Devin only knew that he was inside to observe and report back as an eyewitness source. I’d been counting on him to also come to my aid if needed once I found the experiment and attempted to disrupt it. But I hadn’t spelled out that was what I planned to do. All Devin, James, and Maddy knew was that I had scheduled a visit with the CEO for this afternoon.
If the Warheads had Devin as completely as I suspected from the salute, the last thing I needed was for him to see me and tip them off to my presence here and now. As long as I stayed out of sight, they might not realize I was here until it was too late.
But a glance back at the entrance made it clear that I might well be discovered. No one outside could see into the mirrored entrance of the lobby, but I could see out. The van had pulled up at the curb and the Warheads were filing out, black-clad form after black-clad form.
Crappity crap crap.
Now what was I supposed to do?
“She’s coming down on the elevator?” I asked the intense disapproving woman in my bubbliest ditz voice. “I can go over to meet her?”
“Knock yourself out.” The woman sighed at the sight of the Warheads coming toward the building in their synchronized mass. “Little creeps are here.”
Maybe the front desk lady was as smart as she thought she was.
The nearest elevator binged open as I approached, and I bolted for it. The doors slid apart to reveal an inside designed in the style of the high-fantasy portions of Worlds War Three. A dragon’s wings dominated the sides, emerald green scales edged in gold, and a trio of elves with pointy ears wielded menacing weaponry along the back wall. One had a tiara banded across her forehead like some long-lost princess from my elvish royal family.
There were three elevators, so I’d have laid down my last ten bucks that the other two were done up in the alien and military motifs from Worlds. And the service elevator would feature sparkly unicorns.
An older woman with a lined face stood in front of the panel of buttons inside the elevator. She yawned, wrinkles deepening around her eyes, and then said, “Miss Lane?”
Looking over my shoulder, I saw the front door opening to admit my classmates—and did my best not to leap into the elevator and startle the CEO’s sleepy assistant.
“That’s me,” I said, when the woman’s eyebrows slowly rose. “I can’t wait to meet Mr. Jenkins.”
“About that,” the woman said, reaching past me to turn a key that was inserted above the rows of numbers and punch the top button, which lit in response, showing the number 70. The doors closed and we sailed up. Fast. The low beeps that signaled each floor were the only way to track our progress. “He’s in a meeting, so you’ll have to wait.”
“No problem. I’m just so grateful to you for fitting me in. Mr. Jenkins must be very busy—so many projects to oversee.”
The woman didn’t bother to respond, except to yawn again.
The elevator stopped at the top floor much sooner than I had expected, sensation of flying through the air or not. Seventy was a long way from five.
And then the assistant removed the tiny key above the rows of numbers and palmed it, and it seemed even farther.
“This way,” she said, edging out, confident that I would follow.
I did. Measuring each footstep so I didn’t lap the woman, and considering my options in dealing with this unexpected problem.
Using the elevator apparently required a key. Which was good to know, if more than a little inconvenient.
It was also inconvenient that the sleepy assistant had remembered to take the key with her, since I was going to need to get my hands on it pronto. While fire codes meant there’d be stairs, going from floor seventy to floor five without getting caught—yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.
The woman tottered at the negative version of warp-speed until she was behind a futuristic white desk. I took a seat on a white leather couch in the waiting area opposite it. As I watched, the woman set the key right beside her desk phone. Leaving it highly visible, if too far from the edge to reach out and snatch without getting busted immediately. Even by a woman who clearly needed to develop a caffeine habit.
Behind her desk, there was a long white hall. One side was a row of silver doors. The other wall was glass and offered a view of Metropolis as stunning as my daydream version from the top of the Daily Planet Building that first day on the job. Not so much as a speck of dust or a spot from a fingerprint marred the window to the world below.
I barely spared it more than a glance. Thinking . . . Thinking . . .
“How long have you worked here?” I asked, keeping the same innocently obnoxious perky tone I used downstairs. “Have you been with Mr. Dir—” Oops, probably shouldn’t call him Dirtbag here. “—Jenkins long?”
The woman blinked heavy lids at me. Finally, she said, “You could say that. I’m his mother.”
Not chatty then. Also, not someone I could use the Ronda method on. Mothers loved their sons.
“How long do you think he’ll be?” I asked.
The woman lifted one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “Some time.”