Corruption

by Jessica Shirvington

  Fourteen

  I hurried to the doors, but a large arm shot out and barred my exit. I closed my eyes briefly, my heart pounding. This was it. They had me.

  Images of my underground prison swamped me and my stomach tightened at the memories of the horrific hunger pains.

  ‘Ma’am?’ he asked in a deep baritone voice.

  I steeled myself and looked up. It was one of the door guards. Barely contained in his white tuxedo, I knew he’d have me on the ground in seconds if he made a move.

  When I just looked at him, his arm still extended in front of me, blocking my escape, he cleared his throat and his eyes flickered to something behind me before coming back to me. ‘Ma’am? Is everything okay?’ he said, his voice holding enough accusation that I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

  My hand twitched, thinking of the dagger I had strapped to my thigh, but with all the material of the dress I’d never get to it in time. So instead, I nodded. ‘Everything is fine,’ I said, keeping my head down.

  ‘Ma’am, we’re going to need you to hand in your mask before you can leave the premises,’ he said.

  ‘My … Oh, my mask?’ I said with a jolt, my hand flying to my face as I spun around to see a woman standing behind five large glass bowls, each with a label in front of them noting a different charity group.

  She smiled awkwardly and I realised they thought I was trying to take off with the potentially valuable jewels.

  Reaching up, I hurriedly untied the mask, fumbling to remove it while also trying to keep my face down and to the side. ‘Here,’ I said, holding it out to the woman.

  ‘You need to place it in one of the bowls,’ she instructed.

  I glanced quickly at the noted charities. They had a range covering domestic charity, child services, homeless shelters, armed forces, but my hand went straight to the international aid bowl, where I placed my mask.

  ‘Thank you,’ the woman said, noting down something on the screen in front of her.

  I nodded awkwardly and turned back towards the exit, relieved to see the giant-sized guard had now dropped his arm.

  ‘Have a nice evening, ma’am,’ he said as I sped past him and outside, spotting the Range Rover already idling across the street.

  I jumped in the passenger side, blowing out a breath as I glanced briefly at Quentin and then proceeded to search the back of the car.

  ‘Paranoid much?’ he said with a chuckle. He clearly thought the danger was over.

  Ignoring him, I kept looking around, keeping most of my attention on the steady flow of tuxedo-clad guards filing out of the Mellon building.

  Quentin followed my line of sight, catching on. But when he opened his mouth again, I was quick to put my hand over his lips.

  Silently I opened the glove compartment and found an old-fashioned paper road map. I unfolded and scanned the map, my senses on high alert.

  I flipped the paper over. Nothing. I clenched my jaw. There had to be something. I ran my hand over the flat surface and noticed a slight inconsistency. When I did the same on the other side, it was more obvious.

  ‘Mags?’ Quentin asked.

  ‘Um …’ I cleared my throat. ‘Is there a pen or pencil in here anywhere?’

  Quentin searched around and found a tiny pencil wedged into the coin compartment.

  ‘We should get moving,’ I said absently. I started to carefully shade in the indented area of the map, revealing the first arrow with the words ‘park here’ beside it, and then the second arrow with the words ‘real car here’, followed by a series of numbers I assumed were a numberplate.

  Quentin backed out of the parking space. ‘Which direction, Mags?’

  I held up the map, pointing to the first arrow as I said, ‘Just take us somewhere we can lay low for a while.’

  ‘Got it.’

  Quentin drove silently, observing the traffic laws and taking his time. I could see he was keeping his eyes on the rear-view mirror and trusted he was on the lookout, so I turned my attention back to the map that was directing us towards a museum called Hillwood Estate. There was no doubt Morris was being watched. If not by the guards I’d spotted, then by others, hidden in the shadows and ready to pounce. On top of that, thanks to Morris’s clues, I was certain the car was bugged in more ways than one.

  I glanced at Quentin. This was going to hurt him. Because if Morris was being followed and was as frightened as he appeared, it meant only one thing: Quentin’s family truly had turned on him. I just prayed that Morris hadn’t. And that he was as smart as he always professed.

  We hit traffic on Irving Street, but made it to the entrance gates of Hillwood Estate within twenty minutes. Quentin glanced at me questioningly.

  I nodded, telling him to drive in.

  The museum was closed, but we parked in the signposted visitors area anyway and got out.

  I paused to pull up the many layers of my skirt until I found my thigh and the tranq gun strapped to it. ‘Let’s go,’ I said, not wasting time. Whoever was tracking us would be there soon.

  We walked towards the front doors of the mansion-style museum. It was a traditional Georgian building of red brick with stunning white pillars. I made a bee-line for the two night-guards, who stood up when they saw us approaching.

  ‘Sorry, folks, but the museum won’t be open until morning,’ one of the guards said.

  ‘I know,’ I responded, shooting him in the shoulder, then shooting the other guard. They clearly weren’t pros – they were out before they even realised there might have been cause for alarm.

  We dragged the guards into the shadows and made sure they were in comfortable positions before taking off.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. ‘The gardens should be over that wall.’

  I wrangled with my dress until I had the skirt under as much control as possible and we climbed the garden wall, breaking into a run the second we reached the other side. Quentin followed me as I sprinted in the direction Morris had marked on the map. Eventually we hit a small cemetery, which had me confused until I realised it was for pets. We kept running, both silent. Both panting. My only hope was that the zips would be worth it. And that Gus would be able to fix whatever the hell Morris had been forced to lump us with.

  We made it across a bridge over the lake and to another garden wall. As soon as I’d climbed over it, I pulled out the map and tried to work out our position. Quentin looked over my shoulder, lighting up his M-Band to help us see. He seemed to get a handle on where we were faster than I did, because he pointed.

  I nodded and followed his lead. About ten minutes later we arrived at a narrow road. We spotted the row of three cars about one hundred metres away.

  ‘That one,’ I said, pointing to the old-style Ford. I smiled and started patting down Quentin’s pockets. ‘There’s a key in the envelope, isn’t there?’ I’d felt the lump when Morris had given it to me.

  Quentin grinned, watching as I patted him down. ‘Back pocket,’ he said, barely containing himself. I rolled my eyes and pulled out the key.

  The moment I opened the front door, we both saw the note stuck to the driver’s seat.

  Check the back.

  We found a duffle bag in the boot. Inside was a stack of Quentin’s clothes and a letter.

  If you are Quin (or even Maggie), great! Read on. If not, I’d appreciate it if you would kindly fuck off and die.

  We both chuckled.

  Maggie, if it’s you, I’m glad you aren’t dead. We were seriously worried there for a while. Wish I could throw you a party or something, but it turns out you two are totally screwed and parties that end in bloodshed are bad for business – you understand.

  I’ve done what I can, but don’t come knocking again. It’s too risky for all of us. I’ve called in every favour I could to get this stuff to you.

  The Range Rover was bugged to the hilt so really hoping you got the hell away from it ASAP. This car is clean. I won it in a gamble. No one knows I have it and it can’t be traced by
the tech. That said, it’s so bloody old it stands out like a sore thumb, so I wouldn’t go cruising if you get my drift.

  Quin, your money will be in the envelope I gave you, but watch out. Booby traps!! There will be at least two extra zips in there. Your father knew we were in touch and put the hard word on me. Agreeing to set you up (for your own good, of course!) seemed to be the only way – I just hope this works. Don’t know exactly what they can do, but I do know they can track you. Pretty sure they can listen in. Maybe more. They’re disguised to look like your zips, but I went old-school and marked them up like we used to.

  Last thing. The money zips have been tampered with. They (idiots) tried to put them back before I noticed, but I had a few of my own booby traps and I’m positive they did something. If I’d cleaned them myself, it would have outed me before I could get them to you, so you’re going to have to clean house yourself. DON’T trust the money until you scan the zips.

  Good luck, guys. Don’t know what you are doing. Don’t want to. Just … look after each other and stay alive.

  The letter was typed and he didn’t sign his name. He wasn’t stupid.

  Wasting no time, Quentin emptied the envelope of the small disk-like zips. In a world of no cash, money zips were the only form of untraceable money.

  Quentin picked up a zip and, cupping both hands around it, held it up to his eyes. I watched on, wondering if he’d lost his mind, until eventually there were two piles. One with eight zips, the other with just two. And a game zip to the side.

  I lifted the game zip, my question obvious.

  ‘Morris designed it. To anyone else it is just a game, but for us, once you access level two and know where to go, it unlocks an embedded file.’

  ‘The information you collected.’

  He nodded.

  Curious now, I picked up one of his eight zips and did as he had, cupping my hands around it like Quentin had so that I blocked out the light. Sure enough, there was a small mark in the centre. Invisible to the naked eye – except for when it glowed in the dark.

  I shook my head, smiling. Morris wasn’t stupid at all. He was a genius.

  Fifteen

  By the time I made it back to the car, I was wheezing uncontrollably.

  ‘You should’ve let me go,’ Quentin said.

  I probably should have. I still wasn’t at my best physically, but when Quentin had pulled up at the closest metro station I couldn’t stop myself from snatching up the two booby-trapped zips and taking off at breakneck speed with nothing more than a ‘Back in five’ mouthed to Quentin.

  ‘Done.’ Wheeze huff puff. ‘Now. They. Are …’ Keeping my words to a minimum wasn’t a choice – I was seriously having trouble breathing. ‘Going. Opposite. Directions,’ I reported.

  Quentin scowled.

  I smiled. At least, I tried to, but I’m fairly certain all that resulted was more of a strangled whimper. Truth was, I relished the pain that came from bolting down the deep stairway to the platform so I could hide the zips under the seats of different trains. It was all worth it to send M-Corp and whoever else was tracking us on a wild-goose chase.

  ‘Next time, I go,’ he grumbled, driving us back towards Arlington.

  I leaned back in my chair, forgoing a response in favour of air.

  Once we were a safe distance from the station and I was satisfied we weren’t being followed, I called Gus.

  ‘If I happen to accidentally tranq Travis again, multiple times, would you be upset with me?’ he asked as he picked up. ‘And before you answer, do try to remember that he almost got us all killed recently.’

  ‘Tranq him and I tranq you,’ I answered.

  ‘That’s a little harsh,’ Gus mumbled. ‘The guy is doing my damn head in. He has the world’s worst taste in music, and when I say that, I really can’t stress enough what I mean by the worst. But let me just give you one word. Opera. Five fucking hours of opera.’

  I smiled. Travis had been in the game for a long time. I would bet everything I owned – admittedly not much – that he was doing it on purpose.

  ‘Deal with it.’

  Gus snorted. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you if you come back to find I’ve thrown myself out a window. Where are you anyway?’

  ‘On the move. We have what we wanted, but there are complications. How are you going with everything on your end?’

  ‘At a big bloody dead-end – and by bloody, I mean potentially our blood if I don’t find a way through.’

  ‘What do you need?’ I asked.

  Gus sighed. ‘Mags, I need more than what we have. I’ve been thinking –’

  ‘Don’t,’ I cut him off. ‘Don’t think, Gus. You and thinking always leads to the same thing.’

  Gus scoffed. ‘And what’s that, oh great oracle?’

  ‘To you looking out for numero uno, which ultimately leads to a plan that starts with: let’s make a run for it.’

  Gus was silent for a few beats. ‘You’re actually pretty good.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘What do you need, Gus?’

  ‘Access to computers and files I no longer have,’ he said, now sounding tired and frustrated. We all needed more sleep. Nonetheless Gus’s words sparked an idea.

  ‘Would your old computer have what you need?’ I asked, purposely not mentioning the fact that Gus’s old computer was in the M-Store where we both used to work. Of course, Quentin swerving slightly off the road and looking at me with wide eyes tipped me off that he’d instantly put two and two together.

  ‘Yes,’ Gus said hesitantly.

  I chewed on my idea for a minute, before giving myself a nod. Chance favours the bold and all that shit.

  I turned to Quentin. ‘How fast can we get there?’

  Quentin was shaking his head in shock. ‘Mags –’ he started, but I cut him off.

  ‘How long?’

  He clenched his jaw. ‘Fifteen minutes. But it’s ten o’clock.’

  ‘Be at the back door in twenty,’ I instructed Gus.

  I heard him groan, but he simply said, ‘What do I do with opera boy?’

  I bit my lip, but we were already too far down the road to stop. ‘Bring Travis with you,’ I said. ‘Wear caps and keep your faces away from the security cameras.’

  ‘I’ll try not to be insulted by the ridiculous obviousness of that statement,’ Gus said with a huff. ‘You do realise we’re all going to hell for this stuff?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted sadly. ‘But we are going to take some terrible people with us.’

  ‘Shitty consolation prize, Mags,’ he said and hung up.

  The car was torturously silent.

  Five minutes.

  Ten.

  Finally Quentin broke. ‘We’re almost there.’

  I nodded, keeping my focus on the task ahead. I had used the silence to get in the zone and work out my angle. You always had to be ready with an angle and then commit to it.

  ‘Maggie, if you want to –’

  ‘You’re not coming in,’ I said, cutting him off and deciding to keep it simple and direct. ‘I need someone out front keeping watch; someone who’ll be ready to get us the hell out of there.’

  ‘But –’ he started.

  ‘No, Quin!’

  Quentin didn’t respond until we pulled into the street where the M-Store was. ‘Front or back?’ he asked, staring straight ahead.

  I glanced at him, noting his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Yeah, he wasn’t happy, but I would deal with him later. The last thing he needed was to land himself on the morning news for breaking and entering into one of his family’s stores.

  ‘Just here is good,’ I said when we were about one hundred metres away from the store. Quentin pulled over and I got out, turning back briefly. ‘Stay here. If you see anything, beep the horn. We’ll come to you.’

  Quentin didn’t look at me. I hesitated, wanting to explain why he shouldn’t come in. Wanting to go through my plan with him, but instead I pressed my lips together and took his
non-reply for agreement.

  The M-Store was closed for the night. But like all M-Stores, it had night security. And for the eighteen months that I’d worked at the Clarendon store, I had never left a shift without first getting a coffee for the night-guard, Darren.

  So when I walked straight up to him, smile on my face, and gave him a wave, Darren was quick to open the sliding door and come out to see me.

  ‘Well, well. I haven’t seen you in a while. I’ve been having caffeine withdrawals.’ He laughed. ‘Aren’t you a sight to behold.’

  I laughed back. ‘I took a bit of time off to concentrate on school. You know how it is. But I’m hoping to come back to work once I finish school. I love my job here,’ I said, taking a chance that he wouldn’t have been informed otherwise. So far the Mercers appeared to see less benefit than gain in slandering my name to the world.

  Darren’s eyes crinkled. ‘Good girl. You gotta put school first. But I know what you mean; the M-Corp family is a good one to be part of. They’ve always looked after me.’

  I nodded. ‘Actually, Darren, that’s why I’m here. I was kind of hoping you might be able to let me in the back office. I left a few things behind.’

  ‘Oh. Well, what did you leave in there? I can go in and get it.’ He gestured to the door.

  ‘Well, that’s just the thing. They’re kind of private. And …’ I looked away, wringing my hands together, ‘it’s all sort of embarrassing.’

  Darren looked at me, confused.

  I licked my lips. ‘I just don’t want this stuff getting in the wrong hands.’

  His smile faltered.

  I worked on building some tears in my eyes. ‘I had a relationship with Gus,’ I said softly. ‘And now he’s in big trouble for something and he got fired.’

  Darren nodded gravely. ‘I’d heard that they were looking for that boy. Always liked him, though.’

  I nodded, blinking away a tear. ‘Me too. And the stuff he’s in trouble for, he didn’t really do. I swear, Darren.’

  His expression softened. ‘If you say so, kiddo. There is a lot of crazy stuff that happens in the world these days, but I figure with the systems the way they are, if someone is a real problem, it’s gonna come out in their ratings, right? That’s what they say.’