Page 41 of Vicarious

Eileen nods for a man who is definitely not my head of security to follow her. So far, going right according to plan.

Ten minutes later, as we’re inspecting the semi-enclosed garden, Cres says, “Adrian, look at that fountain. It’s gorgeous. Isn’t it? Maybe we can take pictures or something over there.”

She’s pointing a little distance away.

“We should go look at it. Come on,” she says tugging me away and then looks over at Pray and her father, “We’ll be right back.”

She drags me over to the fountain, out of the view of the entourage we just left but in clear view of a camera overlooking the garden. No sooner than we’re in view of it does she run her hand down front of my chest, open the top button of my shirt, and bring her face close to mine.

It’s all an act of course. To help cover our tracks when we disappear after Eileen puts the cameras in a feedback loop which will allow the two of us and some of Eileen’s team to spread out and search the premises.

Then, Cres pretends to push me backwards into a little nook under an archway not too far from the fountain and between some trees. A blind spot in the security cameras.

Anyone who sees the footage is going to make exactly the assumptions we want them to make.

When we’re in the blind spot, Cres and I drop our act and I pull out my phone, waiting for Eileen’s message to tell me that Cres and I are good to go. Thirty seconds later, she does.

Twenty minutes. Thirty tops.

20

Viper

Twenty minutes seems like a lot of time, but it’s not. We’re going to have to be fast. Cres and I could be faster if we split up, but we have to stay together to maintain our cover if someone sees us. Luckily, we know where we’re going. Pray’s rarely used office. A room no one has any reason to go into besides cleaning and would be the perfect place to hide secret documents connecting him to all the misdeeds we otherwise couldn’t connect him to.

The office is a little on the nose and too obvious for my liking. But it’s like Phae said when she told us she was sure this was the place where the evidence would be, if a man is going to have the hubris to keep fucking physical evidence of all his misdeeds in one place, he’s going to hide it away in the most obvious room in the place he thinks no one can get to.

The door is locked. With an electronic keypad of all things. But that means little to me. I’ve dealt with so many of these over the years while going after a mark, I can’t count them. So it’s painfully easy to override the electronic locking mechanisms to get inside.

“What do you need me to do?” Cres asks once we’re in the room.

I hand Cres a pair of gloves before she gets in her mind to touch anything and leave her prints anywhere.

“Look for anything out of place. Anything that looks like it doesn’t belong,” I reply as I carefully begin to walk the room.

“I know that. But what? My specialty is getting people to tell me information when their guard is down. Not looking for it when it’s physically hidden.”

“Can’t really tell you what. Just if it looks weird, tell me.”

She doesn’t say anything else, allowing me to continue to do my work. Honestly, this kind of recon isn’t my specialty either. This kind of looking for the subtle details and paying attention to them when killing someone isn’t involved. This is the kind of stuff I leave for Eileen. Or Wyan. He’s always had an eye for things that are weird or out of place.

But my skills, even if they’re lacking, are going to have to do for now. I hope they’ll do.

“Pray has a wife?”

“No,” I say.

“Well, he had something. Look at this picture.”

I go over to where Cres is looking at an old picture of Pray in a group at some kind of banquet. He’s a much younger man in it. Probably from before he was CEO of Pray Drinks and long before his criminal empire was as extensive as it is now. Standing next to him is a dark-haired woman with brown eyes. Personally, I can’t tell what about her makes her stand out to Cres from everyone else in the picture because there’s nothing that gives away that she was particularly special. No hands in each other’s. No hand on her waist. Nothing.

“How can you tell?”

“I have an eye for this stuff. I can tell.”

I make a noise of acknowledgement as I look at the woman. Something about her looks so familiar to me. Like I’ve met her before. Hopefully, it’s not important because I have no time to figure it out.

I start to move away from the picture when the little side table it’s sitting on catches my attention. I remove the picture and run my hand over the top, over the sides until I feel a loose piece of wood. It could just be broken. But…

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