SATELLITE AGENCY HEADQUARTERS, PROXIMA DISTRICT
MONDAY, OCTOBER 15
8:24 A.M.
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Leaning against the wall, Malin stood with her arms crossed and a rigid expression on her face.
Adam had puked a storm of questions and comments ranging from, ‘Do you know these guys? Don’t you have a contact at this Agency?’ to ‘What are we waiting for to get the hell out of here?’ And when he didn’t receive an answer, he unleashed malicious comments just to get under her skin—which he’d thought would be something easy—just to get at least one word out of those red lips.
“You say you don’t know what’s going on here. I think you’re lying,” he said; his eyes down and his hands buried in his pockets. “You’re gonna hand me over to those ridiculous men in gray and take a reward or something. I know. I’m sure.”
He didn’t even believe what he was saying, though. He was just looking for Malin to say something, whatever. It was that or having to deal with the unbearable silence, which by now had almost taken on a life of its own, becoming the third person locked up with them in the room.
But nothing. Malin merely breathed deeply and rolled her eyes.
That lack of communication meant more concern to him. As if it were necessary!
The wait was killing him. He needed to hear voices. Why had Malin chosen that moment to keep her lips sealed?
It never occurred to him she could also feel scared and lost as to what would happen to them in the next few minutes.
Juzo, Adam called his brother with a thought. Why don’t you explain to me what the Satellites are gonna do to me? Damn it, Juzo! Open your mouth!
But his twin didn’t answer either. After the fight against Kitten, Juzo had remained hidden in some corner of his mind, quiet. What was the use of having all the information that would help him better understand what trouble he had gotten himself into if he couldn’t access it?
Although, in all truth, Adam knew that Juzo’s wisdom on the matter wouldn’t be of much use either. The Satellite agents had summoned them without specifying the reason. All he had to do was wait.
And as for what the Satellite Agency represented and what its role was in the grand scheme of things, well, Juzo didn’t need to open his metaphorical mouth and whisper it into his mental ears; Malin had already explained that to him.
It had been about twenty minutes since an agent had required them to leave their belongings, from wallets to phones, inside a locker, and then move them to that austere waiting room, asking them to wait for care. The same agent had informed them of a law that prohibited disclosing anything they saw or heard during their stay in the building, then he left them there and hadn’t reappeared since.
The room had no windows to peek through, no paintings to appreciate, no magazines to read; not even one of those silly decorative Ficus so they could quench their anxiety by pulling its leaves. There was barely an armchair for them to rest their asses and wait.
Adam suffered a severe hot flash. He shook his shirt and undid some buttons. He stood up and began walking in circles like a caged animal in a concrete cubicle.
“Don’t get anxious,” Malin advised him. She had finally broken the silence!
“Who’s anxious?” he said and scratched a cut in his hand, remnants of the fight against Kitten. “If I had had a cigarette, I’d have lighted it. And I’m not a smoker. And you, what? You’re not scared? They can deport you; y’know?”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Malin held him by the arm. “Pull yourself together, will you? You did great these last few days!”
Adam took his seat again. “It’s just that these last few days I’ve been more…” he said and stopped. What was he going to say? ‘It’s just that these last few days I’ve been more Juzo than Adam’? ‘I get nervous and I’m more Adam than ever’? Better to keep quiet.
Malin sanctioned him with a gaze and tried to get back to her thoughts; she needed serenity to focus. She knew Satellite Agency’s reputation, and she knew they could spend twenty-four hours locked up there with no one popping in; it was better to take it easy.
What if the old man is behind all this? she asked herself. The idea that her father, the tough General Benetnash, could have requested her capture through the Satellite Agency had been harassing her since the night before. After all, the authorities in her country considered her persona non grata; the Empire could well have made use of their influences and pressured the Satellites to collaborate in their search for her.
The old man… No, no.
The General wouldn’t act in that way. If he had been looking for her, he’d have found her much earlier, and he would have shown up in person. Not to mention that he wouldn’t have allowed Adam to be present at that moment, let alone any of the men in gray. For the General, that his only daughter was associated with the Rowdy Ones, was a disgrace as big as the medals he wore on his uniform. He would never have requested the help of third parties to apprehend or reprimand her. Had that been the case, he would have exposed himself to others, and his father would have preferred to die rather than suffer humiliation like that.
On the other hand, as far as she knew, the old man was unaware she was on Proxima.
“Did I tell you I asked my secretary, Rita, to find out what offices operate in this building?”
Snorting, Malin gave up the illusion that Adam would keep his mouth shut. And if you can’t fight them…
“You told me about ninety-nine times,” she replied.
Orbit II was one of the many skyscrapers with a glass façade in the Cole neighborhood, which was within the route that Adam took every morning to go to work when he lived in his loft in the Yellow Area. Although, if it wasn’t for the situation that he had gotten himself into—or rather, which they had put him into—he would never have noticed this particular building.
It was an ostentatious tower, but what building in Red, an area packed with major companies, wasn’t? It was on the corner of 6th and 9th Avenue, and next to it was a walled parking lot that stretched the entire block.
“You’ve told me there are different firms here,” Malin said. “From an automotive company to a law firm, though the most prominent one is a private detective agency.”
“Orbit. The detective agency’s name is Orbit, like the building, but without the II at the end. The other companies must be as false as the date of birth on Rita’s ID.”
“I’d take my chances saying that even the very same detective agency also is,” she pointed it out, but held up her hands, adding a caveat to her words. “I don’t doubt that this agency Orbit may have lowered the curtain to several unfaithful marriages, leaving more than one brand new divorcee with a bunch of compromising photos of her ex, or a poor idiot with a child support bill. However, I doubt that chasing down unfaithful chubby men and photographing them in the arms of young women is their only job.”
Adam frowned.
“Why, in your example, we, the men, are the only cheaters?”
“Oh, dear! I won’t discuss that now, especially not with you.”
“Anyway,” Adam said, “the law firm is a real thing. I know Franklin & Gomez represents the Carinae.”
“For those that you modeled in underpants?” she scoffed.
“The Carinae own a third of Proxima,” he said. “I would have walked in lingerie if they had asked me to.”
Malin rolled her eyes, smiling.
“The private agency is also a real thing,” he said. “Homam Enterprises has sold them their electronic surveillance equipment. Plus, a good source has told me that one of my former lady friends with benefits got the prefix ‘former’ by hiring their services.”
Malin whistled. “What a silly, shortsighted girl! Wasn’t it enough just to see you for her to know what kind of man you are?”
“Oh, dear!” he mimicked her. “I won’t discuss that now, especially not with you.”
The door opened, revealing a man in gray. Was he the same one who locked them in there? Who knows? They all wore the same: gray trousers, gray suits, gray shirts, gray ties and, of course, the omnipresent dark glasses.
“The District Chief is ready to see you,” he announced.