The early morning light cast a muted glow inside the van. Naomi stared blankly at the surveillance monitors, fatigued. She adjusted the manky old blanket draped over her shoulders and took another sip from her now-cold, gas station coffee.
The taste was grim.
The screens displayed a calm stillness.
The truck had led them about an hour out of the city to a remote business park, well beyond the suburbs. It was surrounded on three sides by lush woodland that had started to creep in and reclaim some of the building's drab exterior.
The office they were watching was a vast, characterless cuboid. Brendon guessed it to be perhaps three or four stories high, but about half a mile long. Entirely covered in tinted dark glass that reflected the surrounding trees. Depending on the light, it looked almost invisible.
By the time they'd arrived, it was already dark. It seemed Naomi was able to trail them without raising attention. They managed to find a section of the parking lot at the back that was shielded by a bed of vegetation and broken lights that offered good cover from the main building. It meant the surveillance cameras needed to be on max to see anything meaningful of the entrance.
Naomi rubbed her eyes, trying to stay alert.
She swiped the protein bar wrappers on the desktop into a waste bin. It was time to get ready for the morning shift. The protein bars from Brendon's gym bag had staved off hunger overnight, but they needed something more if they were going to make it through the day.
The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel snapped her back to attention. She tensed. A gentle knock on the van door eased her anxiety. She opened it slightly, gingerly peeking out. It was Brendon.
He climbed in with a sigh, handing her a paper bag and a cup holder with two tepid coffees. "Sorry, it's not exactly fresh," he said, setting them down on the tabletop. "I think that petrol station is about 2 miles away." He dropped a shopping net of supplies by Naomi's feet. "We should make it through the day with this stuff."
Naomi grabbed one of the coffees and took a cautious sip. "Cold coffee is better than no coffee," she replied with a half-smile.
Brendon sat down heavily in the chair opposite her, stretching his legs out with a groan.
"Any movement?"
"Nothing," Naomi said between bites of a Danish.
Brendon nodded, biting his own Danish and chewing thoughtfully as he stared at the screens. "You get any sleep?"
"A bit," she admitted.
"The truck still there?" Naomi manipulated a gimbal on the desk, and one of the monitors zoomed into the far right corner of the building. They could see the top quarter of the truck poking out of a sunken bay.
"Yep, still there," she observed. "You think those people were in there?"
"What else could it be?"
"Fridges?" offered Naomi with a wry smile. Brendon returned it.
"Supplying appliances ain't really Dorian's style," quipped Brendon. "Still can't get my head around what the fuck he's doing in all this."
"If she won that freak-show lottery, maybe she ended up in Carte too. Maybe she's in there," Naomi nodded at a screen.
"Yeah, but she'd never be down in The Blight. It doesn't make sense."
The morning hours dragged on, the van growing stuffier. Brendon and Naomi sat side by side, eyes fixed on the screens.
As the sun rose, the parking lot slowly began to fill with vehicles.
Brendon leaned forward; his attention snagged by some of the new arrivals. He reached for the gimbal and reoriented a camera.
A woman was getting out of a grey hatchback and walking around to the trunk to get some bags. At that range, the image was shaky and relatively low res, but he could still get something from it. "She looks medical," mused Brendon.
"What do you mean?"
"I get the feeling that some of these guys are medical staff," he contemplated. "There's a lot of blue trousers and Crocs pulling up." He swung the camera around to another car. "Look at her," he said, pointing to a woman locking her car and walking towards the entrance. She was puffing on a vape and leaving a trail of smoke like a steam train as she marched in. She had a handbag, a sports bag, and was pretty clearly wearing medical scrubs and trainers. She had an orange lanyard around her neck with a couple of security cards hanging off it.
They observed more arrivals.
"What do you think?" asked Naomi.
"I don't know. There is definitely something going on in there. The morning shift's arrived." Brendon contemplated and then started to rummage in his gym bag. He pulled out a fresh scrub top and put it on.
"What are you doing?" He then grabbed his deodorant and sprayed under his armpits. "Oh no, you're not going in there now too, are ya?" exclaimed Naomi. "This isn't some hobo shindig. This looks like a high security area. Look at them. They've all got security cards. She's got more than one!"
"I know, but what more are we going to find out sitting here," he said, sliding on his jacket. "Something is going on in there, and the only way to find out is by taking a closer look. Even if I just peek into the entrance, that might give us something."
Naomi pondered. "You really embracing this secret agent shit, aren't you?"
"No," he replied, looking deadly serious, "I just want to find out what's happened to my wife."
Naomi read the tone.
"Ok," she turned and scanned the shelves behind her, "Just hang on a minute, double O seven." From a drawer she pulled out a pair of Ray-Ban spectacles and a tiny case, about the size of a pill box.
"These are video glasses," she slid them on his face, "And this is a mic and earpiece." Brendon looked at it in the palm of his hand. A tiny curl of transparent wire. "At least this way I can see and hear what you do." She tapped on the keyboard, bringing up the feed from the glasses. "I'll record the transmissions, so don't worry about waiting around too much. Just get in and out. We can analyse later." Brendon nodded and poked the device into his ear.
"Got it."
"And comb your hair, hon. You look like you've been sleeping in a van." Brendon gave her a reassuring look before turning toward the van door. "Wait, take your gym bag. They all seem to go in with a bag."
Brendon zipped his bag and slung it as he stepped outside. He quietly shut the van door and walked through the bushes towards the building. Naomi tracked him on her screens. "Can you hear me OK?" she checked.
"Yep, loud and clear."
Brendon walked across the car park, his heart pounding in his chest. The morning air was cool, but he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. The car park was still pretty empty but slowly filling. Cars were clustered nearer the front, closer to the building. Brendon covered the open ground towards a footpath that bordered the building and followed the perimeter towards the entrance.
He passed a couple of women standing by a bench and vaping. He looked at them and smiled. They ignored him.
"Don't look at anyone, don't make eye contact," came Naomi's voice into his ear.
"OK," replied Brendon.
"Don't speak to me either, for Christ's sake! You're not supposed to draw attention to yourself."
"Sorry, got it," replied Brendon. "Fuck! Sorry!" realising his error.
Naomi said nothing, but Brendon could hear a rustle over his earpiece. She was probably gesticulating something.
She came back on, "Just relax," she said soothingly.
As he approached the front door, he could see the atrium through the glass. He slowed his pace and eased his way through the automatic doors. The reception desk sat prominently at the back of the room, beyond a large waiting area. Security gates stood to its right, where people were tagging in with their IDs. The space was very bland, no pictures or logos anywhere. There was no way to know what company this was, or what it did.
"Stay calm, Brendon," Naomi's voice crackled in his earpiece. "You're doing great." He nodded subtly, though his nerves were on edge. The receptionists behind the desk glanced up as he entered, their eyes lingering on him briefly before dropping down again.
He forced himself to walk casually.
He was trying to assess the situation. He couldn't go through the entry gates and had no idea what to say to the receptionists. He felt himself starting to flail.
"Just go to the waiting area and sit down," came Naomi's calming voice, "Take a breath and make like you're waiting for someone, hon, you're doing great."
Brendon did indeed take a breath, probably too deep a breath, but thankfully no one was watching. He casually walked over to the waiting area. A horseshoe of grey modular seats with a block coffee table in the middle. It had a glass top with a scattering of old magazines on it. There were ferns in the corners. Brendon positioned himself behind one and started thumbing through an old National Geographic.
Minutes ticked by as he flipped through the pages without reading a single word. His mind raced, trying to maintain a facade of calm while every instinct screamed at him to run.
He took a deep breath, eyes scanning the room discreetly over the top of the magazine. Just then, one of the receptionists got out from behind her desk and approached him. He watched her, terrified, as she closed the distance between them.
"Excuse me," she said politely but firmly. "Can I help you?"
"Brendon," Naomi's voice came again, softer this time. "Breathe. You've got this. Just tell her you are waiting for someone."
Panic surged through him.
He stood up like he was standing to attention, the Nat-Geo falling to the floor. Naomi could see him glancing around the room erratically. "Brendon," she said as soothingly as she could, but it was to no avail.
"No hablo inglés!"
The second he said it, he knew he'd fucked up.
The receptionist blinked, clearly taken aback.
"Uh...un momento," she said awkwardly, looking over her shoulder back to her colleague still at the desk.
Naomi's voice buzzed urgently in his ear. "Brendon, what are you doing? You fucking idiot? Get out of there!"
Before he could respond or make a move, a mean-looking man emerged from a door adjacent to the foyer. From the brief glance that Brendon managed to get inside, he saw a dark room with banks of monitors on a wall. It must be the security room, and this guy must be a security guard.
He was a good head taller than Brendon, and Brendon was tall. His muscular frame was wedged into a dark polo shirt. A single silver ball point pen clipped into his left breast pocket. His dark combat trousers were tucked into his black boots, military style, and he had some kind of handgun holstered in his belt. He had sleeve tattoos on both arms and a large black eye patch that covered his right eye. A deep frown pushed down his left. His eye narrowed as he sized up Brendon.
"What's going on here?" he barked, looking at the receptionist. His tone harsh and unforgiving.
Brendon's mind went blank. He mumbled something incoherent in Spanish again, but it was clear from the guard's expression that he wasn't buying it.
The guard stepped closer, pushing past the now frazzled receptionist, towering over Brendon and growled, "Come with me," reaching for Brendon's arm. Brendon started to cower backwards, retracting like a cornered hamster.
"Brendon, run!" yelled Naomi, but her instruction was lost by a loud crashing sound to the group's right.
All three of them turned as the double doors on the other side of the security barriers swung open wildly and someone wearing a full surgical gown burst through.
The man was tall and wide, and had a bright red nose with oily skin. He wore a green surgical hat and had a green face mask that was pulled down under one of his chins. An undone white plastic apron clung to his bulging gut and its ties wafted behind him like tassels.
He hurriedly scanned the room.
The receptionist that was left behind the desk peeked up at him like a startled meerkat, but she wasn't who he was looking for.
Fixing on the group in the waiting area he maneuvered through the exit barrier and bounded over to them, "You from the agency?" He said pointing at Brendon and ignoring the other two.
Brendon stared back at him.
"Yes! Say yes for fuck's sake!" Yelled Naomi into his ear.
"Ye, ey, Yes." Stammered Brendon, "Yes I am," he added in perfect English. The security guard and receptionist spun round to look at him. The surgeon looked him up and down.
"OK, let's go, come with me," said the surgeon turning to walk back.
"Just one second," protested the security guard, "This person hasn't been cleared yet, and quite frankly I'm not comfortable…" The surgeon cut him off as he picked up Brendon's gym bag and moved to guide him towards the security gates.
"I'll clear him later Vincent, OK. I've got one on the table right now and I need the hands," He chaperoned Brendon towards the gates. Brendon moving willingly away from his interrogators, both looking in shocked concern as the surgeon handed him his kit bag and pushed him through the open barrier, "Don't worry Vinnie, I'll square all this away just as soon as we're finished up, I promise," he shouted back, as the swing doors closed behind them.
Vincent and the receptionist looked on at the closing double doors. His eye piercing through them like a laser.
He turned and walked back to the security room.
The receptionist stood awkwardly, isolated in the waiting area.