Rogue Faction Part 1 Page 23

  She nodded. “Oh, sure. Help yourself. It’s just the two offices back there, anyway. We’re a small outfit. Mister Fairfax is in the restroom, just off his office. He won’t be but a few minutes. Mister Clauegh is out of the office this afternoon.”

  The guard passed behind the counter and disappeared into the first of the two offices. A moment later, he reemerged before ducking into the second. There must not have been much to see because, in both cases, he’d been gone for only a few seconds. Gretchen was surprised to see the guard, Mister Hines, offer an appraising glance at the secretary before he rounded the counter. It was the first sign of humanity she’d seen in one of Dargo’s men, and she very nearly felt the need to compliment him. The security team around the Voss compound was so disciplined and efficient that she’d long ago begun considering them to be emotionless robots. The momentary crack she’d witnessed in Mister Hines’s veneer, however sexist, was at least human.

  “You’re welcome to wait for Mister Fairfax in his office, if you like,” the secretary smiled and pointed to the appropriate door.

  Looking from the secretary to the pair of rigid security guards, Gretchen decided she wouldn’t mind waiting for Fairfax in his office, after all. The stiff demeanor of her detail countered the spunky warmth radiating from the receptionist. It reminded Gretchen of opposing weather fronts, and suddenly a few moments alone seemed preferable.

  Stepping into Fairfax’s office, she found the furnishings sparse. It had been nearly two years since her last visit to the exact same room and, as far as she could tell, not a single thing had changed. The old wood desk looked like it might’ve come into Fairfax’s possession via a second hand office surplus supply. But the two small armchairs that faced the desk may have influenced that suspicion. They were equally old, worn, and mismatched.

  While the furnishings had a venerable, eclectic feel to them, Fairfax’s workspace was tidy and well organized. The top of his desk held a small laptop computer, a lamp, and an assortment of neatly arranged office supplies, such as a tape dispenser, paperclip holder, and mug full of pens and pencils. Aside from that, there was only a short stack of neatly arranged file folders on the end of a bureau running along the wall behind his chair. There were no family photos or mementoes of past vacations or adventures. Fairfax’s workspace reflected the bland efficiency that Gretchen had come to expect from the man’s personality. He was a good-natured, likable man, but he wasn’t at all interesting.

  She paced the silent office and waited for Fairfax to return. There was a light shining from beneath a door on one wall. She presumed that to be the restroom the receptionist had referred to. Not finding anything of interest to occupy her attention in the office’s sparse furnishings, Gretchen finally took a seat in one of the chairs facing Fairfax’s desk. In an effort to occupy herself, she retrieved her mobile phone from her purse. Setting the bag at her feet, she began tapping the phone’s touch screen and scrolling through her email.

  The minutes ticked by with Gretchen sitting in silence. Dealing with her email had taken no time at all. After which, she’d checked her Facebook page and commented on posts left by several friends. Once finished, she tried to sit quietly. It wasn’t long before she became troubled that Fairfax had not yet arrived. The man was typically very punctual. She tried to remind herself that he’d gone to great lengths to work her into his schedule at the last minute, but the longer she sat, the more she was consumed by the growing sense that something was wrong.

  Gretchen eyed the dim light emanating from beneath the door to the restroom. Then she realized that it might not be a lavatory at all. It could be a closet or a short passage to the adjoining office. Deciding she had waited long enough, Gretchen finally rose from the chair. Nearing the closed door, she listened intently for any indication of habitation beyond.

  There was none.

  Reluctantly, she raised her hand and rapped her knuckles against the door. “Hello?” she asked, in such a timid voice that she surprised even herself. If it was the restroom, and she was disturbing the man, she would be mortified.

  But when no response came, her curiosity grew. Gretchen knocked more aggressively, her fist striking the solid wood surface with a clatter as the door rattled against its frame. “Mister Fairfax? Are you there?”

  When still more silence greeted her ears, Gretchen’s next thought was to ask her security detail to check on the man. Thinking better of it, she realized that was about the only thing that could make a profoundly awkward situation even more unpleasant. So, taking a deep breath, she tried the doorknob herself…and found it unlocked. Puzzled, and not knowing what to make of the unlocked door, she slowly pushed across the threshold. If the door was unlocked, that certainly ruled out the likelihood of it being a restroom, she reasoned.

  Stepping in, Gretchen realized that the small space was, in fact, a restroom. Thankfully, it was empty. There was a toilet on one wall, and a small counter with a sink on the opposite. Looking at the light fixture over the sink, she realized why the room was so poorly illuminated. Three of the four bulbs in the fixture over the sink were burnt out.

  With a shake of her head, Gretchen turned and headed for the door. This didn’t explain where Mister Fairfax had gone, but it had settled an anxiety that was growing inside her. Turning back for the door, she stopped mid-stride. Looking over her shoulder, Gretchen regarded the light fixture; the bulbs were exposed as part of its design. Something about them had caught her eye.

  Stepping to the sink, Gretchen took a closer look at the extinguished bulbs. Each of the three burnt out globes was marked by a pair of small dark smudges. Puzzled, she reached up, standing on her tiptoes, and twisted one of them. It instantly blinked back to blinding life. With a furrowed brow, she moved on to the next two, turning each of them only slightly before they, too, proved to be functional.

  Rocking back on her heels, Gretchen was perplexed. Who would purposely turn out most of the lights in the small room? Other than a level of personal shyness that would qualify one for a lifetime of therapy, it made no sense. Could Fairfax be trying to save money on the electric bill? It didn’t seem likely.

  Dusting her hand on the side of her skirt, Gretchen turned once more for the door. Her vision was spotted with floating orb-shaped blind spots thanks to her close proximity to the bulbs as they’d blinked on. She fluttered her eyelids in an attempt to clear the distortion.

  Stopping short of the door once more, Gretchen looked down at her right hand. Her fingertips felt sticky. She hadn’t noticed it until she’d tried to dust them on her thigh. Now, looking closer, she could tell that the pads of her fingers were smeared with some kind of tacky substance.

  Blinking away the small orbs that still danced at the center of her focus, Gretchen stared more closely at her hand. The tips of her fingers were dark with some kind of damp residue. She turned back toward the light and felt her heartbeat quicken. The substance was blood. She must have cut her finger on one of the bulbs.

  That would explain why the lights had been turned out.

  Running the water from the sink’s tap, Gretchen washed the blood from her fingers. Glancing in the mirror, she noticed that she’d smeared some of it on her skirt at some point along the way.

  That figures…

  But when she wiped her hands dry, she was surprised to find no injury of any kind. Stepping back half a pace, she considered the mirror over the sink. It made no sense. If she wasn’t cut, where had the blood come from?

  Her senses went instantly on alert. Suddenly Fairfax’s disappearance seemed a great deal more than an inconvenience. Gretchen realized that she needed to notify her security detail immediately. And, while there was likely a logical explanation for what she’d discovered, she would leave it for them to sort out.

  Passing quickly into Fairfax’s office, Gretchen walked through the empty room and rushed into the reception area. Her mouth was already sputtering unintelligible words when she froze mid-stride and felt the hair on the back of her neck
rise to attention. The reception area was empty. Both members of her security detail were gone, and so was the receptionist.

  “Hello?” Gretchen called in a voice that was so full of anxiety that she was hard pressed to recognize it as her own. “Is anyone there?”

  It wasn’t like there was anywhere for the three of them to go in the tiny office suite, so rushing to the main entrance, Gretchen threw open the hallway door.

  A vast, silent, empty corridor awaited. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the muffled whistle of the building’s ventilation system forcing cool air through the structure. Aside from that, it was eerily quiet.

  She stumbled into the hallway on rubbery legs, her mind still trying to make sense of the situation. The disappearance of her security detail had her more spooked than anything. Dargo’s men were first rate. There wasn’t a man among them who would abandon his post—let alone the entire team.

  Spinning around, Gretchen knew with absolute certainty that something was unquestionably wrong. She would barricade herself in Fairfax’s office until she understood what was happening.

  Marching back to the doorway of the Fairfax and Clauegh office suite, a scuff on the wall caught her eye. She drew closer and tried to rationalize the strange mark on the painted plaster. There was a short, deep divot in the wall that was perhaps an inch and a half wide. It tapered to a point on both edges but flared to almost a quarter of an inch in width at its center.

  Looking down at her feet, Gretchen noticed two small dots marking the dense weave of the hallway’s carpeting. Kneeling closer, she instantly recognized the spots for what they were: Drops of blood decorated the carpet’s thick pile.

  Her eyes shot higher up the wall, returning to the strange indentation. She suddenly realized the gouge for what it was—the location of a knife strike.

  Gretchen’s eyes scanned the length of the hallway, as she backpedaled toward the open door of the Fairfax and Clauegh offices. She stumbled across the threshold and promptly slammed the door shut. It only took a second to secure the lock as well as the deadbolt.

  Her eyes flashed around the outer office, finding nothing to help barricade the door. Stepping to the reception counter, she looked for anything that might be of use; anything she could use as a weapon. What she saw made her blood run cold. Sitting on the receptionist’s chair was a blonde wig and a pair of dark framed glasses. Her stomach churned; the sweet southern receptionist wasn’t who she’d claimed to be.

  Grabbing one of the chairs, Gretchen returned to the front door. She wedged it under the door handle as best she could. It wasn’t like the chair would stop anyone who could defeat the lock, but at that point, she figured every little bit helped.

  Surveying the room and deciding she’d done everything possible, Gretchen returned to Fairfax’s office. There, she closed the door only to find that it had no lock. As with the front door, she took one of the visitor’s chairs and wedged its back under the door handle. Finally, she spun, searching for her purse.

  Already running on a terror fueled adrenaline rush, Gretchen’s heart rate redlined when she couldn’t find her handbag. A dreadful whimper escaped her throat, as she circled the desk in desperation. Seeing her purse on the floor behind Fairfax’s desk, she lunged, skidding across the coarse carpet and scraping her knees. Flipping open the clasp, she dumped the bag’s contents into a pile. Without wasting a second, she snatched her mobile phone from the mix of useless objects.

  There was nothing complicated to remember at that point. She tapped the number nine and hit send. It was part of a security protocol she knew backwards and forwards. She’d never expected to need it, but Dargo had prepared every member of the Voss family for similar eventualities. An endless two seconds later, she heard the remote end of the line ring.

  “This is Triad,” the voice said simply.

  “This is Hummingbird,” Gretchen sputtered. “My team is gone—there’s no one left! I need help!”

  There was a momentary pause before the man’s voice returned, calm and professional, despite the frantic nature of her situation. “Need to confirm, Hummingbird. You’re six man detail is down?”

  “They’re gone! Just gone! I—I don’t even know where!”

  “Understood. I have your location,” the voice said smoothly. The man went on to describe in exact detail not only the address where she was currently located, but also her floor and her position in the building. She wasn’t sure how he knew all of the details, but everything he asked her to confirm had been completely accurate.

  “Is there an immediate threat to your person?” the man asked in conclusion.

  Gretchen’s mind was still reeling from all of the locational data the man had been able to gather from the other side of the planet. “I’m sorry?” she mumbled. She realized her adrenaline surge was wearing off, and her mind was starting to feel sluggish. It was becoming slow to respond to her body’s requests. Or was it the other way around?

  “Is your aggressor present?” the man insisted.

  “No,” Gretchen said firmly. “I’ve barricaded myself inside an office. I’m okay for the moment, but I don’t know for how long. I—I don’t even know what happened to the guards!”

  “Please stand by, ma’am,” the voice said in a calm, reassuring tone. “I’ve re-tasked your transport detail. They’re en route from the airfield as we speak…ETA is four and a half minutes. I’ll remain on the line with you until they arrive.”

  With a wheezing sigh, Gretchen finally eased off of her aching knees and sat against the base of the credenza behind Fairfax’s desk. She took a deep breath and worked to calm herself. As the revving of her own heartbeat began to slow, its thundering rhythm receded from her ears, and the room’s ominous silence returned. Only the electric buzz of the reignited bulbs in the bathroom disturbed the quiet.

  Sitting there on the floor, Gretchen’s eyes returned to the light that spilled from the half-open bathroom door. Her eyes pinched as she focused on what she was seeing. Something about it wasn’t right, and it took deliberate concentration to cut through her fear in order to see it.

  She could hear the voice on the other end of the phone line speaking in the distance, as she pulled herself to her feet. Almost in a trance, Gretchen set the phone aside and moved slowly toward the bathroom door. It was the light coming from the small room—that was what didn’t fit. It had grown a bit dim once again. It had been much brighter after she’d screwed the remaining bulbs back into place.

  Confounded for an explanation, Gretchen pulled the door slowly open. She was right. This time only two of the four bulbs were lit; the two in the center. The bulb on each end of the short lighting ballast had once again gone dark.

  Confused, she padded silently into the room and stared up at the lights. With a shake of her head, she leaned forward over the sink and reached for one of the darkened bulbs. Just as her fingertips reached the warm glass, her toes shot out from under her. Gretchen crashed down, her ribs slammed against the hard edge of the counter. Her elbows impacted next, hitting the unyielding porcelain of the sink. For as much as both strikes hurt, at least they saved her from smashing her face before bouncing and landing on the cold linoleum floor.

  Gretchen’s eyes rolled listlessly, as her body struggled with the onslaught of overwhelming pain and disorientation. After a few moments—she would never know for sure how many—her eyes finally focused, and she found herself lying on her side. Shifting only slightly, the pain returned with renewed intensity.

  Focusing her eyes again, she noticed the muddy streaks on the floor in front of her, representing the location of her feet when she’d slipped. She raised her head slightly to get a better view. That brought the dark puddle into sight.

  With a gasp, Gretchen vaulted herself up into a sitting position. She crawled backward until she struck the wall beside the toilet. The dark pool of blood on the floor was immediately recognizable. It had formed directly beneath the sink. The logic of the scenario made her stomach burn. C
lamping her eyes shut, she wished with all her heart that this was just a dream—that this would be the part where she would wake up, safe in her own bed.

  When she opened her eyes once more and the cold linoleum and dark pool remained, Gretchen knew there was no way around it. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and reached out. Wrapping the tips of her fingers around the cabinet door, she pulled it quickly open.

  A whimper finally made its escape from somewhere deep inside her, and the tears spouted from her eyes. Slowly, and without taking her gaze off the contents of the cabinet, she scooted away from it, and the horror it contained. When she felt her back once again touch the far wall of the small room, she pulled her legs up close to her chest and hugged them tightly in her arms. Tears streamed down her face as she sat unblinking, staring at the twisted, folded, bloodied body of Lee Fairfax—his body jammed savagely into the cabinet beneath the sink.

  Chapter 41

  The Voss Compound

  8:19 pm

  Anna raced down the staircase, circling the wide concrete flights as fast as her feet could carry her. Each strike of her running shoes echoed up the starkly unadorned walls of the emergency stairway. With a leap, she landed on the second floor platform. Without hesitation, she turned left and rushed down the next flight.

  Just as she burst from the stairwell entrance, she heard the bing of the elevator announcing its arrival. She skidded to a stop in front of the elevator doors just as they began to slide open. Running her hands through her long hair and struggling to calm her breath, Anna made an effort to look as if she’d been waiting for some time.

  “Very funny!” Natasha laughed, as she stepped off the lift. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.” She threw her arm around her sister, and pulled her close, both of them were laughing. “Tell me again why we had to race?”