by Kara Greenan
Again, the packages start to slip.
He clears the entrance without anyone looking at him twice. There are two cameras in the lobby, so he makes sure to hide his head under the cap and angles his face away. It's not necessary, not since Sebastian got into the server room several days ago. They’ve had free access to all the security footage since then. Hale already has a loop in place, he’ll edit it over this footage as soon as they’re done.
But still London turns his face away, just how his mentor had taught him. Some habits are hard to break.
He delivers the packages to the receptionist in the lobby and gets her to sign on the scanner. Hale had had to explain to him three times how it worked, which buttons he was to press, mainly because he hadn't been listening the first two times.
"Hey love?" he says once he's done. He doesn't even bother speaking French, knowing that his English accent will get him much further. "I know this is a bit unorthodox but, um, could I maybe use the loo?"
Her phone starts ringing at just that moment and she nods, looking harried. It’s Amelia, asking some inane question. If she gives London trouble, Hale will ring in as well, get her more unbalanced. It’s not necessary though. She points down the lobby. "Third door on the right."
"Thanks, love," he says while she picks up the phone and rattles down her standard greeting.
He ambles down the way she indicated, eyes automatically scanning for the exits. There are two security guards to his right, but their backs are turned. The worst part is over. He's already inside. He turns a corner and sees the toilet, just as promised. He takes the opposite direction instead, standing off to the side and pulling out his phone. He opens Whatsapp and starts typing intently. The UPS uniform allows him some form of invisibility, as all uniforms do. But anyone standing around and looking like they're waiting for something will look suspicious. Anyone on their phone, on the other hand, blends right in.
"We will have to go over last month's budget and interview some key employees. After that, my colleague will draw up the plans and we should have an estimate for you within twenty-four hours."
London doesn't whip his head around at Sebastian's voice, as is his first instinct. Instead he watches two pairs of feet, one of them Sebastian's, slightly pigeon-toed, walk by in front of him. They settle in to wait, Sebastian's laptop bag resting easily against his hip. The lift doors ding open and the guy with Sebastian – older, rounder, with a head half balding, takes out a key card to swipe against the electronic panel.
He presses the button for their floor right at the moment Sebastian smacks his forehead. "We forgot the print outs." The guy with him looks torn, while Sebastian just looks at him calmly, placidly. He leans in conspiratorially. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go ahead and use the loo. I probably won't find a chance during the interviews."
The guy deliberates for a moment longer. "You remember the way?"
Sebastian smiles and nods. "I do."
"Up you go then, Mr. Carson." He steps out, leaving Sebastian stood inside the lift. After a last backward glance at the closing lift doors, he rounds the corner, disappearing out of sight.
Sebastian's hand shoots out. The lift doors slide back open and London casually steps inside.
By the time the doors close behind him, he's already got his brown uniform jacket unbuttoned.
"That colour doesn't suit you," Sebastian tells him.
"This colour doesn't suit anyone." He steps out of the brown shorts, turns to Sebastian in just his tight boxer briefs.
Sebastian's eyes darken, roaming over his skin.
London snaps his fingers. "Oi! The plan?"
Sebastian looks at him, slightly dazed. "The plan?"
"Oh for fuck's sake," London groans. He shoves the ghastly uniform into Sebastian's hand and unzips the laptop bag. His favourite cat-burglar outfit greets him, folded up carefully, the way he left it earlier.
He takes it out and quickly steps into the black trousers, rolling them up his legs. They're tight, like his favourite skinny jeans. It wouldn't do for a loose pant leg to get caught in something. The material is nothing like denim, but rather a thin, flexible fabric that moulds to his every movement. There are no metal pieces, no buttons or zips to make noise that could echo in vent shafts.
He slips on his long-sleeved shirt and slings his climbing harness and utility belt over his shoulder.
"Come on," he urges Sebastian. "Hale can only slow this lift down so much."
Sebastian stuffs the brown uniform into the laptop bag and zips it back up. He bends down slightly and interlaces his fingers in front of him.
One hand on Sebastian's shoulder, London steps into his cupped palms.
The small, automatic screwdriver from his custom made utility belt is already in his hand and it takes him no time at all to remove the safety screw from the tiny flap door in the ceiling of the lift. He pushes the door back and pulls himself up, bringing his legs through the opening in a practiced move.
He leans down through the opened hatch. "Okay?"
Sebastian nods, hoisting the laptop bag onto his shoulders. "Okay," he agrees and gives London a dorky thumbs-up.
London rolls his eyes.
"Hey," Sebastian says urgently, just as London is about to close the latch. There's no way to reseal it now, but the likelihood of someone spotting a missing screw and sounding the alarm is pretty small. It's the sort of chance that comes with the job. The kind that sends shivers of anticipation up London's spine.
"What?"
"Your arse looks great in those trousers."
He grins and knows the excitement is making him reckless. "I know."
The static in his earpiece wakes him. There's a split second of confusion, a sharp frisson of panic exploding in his stomach. But it's just an airshaft and he'd been napping to stave off the boredom. Abseiling down a high rise or climbing up lift shafts is one thing. That's okay. That's fun. But voluntarily being stuck in a cramped space for hours to wait for the party to start is something very close to his own personal hell. But London is a professional, he can do this.
"Did you fall asleep?" comes Sebastian's incredulous voice over the earpiece.
"So what if I did?"
Sebastian murmurs a soft hello to someone before returning to the conversation. "I can't believe you'd sleep on the job."
London splutters in indignation. "Says the guy who's here for backup! Who is downstairs munching on finger food and whose hardest part tonight is not falling asleep during the speeches. How's the champagne, hmm?"
"But you fell asleep. On the job!"
London is about to launch into another explanation, maybe to defend his stellar work ethic, when Hale pipes in, "he does that a lot."
London scowls. "Traitor," he mutters under his breath.
Apparently, they aren't done, because Amelia decides to join in. Apparently, they’re all excited that this is finally going down. "It's like sleeping in a metal coffin, I have no idea how he does it. And apart from that, can it even be comfortable?"
"Maybe it is, when you're as tiny as London," Sebastian says.
Everyone falls silent. London imagines he can hear Amelia and Hale hold their breath.
"What?" Sebastian asks, voice still filled with humour. "Is London's size and the fact that his job requires him to squeeze into small spaces off limits or something?"
Heat shoots up his face. He's about to tell Sebastian just exactly where he can shove his opinion, when Frankie interrupts them. "Stop your bickering, we're going live in two minutes. What are the cameras doing?"
"Still mine," Hale confirms while London carefully rolls onto his stomach. He reaches back with both hands and repositions the belt. "The alarm on the security doors can't be overridden, but it doesn't send a distress signal directly to the police."
"Good," Frankie says, voice muffled.
"Are you eating?" London asks in outrage.
"'M hungry. Anyway, are you in position?"
"I've been in position
for hours, you idiot."
"Watch it," Frankie chides mildly. "Or I'll replace you."
"Sure." London robs forward to the closest grate. He peers into the room beyond. It lies empty and dark, illuminated only by the night-lights streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "If you'd like to downgrade, that's your choice. I've got a few standing offers."
"But you always decline them," Hale says. London can hear his furious typing on the keyboard. "You're very polite about it."
"Are you reading my emails again?"
"Yeah." Click, click, click. "I use some of your sentences for my own letters of rejection."
"Isn't that like, plagiarism?"
Sebastian clears his throat, smirk evident in his voice. "You should sue him."
"Nah," Hale says and for a moment the typing stops. Then it picks up again, faster this time. "I have far more money than he does. He spends it on random crap no one needs."
"Like what?" The eagerness in Sebastian's voice is evident.
"Like private stuff," London says quickly before Hale can mention the indoor bouncy castle he bought himself last Christmas, or the money he keeps sending to his family anonymously. He's got the grate loose and carefully drops it on the table just underneath him. There's no way to turn around in the vent shaft, so he exits it head first, the table top's smooth wood surface cool under his hands as he drops into a handstand. He turns on his hands until he has enough space to land on his feet in a nearly soundless crouch.
The noise of Sebastian pleasantly chatting away with another guest downstairs drains away. "London?"
He hops off the table and heads for the safe in the corner. It's huge, ornate and flashy. These three things lead to one thing. It’s old. And the older the safe, the easier it is to crack. It's the head of security's own fault if he allows old relics that even a kindergartener could break into on his premises.
"What?"
"What're you doing tomorrow night?"
London frowns, getting out his tools. "I don't know? Celebrating, I guess?"
"Oh good, hold on," Sebastian murmurs, before saying a few words of greeting to someone else.
London attaches the stethoscope-like gadget to the cool iron front of the safe and pops the other end into his left ear, the right already full with the com. They'd discussed it at length but in the end, Frankie had put her foot down and made him keep it in - something about being reachable in an emergency.
He takes a deep breath and starts turning the dial.
"We should go on a date."
He's concentrating so hard for that tiny click that it takes him half a minute to recognise that the statement was meant for him.
His hand slips on the dial and he chokes out a laugh. "What?"
He shakes out his hand and starts again, turning the dial slowly.
"We should go on a date. You and me. Tomorrow night, here in Paris."
"Huh." There it is, the first little click on the second revolution clockwise. He peers at the number – seventeen – and commits it to memory.
"I know this great little restaurant, the owner is a good friend of mine."
"Big surprise there," comes Amelia's sarcastic input.
Three revolutions of the dial later and he still doesn't hear anything, so he starts turning it counterclockwise instead.
"Also," comes Sebastian's voice, deeper now, private. "You can stay at my place after. I know we only booked the hotel until tomorrow morning."
London hears the words, but they don't register, not really. There it is, the second click. Thirty-two. There's more conversation in his ear. He only tunes back in when he hears his name. "What?"
"Are you really going to do that?" comes Hale's surprised voice.
"Do what?" he asks distractedly. Three turns again, and again no click. Or did he miss it? No he wouldn't miss it. Work exact, that was drilled into him. Back to clockwise it is. One turn, nothing. Second and there, maybe —
"London?"
Fuck, was that a click or not? Fucking com in his fucking ear. He isn't sure, not a hundred percent. He bites his lips, trying to decide if he should count it as a click or start over.
No, work exact, be the best.
He starts over. "What?" he mutters grumpily.
Two turns clockwise, stop at seventeen. Three turns in the opposite direction, thirty-two. He switches back to clockwise, listening intently on the second revolution.
"- date with Sebastian?"
What date with Sebastian? What are they even talking about? There, that was definitely a click. Four. London tries spinning the antique wheel in the centre of the door. It reminds him of a ship's wheel with eight spokes and a handle for each.
The door doesn't budge.
Ok not three numbers then. He starts listening for the fourth click, but gets distracted by the conversation over the com.
"– We could even tour the Eiffel tower if you want?"
"Eiffel tower?" he asks, not really listening to the answer, instead trying to concentrate on the sounds in his other ear.
"Yeah, it'll be romantic."
Romantic? What the fuck is Sebastian even talking about? What they have, their relationship, for lack of a better word, is a lot of things, but none of them romantic. "Why do you want romance?"
Sebastian sounds less patient now. "I thought we'd discussed it. If we try this whole relationship thing we need romance."
London hand slips on the dial, spinning it uncontrolled.
And he hasn't heard the last click yet. Fuck.
Amelia's snickers come over the com, along with Sebastian's deep murmur, talking of dates and romance and exclusivity. Exclusivity?
"Will you all shut the fuck up!" he roars, hand already starting on the now familiar sequence. "I'm trying to open a fucking safe by sound here and I can't hear anything with you chattering over the coms!"
Thankfully, everyone falls quiet after that. Amelia is still laughing, but quietly so. He gets the fourth and last number and with a flourished spin of the ship's wheel, the door unlocks.
London smiles.
Damn, he is good.
The door swings open and "– fuck."
"I didn't even say anything," Sebastian mumbles. He is clearly pissed off about having been told to shut up.
London takes a deep breath, eyes sweeping again over the inside of the safe, making sure.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
"It's empty."
There's utter silence coming over the com. Sure, now they decide to finally shut up.
Then the faint sound of Frankie pushing through a group of people, muttering apologies.
London bites the side of his thumb, eyes still locked in disbelief on the empty shelves inside the safe. He makes himself stop. This isn't the first time a plan hasn't gone smoothly. Frankie has backup plans, they're fine. Yeah. Fine.
Sebastian must have been thinking the same. "What's plan B then?"
"No good," Frankie says, all business now. "Plan B was for when London's UPS disguise didn't work. No, we're moving on to plan E."
"Plan E?" Sebastian asks, dubiously.
"The rounds on London's floor start in five minutes," Hale reminds them, because of course they don't have enough problems.
London looks at the window longingly, his original escape route. It's more than likely he won't be taking it now. There goes a perfectly good opportunity to jump out of the twenty-seventh floor and test the new round-up, carbon-fibre rope on his belt.
He suppresses a sigh and starts packing everything together. He closes the safe again and spins the wheel, locking it. It’s a moderately sized office, so he can sweep it easily. But he works efficiently and cleanly, never leaves a mess, not on a job. Within moments everything is back to the way it was before.
"Okay," Frankie says, sounding like she's miles away. Her voice gets firmer the longer she talks. "Amelia, can you get into the vault?"
"I'd need to use the explosives. It'll be too loud."
/> A beat of silence. "How many?"
"How many what?"
"How many explosions?"
"Two," she says immediately. "One for each hinge. I can time them together if you need."
"Yeah. Okay, get that ready. Hale?"
"Yes?"
"There's a DJ here, handling everything over his computer. I need control of his volume button, can you do that?"
Furious typing erupts. "Sure, hold on. He's probably using the Wi-Fi. If he's using Wi-Fi it's – got him! I'll link it to your phone."
"Perfect," Frankie says. "London?"
He'd been pacing the room anxiously but snaps to attention at the sound of his name. "What?"
"I need you to get to Amelia and Hale. Since the safe was empty and we don't have the master key for the safety boxes, we're going to need you to open them. How much time do you need?"
London is already running down the hallway towards the lifts as silently as he can. "Three minutes for each. Max. Hale, I need a lift shaft that goes down to your floor. Can’t trigger the doors."
Hale gives a tiny grunt. "Take the last one on the left. It's in the basement and I've jammed the signal."
London nods and starts pulling open the heavy lift doors.
"Sebastian?" Frankie says just as jams his body in sideways between the doors. He leans back and pushes.
"Yeah?"
"We'll need a distraction in about twenty minutes. I'll tell you when. Something to pull everyone's attention to the front of the building, we're getting out through the back." Frankie clears her throat, still moving. To where, London has no idea. "This just turned into a hit and run, ladies and gentlemen; act accordingly."
"Okay," Sebastian says. "Yeah okay, I can do that."
"Make it a good one," London tells him, only half-joking.
He attaches the spring hook on his belt to the carbon string. Of course rappelling on carbon isn't half as comfortable compared to rope, but it has the great advantage of coiling up automatically on the spool on his belt. Apparently he gets to try it today after all. Lugging around rope even half its length would seriously restrict him. Plus, rope doesn't come with all the extras.