Page 24 of The Company We Keep

The high-rise building that housed The Company's base of operations was a glistening patchwork of floor-to-ceiling windows as Dust approached it for the first time. The skyscraper was tucked in Las Abras' financial district and the street was nearly deserted as Dust steered his bike into the underground garage.

Carrow said the key card should get him access to everything he needed, including the man's private garage. Sure enough, when he swiped the card through a reader mounted next to a closed garage bay marked "PENTHOUSE," the system ground to life and the door rose. Lights flickered to life, and behind the bay door was a huge array of vehicles organized in sprawling rows. There were sports cars, motorcycles, sedans, yes — but also decoy cars with mismatched panels, a box truck with the logo of a fishing company on the side, several unmarked vans, an armored truck, and some sort of massive vehicle parked in one corner covered in welded panels.

The door began to close automatically as he gawked. Dust hurried inside, guiding his bike down the rows. He found anempty spot next to a black sedan he recognized as Carrow's daily driver and parked his bike.

One more swipe of the key card had him standing in the elevator. There was only one button: 45. He tapped it and a flat-panel monitor that he didn't notice at first lit up. It showed his own face, and he leaned in to peer at it.

Dust barely recognized himself. He'd gotten a tan since arriving in Las Abras and gotten a haircut the morning before his meeting with Carrow. The broken-in leather jacket hung on his shoulders like it was made for him (and maybe, he thought, ithadbeen before Abe had gifted it to him).

"Ah, Dustin, yeah?" asked a melodic voice with a British accent.

Wayles,Dust thought. The monitor still displayed his own face, and he flashed a smile, knowing he was being watched.

"That's me."

"Grand. One sec!"

The monitor turned itself off and the elevator began its ascent.

Dust was about to see something no AIIB agent had ever seen before — not in photographs and certainly not in person. But all he could think to himself on the long journey up was,I'm going to live here.

He arrived at the 45th floor and the doors glided open, revealing a foyer decked in creamy marble and a nondescript door. No card reader on this one — just a doorbell and a small pad that, Dust assumed, must read fingerprints.You either have the right prints or someone lets you in, Dust thought. As he stepped up, he heard a series of soft clicks. Wayles had anticipated him — was certainly watching him right now — and had unlocked the door for him.

Was it impolite to walk in without ringing the doorbell?

He did it anyway, hitching the duffel bag he'd brought with his things high on one shoulder and then pressing inslowly, appreciating the heft of the door that must be armored.

Walking in felt too easy — like a trap.

The fear fell away, though, when he stepped through and pulled the heavy door behind him.

The penthouse was massive and Dust didn't attempt to mask his awe. From the front door, he could see straight through the unit, spanning the whole floor, ending in a wall of curving floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out at the crowded Las Abras skyline. The open floorplan had him looking through a kitchen, a large dining area, and a sitting room — everything slick and clean and matching. Carrow obviously had a hard-on for Mid-Century modern furniture and styling.

"You get used to it eventually."

The voice startled him — he hadn't heard anyone approach, but Vashvi must have come up from a hallway to his left. She held out a hand.

"Vashvi Dhillon." It was odd to have this woman introduce herself, to shake hands with the 21st Century's most dangerous sniper. He knew volumes of information about her — could probably rattle off her social security number if necessary, knew the name of her first cat and her favorite picture book and the last ten men she had killed. And yet, she was exactly what he had expected, with an energy drink in one hand, barefoot and dressed in an old band T-shirt.

"I know," he said, smiling. There was no reason to hide his awe at the penthouse, and no reason not to treat the crew like the celebrities they were to him. "I mean, I know all of you. I’m a big fan."

"I guess that makes sense," she said. She turned and gestured to him to follow her into the kitchen. "Boss wouldn't hire someone who didn't do their homework. You want something to drink?"

"At least let him put his bag down, Vi." Wayles emerged from a doorway Dust hadn't noticed on the opposite side of the kitchen. It was going to take ages to get used to this layout. "Suppose you don't need an introduction from me, either?"

Wayles didn't smile at him. Dust had been worried about him. Emerson had warned him that Wayles had been the closest of them all to Nick Short and would likely be the last one to accept him as a replacement.

"No. Your reputation precedes you too, Mr. Wayles."

Something flickered in his light green eyes. He extended his hand after a moment of hesitation.

"Just Wayles," he said. "It's good to meet you, Wrenshall."

"Just Dust. If you don't mind."

Wayles nodded.

"Whereiseveryone?" Wayles asked, turning to Vashvi.

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