“That’s irrelevant.” Casey pressed the intercom button. “Emma, could you get Claire an Uber? She’s not feeling well. She’s going home.”
“Of course.” Emma didn’t ask any questions, not when she heard the anxious note in Casey’s voice.
“Casey,” Claire murmured, “I can take the subway.”
“And pass out on the floor of it? I don’t think so.” Casey came around to help Claire to her feet. “We’ll finish this tomorrow. And I’ll check up on you later. No work—rest.”
As she guided Claire to the door, Casey glanced back at the table, where the three drawings were sitting.
Claire had done her job.
Now Casey had her work cut out for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was after nine p.m., and darkness enveloped the greater Chicago area.
Dressed as a janitor, Marc calmly lit a cigarette and leaned back against the outer brick wall of the U.S. Cellular office building. He appeared to be taking a long-awaited smoke break.
Twenty minutes later, the steel door opened, revealing a disinterested-looking man pushing a large plastic cart filled with garbage b
ags. Marc glanced over and nodded at him, as if acknowledging the janitorial plight. The real janitor didn’t nod back. He steered his cart over to a large trash compactor and began to lazily empty bags of garbage into it.
Marc waited until he had clear access and the other man’s back was to him. Then, he extinguished his cigarette and moved slowly forward, not making the slightest sound. Pulling on his gloves, Marc reached into his pocket for the chloroform-soaked rag that he’d placed inside a gallon-size Ziploc.
In a heartbeat, he clasped the rag over the man’s mouth and nose, rendering him unconscious before the poor guy even knew what hit him. Rag secured back in the Ziploc, Marc dragged the limp janitor along, depositing him behind the trash compactor. He then reached inside his own jacket pocket and pulled out a flask. He opened the cap and spilled a small amount of booze on the man’s clothing.
The odor of cheap whiskey permeated the air. Marc shoved the flask inside the guy’s pocket to complete the setup. If someone found him sleeping, they would smell the whiskey, find the flask, and never suspect an intrusion—just an intoxicated employee.
Still in motion, Marc finished emptying the cart and then grabbed the ID card attached to the janitor’s breast pocket. He glanced down at the name. Okay, for the next thirty minutes, Marc would be Bill Hubert, janitor.
With that, Marc pushed the trash cart over to the building entrance and retrieved the small gym bag he’d jammed against the building. He tossed it into the cart. He then held the ID card near the sensor and waited for the telltale click as the door unlocked, permitting him to enter the secure facility.
Ryan’s instructions were clear. It didn’t matter where Otter was placed. The little drone just needed to have access to power and to the computer network. The ideal spot would be behind some heavy desk or credenza that no one would ever want to move.
Marc pushed his cart from floor to floor and from office to office, looking for the perfect spot, stopping only to fill his cart with trash.
He knew he’d struck pay dirt when he entered the office of one Henry Marley and was immediately accosted by a funky odor. A quick scan of the office told him that the décor matched the smell.
The small room was littered with paper, files, unfinished food substances, and aging half-filled cups of coffee with cream that had started to turn. This guy was beyond a pig. He hadn’t cleaned this place up in a millennium—and the cleaning crew probably wouldn’t touch it, either. And who the hell blamed them? This shithole made Ryan’s lair look like something out of Good Housekeeping.
On the back credenza was piled a career’s worth of files, magazines, and paper plates stained with pizza sauce. Fighting back a wave of nausea, Marc grabbed his gym bag and extracted his flashlight. He bent over, turning on his flashlight and peering around the corner. Bingo. Both a power outlet and a network connection.
Carefully, Marc eased the credenza away from the wall, leaving enough space for his muscular arms to get behind it. His fingers maneuvered the special power and network cables Ryan had crafted securely into place. Both required only three-quarters inch clearance, making them break-resistant and stealthy. On the left-hand side of the credenza, with only a few inches of space between the end of the furniture and the side wall, was a gap big enough for his purposes. He pulled Otter out of his gym bag, plugged the cables from the wall into it, and then slid the peculiar device into place in the corner.
He sent Ryan a text and waited.
Thirty seconds later, Ryan responded: Otter is swimming.
With that, Marc went on to complete the task. He pulled out a spray can of faux spider web. He squirted the stuff in the space between the furniture and the wall. If anyone bothered to venture near Otter, they would be greeted with the sensation of spider webs all over their hands. They’d take off like a bat out of hell while desperately trying to shake the nasty stuff off.
Packing up his gear, Marc made his way back to the elevator and down to the service ramp, where he exited the building. He headed over to the trash compactor, grabbed his gym bag, and then emptied the garbage from the cart into the large receptacle. Checking in on the real Bill Hubert, he saw the man was still sleeping off his “binge.” Marc removed the flask from the janitor’s pocket and tossed it into the compactor. It wouldn’t be long before the poor man woke up with a vicious headache, remembering little and talking about nothing, lest he get fired for sleeping on the job or, worse, for drinking or doing drugs.
Marc joined Ryan in the van. Sitting behind the wheel, Ryan barely glanced Marc’s way. He was already engrossed in studying what Otter was finding.
As one would to a child playing with a toy at midnight, Marc took away Ryan’s iPad. “Drive back to the hotel,” he instructed, ignoring Ryan’s yelp of protest. “Once we’re off-site and safe in our room, you can have your precious tablet back.”
Shooting Marc a nasty look, Ryan shoved the van into gear and eased away from the building and down the street.