I turned and hurried away, back into the building. I was looking for fire exit signs, but naturally all the ones in this area pointed back to reception, so I ignored them and began half walking, half jogging deeper into the Sunsmile complex. I had a strange feeling in my chest—panic, yes, but mixed with a kind of exhilaration, the pulse of adrenaline that always accompanied me on a job when things got tough. My hand went automatically to my ear again, feeling for the Bluetooth earpiece, but of course, just as before, there was nothing there. It was like a physical reminder of Gabe’s absence—I was on my own.
I was trying to put some hasty distance between myself and reception, while still keeping to a pace that looked plausibly like that of an office worker who’d forgotten she needed to pick up little Freddie from nursery. Not sprinting. No one sprints in an office. But a kind of stressed half-run. The stressed part was easy at least. What was harder was keeping myself from breaking into a full-speed dash. I could almost hear Gabe in my ear: Don’t make yourself conspicuous, babe. Try to blend in.
I am fucking trying, I thought. But I would have growled it with more conviction if Gabe had really been there. When I reached a deserted stretch of corridor, I shrugged off the dark jacket and fished in my bag for the pair of fake glasses I’d packed earlier—thick black frames that were hard to miss. As far as disguises went, it wasn’t much, but the two changes together might confuse someone working from a blurry CCTV picture.
At last I was deep enough into Sunsmile that the fire exit signs began pointing a different way—ahead of me into the complex—and now I followed them, glancing over my shoulder as I did to make sure no one was following me. From far behind me I could hear some kind of commotion—but I wasn’t sure if it was the security guards or something unrelated. The latter seemed like wishful thinking, but whichever it was, they didn’t seem to be on my trail.
I was just starting to feel optimistic when I rounded a corner and saw a guard up ahead, staring down at his phone.
Shit.
He hadn’t seen me, he was too busy reading whatever was on his screen, but my imagination was already filling in the blanks. A text with my description. Maybe even worse—a screenshot from CCTV.
Shit. Shit.
At last I made up my mind and ducked into an office. It was empty and I sat at the desk facing the window and kicked my bag hastily into the footwell, then tried to slow my racing heart. The computer wasn’t on, but I didn’t have time to start it up. Instead, I pulled over some files and picked up the phone.
Above the hum of the dial tone, I could hear footsteps coming up the corridor. Keep going, I begged, internally. Keep going!
But they didn’t. They stopped outside the open door, and I heard a slightly awkward cough.
“Well that’s simply not good enough,” I snapped into the phone. “We needed those numbers yesterday.”
A trickle of sweat ran down between my shoulder blades, and I pressed back into the chair to soak it up.
“I don’t know how to put this, Diane, but tomorrow is not Thursday.” Unless of course it was. I had totally lost track. I shut my eyes, trying not to let the hand holding the receiver shake too visibly. There was another cough, this time accompanied by a very timid tap on the door. I sighed, put the receiver to my shoulder, and swung the chair around.
“Hello, yes? Can I help you?”
The security guard was standing outside the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Sorry to disturb, but can I ask, have you seen any intruders?”
“Any intruders?” I tried to put every ounce of irritation possible into my voice. “I’m sorry, isn’t that your job? I didn’t realize we were delegating company security to account operatives now.”
“I’m investigating a disturb—” the guard began diffidently, and I cut in, sharply.
“To answer your question, no, I certainly haven’t. The only person who’s disturbed me is you. Now if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of a very important call.” I turned back to the phone, which was now beeping loudly to signal that it was off the hook. “I’m sorry,” I said loudly into the receiver, fervently hoping the guard couldn’t hear the noise above my one-sided conversation. “Where were we? Oh, yes, the”—Shit, think of a plausible insurance term. Think, Jack!—“ROI numbers I asked for. Now the question is, when are you going to stop messing me around and get me the figures? The meeting is tomorrow, in case I didn’t make that clear enough. Or do you want me to walk in there and explain that the reason I haven’t got up-to-date projections is because you couldn’t be bothered to comply with a very simple request?”
I shut my eyes, pretending I was screening out the other speaker’s excuses, but really trying as hard as I possibly could to listen for the sound of the security guard retreating. I couldn’t hear a thing above the noise of the phone beeping in my ear. Was he still there? Did I dare look?
In the end I slammed down the phone as if disgusted, and swung round in my chair, ready to give the security guard a blast that would send him scuttling away—but he was gone.
I slumped back in the chair, feeling all the bravado seep out of me. That had been unbelievably close. A more decisive guard would have called my bluff—or smelled a rat. And if the next visitor was Derek, or one of the guys who had been reviewing the security footage in reception, I was absolutely sunk.
I had to get out of here. Now.
I picked up my bag and swung it over my shoulder, ignoring the stab of pain in my side. Then I ran, this time in earnest—in the opposite direction from the one I hoped the guard had taken. I was no longer trying to look plausible. The illusion that this was just any other job had faded. It wasn’t. The stakes were much, much higher—and I had never felt fear or fatigue like this on any pen test.
My legs were shaking, but I forced myself on and took a left, following a fire exit sign. As I did, I almost barged into a woman carrying a cup of tea but managed to dodge with a muttered “Sorry!” and then took a right at random, more to get away from the woman’s startled gaze than out of any sense of where I was heading.
And then, just as I had begun to think I must have taken a wrong turn and was going to have to double back, I rounded a corner and ran straight into a dead end. Only it wasn’t a dead end. It was a huge fire door—just not the kind I had been hoping for. No friendly steel bar or informal back exit. This one had a green button behind glass, and a large sign above it reading This door is alarmed. Do not use except in an emergency.
I felt sick. Actually, properly sick. It was exactly what I would have told Arden Alliance, if I’d ever actually written that report—you shouldn’t be able to sneak around opening up fire doors without setting off some kind of alarm. Now, just when I didn’t want to, just when the stakes were highest, I had found a company that was doing the right thing. There was a slim possibility that the sign was a fake, to stop people nipping out for a sneaky cigarette—but somehow I doubted it. That button looked like it meant business.
Either way, there was nothing else for it. From behind me, further up the corridor, I could hear the growing sounds of voices, walkie-talkie call signs, and heavy footsteps. Whether the diffident guard had smelled a rat, or whether the woman with the tea had raised an alarm, it was clear security had figured out my route and were closing in.
I had to get out of here, even if it meant triggering mayhem. And actually… maybe a bit of mayhem wouldn’t be the worst thing?
The thought gave me a blast of courage, and lifting my foot, I kicked with my heel at the glass covering the button. My first kick missed, but on my second try the glass shattered. I took a deep breath, pressed the button—and nothing happened.
The adrenaline drained out of me. I simply stood there, staring in stunned disbelief, listening to the sound of voices from up the corridor. There was no alarm—but the door itself remained resolutely closed.
This had to be a mistake. Surely? An unalarmed fire exit was inadvisable. A nonworking one was flat-out illegal.
The footsteps were very close indeed.
I raised my hand, ready to press the button again. But before I could, the door swung outwards with a slow, stately heaviness, leaving me blinking in the bright afternoon sun, and what sounded like a thousand fire alarms began screeching out across the complex.
For a moment I had no idea what to do. People started pouring out of offices to my left and right, shrugging on coats, swinging handbags over their arms in spite of strict instructions to leave everything, and grumbling to their colleagues about the interruption. And then, I realized—these people were my camouflage, my ticket to freedom.
Hauling my rucksack higher up on my shoulder, I lifted my chin, and trying my best to look as pissed off as possible, I walked out into the sunshine with the rest of them. As soon as I was around the corner, I began to run.