Agent Rogue: Espionage

Chapter 12

Scotty slid into the officer chair, twirled around, and landed in front of the monitors, hands smacking on the desk.

          Collins and I watched as he set to work, my own eyes combing the cameras for any sign of the ballroom as Derek and Davis dragged the unconscious security guards into the storage room, handcuffing them to the furniture.

          I pointed. "Found it."
"Ah!" Scotty looked up from his transfixion on the keyboard. With a waggle of his fingers, the ever-obedient Collins handed over the aluminium briefcase, and Scotty unloaded his laptop.

          "Let's see... Yeah... Mhm... Right." He smacked the spacebar and the laptop screen split into four, displaying the video footage coming from each of the cameras concealed within our masks.

          "I'm set up," he said. "Masks are working, eyes are on the ballroom... It's your turn now, Ambi."
I tutted. "As if I didn't get us inside."
"Couldn't have done it without me."
"Don't sell yourself short," I grumbled with an eye roll. "Derek. Davis."

          The two sauntered into the security room, Davis smacking his hands together.
"Sorted?" I wondered.
"Cuffed and in the closet," Derek replied.
Davis snorted. "Been there before."

          "Right, you two," I warned, "we've had our fun but now is the time to be serious. This mission is integral to stopping Marcus and finding Gabby and Jade. We all know our jobs?" They had confirmed it back at the chateau, but I had to be sure. They knew this worry, and each nodded in turn – even Collins. "Good. Now let's show Marcus we've had enough of waiting."

***

Derek, Davis and I weaved our way through the plain, neglected corridors, leaving Collins to guard Scotty at the security room as planned, following the directions assigned through the radios lodged in our ears, hidden from sight by carefully placed hair and the straps of our masks.

          "Left turn," said Collins. "Have you reached a door?"
"Of course they have – I can see through the masks," Scotty retorted.
Collins sighed. "The door should lead to the main ballroom."
"Be ready to enter. I'll wait for security to move."

          Derek gripped the handle, set to let us inside the moment Scotty told us to. He glanced over his shoulder at me with a little smirk.
"What's the bet this actually goes as planned?"
"Three to two on it working," I admitted. Davis gawked.
"That's negative! This is a good plan. It's guaranteed to work."
"What about you?" I asked Derek. "What are your odds on this working?"
As he opened his mouth, Scotty spoke through the earpiece, "Go now."

          Derek winked and opened the door. "Next to none."

          Before a wide-eyed Davis or myself could reply, we were guided into the ballroom through the side door.

          It was exquisite. Walls of brass and gold ignited beneath matching spotlights integrated in the arching ceiling, twinkling like burning stars of fire over the blue, black and purple mosaic covering the floor from corner to corner. Beautiful like a clear night sky.

          But the music contrasted with it all. Beneath the beauty, the elegance, the regal feel of the room and its guests, was booming bass, vulgar curses and a sour stench mixed with overpriced perfume and strong cologne. The lights flashed and flickered to the melody – if I could call the noise such a thing – revealing acute glimpses of the intoxicated guests pouting their lips in to speak, smoke, and press against strangers. The image reminded me of such a place I braved with Scotty and a few of his early agency friends on a night out a few years' back; only this place held an origin and purpose far deeper than that sketchy nightclub.