down one side of the room. The flowers depicted on them reflected the dimmed lights from the lamps throughout the room and gave the appearance of animation.

  I ignored the superfluous state-of-the-art kitchen and made my way to the bedrooms and offices to the side. This particular suite had two king sized beds with their own ensuite bathrooms, an additional bathroom for visitors to the suite, and a substantial office. Harjeet's intel had suggested the item I was after would be in the last.

  A cursory glance told me the rest of the suite was empty and the only visible access out was back through the main door. I quelled the rush of panic that arose on that observation. I wasn't wearing a wing-suit, I was dressed as an Elite, not staff. If Jeffrey Markham walked in here, I'd be trapped.

  Adrenaline suffused my system, making my heartbeat sound out in my head. I licked my lips and scanned the office from the doorway, checking back over my shoulder towards the main room and my only escape.

  I hadn't spent four hours sitting in the sun and almost an hour cleaning up a shallow Elite in a bathroom to back out of this now.

  I strode in and pulled a multi-frequency bug detector from my handbag, moving throughout the room to find any hidden cameras and microphones. My image would probably have been recorded already had there been anything filming, but if I found one, I could then follow its signal back to the recording device and wipe it clean before I left.

  But nothing registered. The Quay Resort above peeping on its guests, and Overseer Markham failing to be cautious enough to place his own.

  I stopped at the desk, the bug detector replaced in my hand with a small flashlight. What The Quay did offer its guests was hidden lockable safes in various locations throughout the room. The only problem with an establishment frequented as often as The Quay Resort, though, is anyone who stayed here could be apprised of the location of said safes. Harjeet had friends who had friends who had obviously stayed in this luxurious set of rooms.

  I crouched down and peered under the large sleek oak desk; the choice of wood as important as the size of the behemoth. Oak was not a naturally occurring tree in Wánměi. This piece was either imported through strict border controls after General Chew-wen came to power, or from an old co
llection brought here in Wánměi's previous life before our borders closed.

  I ran my hand over the edge, wondering just which category this desk fell into. And where it might have come from. What else were we missing out on, because we couldn't trade with that particular location? What else was out there in the greater world?

  I shook my head and peered under the desk's surface, shining my flashlight into the far right hand corner. A button sat innocuously to the side, to reach it Markham would have had to get on his knees as well. I used the torch to press it, not keen on leaving my fingerprints on the button, and then realised I'd touched the desk itself.

  As the button did its thing, I quickly used the hem of my dress to clean the desk's surface, feeling like the most inept cat-burglar there is. Usually I wore gloves, and although gloves for an Elite is not uncommon, sitting in the heat of a Wánměi afternoon drinking high tea would have made them stand out. And I'd failed to bring any with me.

  I closed my eyes and breathed slowly through my nose as I listened to the desk reveal its secrets. When I'd gotten my disappointment at myself under control, a keypad had emerged from the desk's top, slipping out of what had appeared a seamless edge. Very high tech. Just what you'd expect in The Chairman Suite of The Quay Resort.

  I pulled my decoder out and attached it to the keypad once I'd flicked the casing off to reveal the leads. Twenty seconds later a green light blinked and a drawer at the base of the desk opened, hidden beneath the visible drawers themselves. Making the bottom most one clearly smaller than it had initially appeared. Everything had been done so smoothly, devoid of joins or obvious seams; invisible for all intents and purposes. And impossible for a thief to have found without inside knowledge.

  Just as well I had Harjeet.

  I used the decoder unit to pull the hidden drawer out further, determined to not leave any identifying marks behind, and peered inside. I'd expected the item Harjeet wanted to be the only occupant of the safe, but Markham had been using this for more than just a flash-drive.

  I picked up the flash-drive Harjeet was seeking, slipping it inside a make-up case, which sealed it away from any potential strip searches, and stared at the vid-screen sitting in the base of the drawer.