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“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.
Twenty minutes later I skidded, panting, into Milton Keynes station, my hand pressed to my aching side, not even trying to hide my scarlet face and heaving chest. Partly because there was no way I could—I was too exhausted to even attempt to look fine—and partly because a train station is about the only place you can look like you’re fleeing police without raising suspicion.
At the ticket barrier I stood, wheezing, one hand braced against the machine as I searched with the other in my pockets for the return half of my ticket. Thank God it was still there. I was trembling so much that it took three tries to feed it into the narrow slot, and then the barrier opened and I passed through, and sank down onto a bench at the side of platform 1, trying to look like someone who had just missed their train. In reality I had no idea what I was going to do next.
Every part of my body was shaking with adrenaline, and my side was throbbing with a hot white pain so intense that it was all I could do not to lean over the side of the bench and throw up—if I’d had anything in my stomach since the toasted teacake, I probably would have done. But it wasn’t just the pain in my side making me feel sick—I was in even deeper shit than I could possibly have known, and not only that, but somehow the police were keeping tabs on me. They had traced me first to Cole’s, and now to Sunsmile, and I had no idea how.
I had returned to the station more on instinct than anything else—the urge to get out of Milton Keynes stronger than almost any other. But now I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do. I couldn’t go back to Cole’s. I definitely couldn’t go to Helena’s. What I really wanted was to go home. To have a hot shower, to lie in a soft bed, and to sleep. I wasn’t sure how much sleep I’d had last night, but it couldn’t have been more than a few hours, and since then I’d not had more than snatched moments to rest. Now, as the pain in my side ebbed back to a more manageable but still fairly worrying throb, I felt weak and shivery with exhaustion—my own bed the most seductive thing I could imagine. There was no use longing for it, though. Going home was impossible—even more impossible than going back to Hel’s. I might as well sit here longing for Gabe—both he and my normal, everyday existence were gone, far beyond reach.
I was still sitting there, trying to control my breathing, when I heard a commotion behind me in the ticket hall. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw two uniformed officers at the barrier, flashing their warrant cards at the guard on duty.
My heart sped up to an almost sickening pace, and I looked around the platform, trying to figure out my options. Far up ahead I could see a train coming—but to which platform?
Moving casually, trying not to attract attention, I walked quickly down the platform to the overpass, my head down as if checking my phone. In reality every ounce of my attention was focused on the main station entrance behind me. The police officers had passed through now and were spreading out, one moving up the platform towards me, the other talking to some students near the entrance.
My heart racing, I slipped into the shadow of the overpass and began climbing the stairs. As soon as I was out of sight on the covered bridge above the platform, I yanked off the glasses, fumbled in my rucksack for the fleece hoodie, and dragged it over my head. With the hood up I looked, I hoped, completely different from the smart office worker who had blagged her way into the Sunsmile offices—more like a teenage boy than a grown woman.
The train was nearer now, close enough for me to see which line, and glancing up at the board I saw that it was headed for Birmingham, eight minutes behind schedule, and coming in at platform 6. It didn’t match my ticket—but that was the least of my worries right now, because unfortunately the train wasn’t the only thing getting closer. Peering back over my shoulder down the stairs, I could see that the officer who had followed me had stopped to talk to a woman in a white top and dark jacket and was now heading for the overpass.
I gulped, pulled the hood closer around my face, and jogged across the bridge towards the sign pointing down to platform 6.
“Hey!” I heard behind me, but I didn’t stop. I had no idea if the officer was talking to me or someone else, but I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. “Hey, son!”
His footsteps were speeding up. Below me the train drew into the station.
