Chapter Sixteen
Practice runs over, it was time for the real thing. Marla wriggled into her shortest shorts and tightest vest, recalling Jessie’s school ma’am-ish instructions to look as hot as possible on the day of The Run. Arranging her hair in a loose ponytail, Marla checked herself in the mirror. She wasn’t looking bad at all, she had to admit. The dark circles under her eyes had been eradicated by a few days’ sunshine, and a few nights’ sound sleep. Her skin had begun to tan slightly and a rosy glow had sprung up where once there was only the pallor of a city girl who rarely saw daylight. If you are confident about yourself, you will be confident about the mission. This was the mantra Jessie had her repeat for what felt like a thousand times. She checked out her ass in the tiny jogging shorts. Hot damn. Yes, she was feeling confident about the mission all right, the clock was ticking and it was time to run.
Marla was already short of breath by the time she reached the halfway point; it was an oppressively hot morning, with the sun beating down on her back and shoulders. She kept going, pushing herself through the dizziness towards the security outpost and the jetty that lay beyond it. Glancing up from her shadow on the path and into the trees she caught the glint of a security camera, panning with her movement as she passed it. Gasping for breath and feeling the beginnings of a stitch in her right side, Marla thought about Jessie sneaking through the trees on the other side of the island. Strangely, the thought amused her, and she cracked a smile as she ran towards the finish line.
Breezing past a couple of surprised security guards, Marla ran down the steps leading to the jetty. Her footfalls made satisfying echoing beats as she padded across the platform at speed. Slowing her pace as she neared the edge of the jetty, she looked out at the sunlight glistening across the waves. It was a beautiful sight, and it felt good to be so close to the water again. Stopping still and stretching out, Pietro’s complaints about not being allowed to swim in those lush, inviting waves rang in her ears. She felt his pain, itching to dive in and feel the refreshing water enveloping her skin. But she had work to do. Bending over to give the guards a good view of her ass, Marla chuckled to herself; she was genuinely enjoying provoking them. Then, as she rose, the shouting started.
Raised voices from the guards telling her to freeze, stand still, don’t move, turn around slowly with your arms raised. Marla was still laughing; surely they were just making fun, joining in with her little gym-tease. One of the guards barked the order again. She was wrong, dead wrong, he was being serious. The perspiration on her neck and shoulders went cold, giving her gooseflesh and hardening her nipples. Her heart beat as she raised her hands and turned slowly, just like the nice man told her to. Please be nice.
Marla remembered her nightmare about the jetty as she turned around to find Adam pointing a gun at her. He was flanked by about a half dozen security guards. Not one of them was smiling.
The guards had been so rough with her, Marla felt almost relieved to be finally shoved into Fowler’s office. As the door slammed shut she rubbed her wrists and forearms where they had grabbed her and frogmarched her off the jetty. Her skin was already red and mottled with fingerprint patterns from the guards’ rough hands; they would surely bruise, this was not cool. Then, seeing Fowler’s face she realized just how uncool this whole thing was. His eyes blazed from beneath his graying eyebrows and he looked for all the world like he wanted to murder, cook and eat her. It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did his voice echoed the same carnivorous aspect of his eyes.
“The jetty is out of bounds.”
“I’m sorry I…”
“You don’t speak, Miss Neuborn. You listen.”
Marla’s voice became a croak, then merely breath.
“I don’t know what you think you were doing down there, but let me tell you this, you are lucky my men didn’t open fire. This could have been a messy incident today, very messy indeed. There are many places to run on this island, but the jetty, this compound—in fact anywhere the fuck near my security operatives and I—are out of bounds. Do I make myself clear, Miss Neuborn? Don’t speak, just nod.”
She nodded. Security operatives and I. Pompous bastard.
“Protocol dictates that I file a report on you, Miss Neuborn, send it back to the mainland and await further instruction from The Consortium Inc. I am going to do just that, because protocol is very important to me, and now it is of the utmost importance to you too. I will be monitoring your progress from here on in, and if you fuck up again I’ll make damn sure you’re off this island before you can even pack your panties. Do not piss me off again. Do I make myself clear? You can speak this time but keep it very short.”
“Crystal.” She tried not to hiss at him.
“Good. I suggest you get back to your chores, and spend some downtime studying the manual I gave to you on your arrival. Protocol, Miss Neuborn. Learn to love it, learn to live it, or get the hell off my goddamned island.”
My island? Marla’s head began to spin with rage at the way he was talking to her, and at herself for being so green. Why had she agreed to run down to the jetty? Of course it was off limits. And why did Jessie ask her to do it if she knew Marla would get in so much trouble? Oh, wait a minute…
“Dismissed.”
She didn’t need to be asked twice. One thing was certain, she’d bloody well strangle Jessie when she saw her. Storming out of Fowler’s office Marla threw a murderous look at Adam, who swallowed hard and absent-mindedly fingered his gun holster. With just one look, Marla had virtually pointed a gun straight back at him.
On the other side of the island, Jessie cursed at the laptop’s hard drive, which was creaking and groaning like the timbers of some old beleaguered ghost ship.
“Come on come on come on, fucking stupid machine.”
She could do without the threat of a motherboard crash; it had been stressful enough getting over here in the first place, she felt sure one or two of the cameras had caught her as she wriggled through the bushes. With her backpack, shades and khakis on she’d felt like Lara Croft—but crouched here now with The Consortium Inc. logo taunting her from behind the progress bar she just felt like a klutz. Then, her breath stopped in her throat as the hard disc’s disconcerting scraping sound picked up speed and the progress bar lurched towards the end zone. Something was happening, hopefully something good.
Jessie punched the air. Tomb Raider. She was in.
There was no time to lose, no time at all. Her fingers worked at the greasy track pad, tapped the keys, and began to unlock the floodgates to freedom.
The march back to the house hadn’t cooled Marla’s blood any and neither had her shower. It wasn’t until she was on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor that her anger turned to shame and despondency. She always messed up, whatever job she’d had, even here on the island when all she really had to do was be a glorified cleaner for a few months. No, she couldn’t even get that right. She remembered her foster mother hitting her with the hairbrush, hitting her so hard that she couldn’t sit down for a while, yet sit she’d had to, while the crotchety woman angrily tore the spilled paint out of Marla’s tangled hair. Useless. Clumsy, useless girl. Nothing had changed. Marla started to cry. Her tears fell onto the sterile white surface of the tiled floor, almost invisible. Inconsequential, just like she was.