A Place Where There Is No Darkness

Fourteen

Something carried me through the following buzz. Even though I could hardly think, there was significance behind all of the action. Some kind of purpose I couldn’t grasp or understand, but I felt it all around me. I was in and out, there were faces and voices around me and then there was nothing, and still I knew the whole time that I was alive. Sleeping, maybe, unconscious, dreaming, but alive.

Then sleep came, deep and dark and undisturbed, and I welcomed it.

I woke slowly and peacefully. For a few moments, I could trick myself into believing I didn’t know what was going on. I sighed deeply, let my heavy, stuffy eyes open lazily. Let them roam over the white ceiling, away from the window that wasn’t letting in any light.

I let them slide back shut. Let myself believe that I could sleep on. That there was nothing to do.

“Oh, hey. You’re back.”

And they shot open of their own accord.

Mitchell was sitting next to my bed, his head leaning on my mattress. He was the only one in the room. His hair was a mess. He looked tired and pale and my eyes glided lower to the bandage around his shoulder. It was white and pure and his arm rested naturally on the side of my bed, as if it didn’t hurt anymore.

“Have you slept at all?” was the first thing to come out of my mouth. I felt as surprised at it as Mitchell looked, and before long, the sentiment was forgotten. My heartrate picked up and I tried to sit up only to find restrictive hands on my shoulders.

“Hey, hey. Lie back down. It’s okay.”

“You – I told you to leave.” My words were whispered, quiet, but they were sharp. I wanted for them to sink in. He looked down, away from my gaze, but only for a few seconds. Then he lifted his eyes again and stared back, holding his own.

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Don’t you get it? You’re going to have to–“

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve made it pretty clear to me the last time you were conscious.” His face took on a more sombre expression. A little angry, even. “By the way, why didn’t you mention this beforehand? That one has to kill to prove their loyalty?”

I shrugged. It was my turn to look down. “You don’t always have to kill.”

“Well, you could have said something.”

“I – I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“How could this not be–“

I interrupted him, placing a hand on his. “Mitchell, this is really bad. Like, really. Normally, only newbies who come here on their own have to prove themselves. If someone who’s already a member of the Elite brings you here, if they vouch for you – well, the Elite normally believes them. And I vouched for you.”

He pursed his lips. “So what, they don’t trust you? Is that it?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe they’re onto us. But whatever it is, this is bad.”

He nodded solemnly and looked away. He stood up, paced around the room a little, sat back down. When he did, he looked more collected than before, and a lot calmer.

“Enough of that,” he said quietly. “We can figure it out later. There’s someone here who wants to see you.”

Butterflies exploded in my stomach as Mitchell went over to the door and opened it. In barrelled a boy, small and gentle and kind, and before I knew it, I was out of the bed, kneeling on the floor and waiting for him to jump into my arms.

“Elle, Elle, Elle,” he said, repeating it like a mantra, and I followed suit.

“Willy, Willy, Willy.”

And for one single, perfect moment, it was all okay.

***

The next two days went by in a rush. I spent most of them in bed, sleeping, and they let Willy stay with me, which was uncharacteristically generous of them. But the peace was over way too quickly. Day two came and went and it was time to start working again.

Mitchell entered my room just as I was putting on my uniform, leaving the Elite agent that was undoubtedly following him outside. I was standing in front of a mirror and saw him nod at me as he closed the door behind him, effectively creating as much privacy as we could possibly get.

“Black,” he commented, picking up one of my black gloves off the pile of black clothing I had yet to put on. “How very creative of them.”

I shrugged. “They aren’t really going for creative, Mitch.”

He stopped cold for a second, then nodded and smiled to himself. I knew he’d noticed the nickname and I was glad he’d reacted so well to it.

“So, you’re actually going to rob a bank, then.”

I smiled at him in the mirror in front of me, closing a button on the sleeve of my black shirt. “I am. Are you gonna arrest me?”

He laughed. Then sobered, as if he had something important to discuss. “By the way,” he said slowly, the way you broach a subject that really shouldn’t be ploughed up. “What do you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know.” He gestured wildly with his arms, clearly uncomfortable. “In all this time, you’ve never told us what you actually do for them. Why they need you so desperately.”

I smiled mischievously. “Oh, and you really wanna know?”

He nodded curtly.

“You’re just gonna have to wait and see, then, aren’t you?”

He sighed deeply, deflating. “I’ve tried to ask some people – the doctor, the nurse … they wouldn’t tell me.”

I laughed. “No, they wouldn’t. I know too many of their secrets.”

“Right.”

I got serious. “Don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough anyway. Orwell has a habit of letting the newcomers listen in.”

“On what?”

“On our mikes. On our conversations. During the missions. I don’t know exactly why he does it. Maybe to see how they’ll react.”

“So that means …” He looked truly excited for the first time since the mission had begun. “That means that I’ll be listening in on all of you robbing a bank?”

“Geez, keep your pants on! If I’d known that listening to crimes is what gets you all excited, I’d have mentioned it sooner.”

“No, I’m – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Huh.” I inspected him in the mirror, then looked at him over my shoulder. “You have never been on a mission before, have you?”

The smile on his face froze and he cleared his throat. “That’s classified.”

“Says you! That’s why you’re so excited. Closest thing to a mission you’ve come so far!”

“Well, I am on a mission right now, so …”

My mind couldn’t decide at first whether to be amused or insulted by the FBI for having sent a complete newbie with me, but I quickly picked amused. It was rather hilarious.

I let the smile spread willingly. “Oh, damn, do you even know how frustrating it is for me right now to be in a place where I can’t make fun of that? Like, at all, because they’re going to kill us both if I do?”

He rolled his eyes, obviously trying to change the subject. “Just – you know, be careful and all that?”

I chuckled. “Why, aren’t you just the gentleman?”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I’ll see you then.”

Provided I survived, of course.

***

The ten Elite agents were all gathered in the makeshift lobby of the old warehouse when I entered, clothed in black tights, a black shirt, black shoes, black gloves and a black cap that could cover my whole face. While my attire wasn’t the most inventive one, as Mitchell had pointed out, it sure was practical.

A ninja-like man came up to me.

“Number?” I asked coolly.

“Number one-oh-six, Ma’am, at your service.”

“Are all of your men accounted for?” I asked him.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Get them to the cars. We’re leaving in five.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He walked away and a snicker sounded behind my back. I turned around. It was Mitchell, of course.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be … somewhere else.”

He disregarded my question completely. As if I hadn’t spoken at all. “They call you Ma’am?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Of course not.” He shook his head no, smiling. “Ma’am.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“So you’re what, their leader then?”

I rolled my eyes. “If you were where you’re supposed to be, I suspect you would know by now.”

“Fine. I’m going. Let me just tell you this–“

He stopped abruptly, his face clearing, suddenly void of any emotion. I looked over my shoulder, because maybe something behind my back had shocked him, but there was nothing out of the ordinary there, except for the commotion that came with ten trained men mobilizing for a mission. So I turned back, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, yeah. It’s just – I shouldn’t talk to you this way. It’s highly unprofessional.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out rather forced. “Well, don’t let that stop you now.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just … somehow talking to you is easy. And things come out. Things that actually shouldn’t.”

I quirked my brows. “Talking to me is easy? You have met me, haven’t you?”

He looked down. Stayed quiet.

“What were you going to say?”

Maybe he saw that I really wanted to know or maybe he just really wanted to say it. Either way, he leaned closer, looked me up and down, and said, “You look really nice.” Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

***

Number 106 talked me through the plan one more time on the way over to the bank. We all got the last details of our gear ready. I let them sync their watches according to mine and we all checked our mikes.

“Everyone, come in,” I ordered.

“One-oh-six, coming in,” the man next to me said. I nodded at him.

“One-oh-seven, coming in.”

“One-oh-eight, coming in.”

I let their voices play around in the back of my head in order to go through mission again. It wouldn’t be a hard one. The bank was small and it was night time. Since no one could possibly have seen us coming, the only people we would have to deal with would be a few unlucky guards. Our most important weapon tonight would be stealth. Not violence. Not guns.

I preferred stealth to the latter two. Always.

When everyone came in over the coms, I nodded to myself. “Listen up, everybody. Tonight we get our share of money and then get out. We do not kill. We do not leave a mess behind. Is that clear?”

“Clear, Ma’am,” came ten voices over the coms.

“Perfect. We have our guns, but they are for show only. Do not use them. Avoid violence. There are only three guards on premises – we can get past them without leaving a trail. Knock them out if you really have to. But don’t kill. And don’t show your face to anyone. Understood?”

“Understood, Ma’am.”

“Good. Put your masks on now. I go in first. Wait for my signal, then follow according to plan.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good luck.”

“Good luck to you too, Ma’am.”

Our three black cars rolled soundlessly onto the parking lot and stopped one next to the other. The bank lay there, unknowing, peaceful. The lights were off, the doors locked. But there was no lock I couldn’t get past.

106 looked at me through the holes in his mask. “We’re waiting for your word, Ma’am.”

I nodded curtly at him, took one last, deep breath and exited the car determinedly.

The night was quiet around me. The bank almost seemed forgotten in the stillness of the parking lot – there were no cars, no signs of anyone around. Just the money, waiting to be taken to its next owner, who would use it to rob more banks. Kill more people. Let more suffer.

I shook my head, trying to nudge my thoughts in another direction.

At least nobody would die tonight if everything went according to plan. While Orwell had nothing against getting the proverbial hands of the Elite dirty, he did, when convenient, share with me an unwillingness to take lives, if for different reasons. While the thought of ending someone in the middle of their story – ripping them away from their work and their family – always filled me with a dread I could never shake, his views were more practical than that. Killing always left behind a trail of blood, tears and angry people trying to find the killer. Orwell, however, didn’t tolerate paths of any kind, because a path, by definition, always led somewhere, and nothing could ever lead back to the Elite.

I reached the door and pulled out my lock-picking set. The lock was a joke, old and rusty, and I was in even quicker than I had expected.

The alarm system was disabled in a matter of minutes too, and I stood up from my crouch, rolled my shoulders, stretched my arms and drew my first real breath in a while. Rusty as I was, I had already forgotten how good the adrenalin felt and how refreshing it could be.

“I’m in,” I whispered through the com. “Heading towards the computer room. I should be in the system in three.”

I crept through the empty building to the back, where I knew their security room was located. It was scary, looking at desks and empty chairs – spots where people sat all day, where they spent their lives. Now they were vacated and when they got to work tomorrow, nothing would be the same again.

I found the room and entered.

A man sat in front of four computers, reading a magazine. He didn’t even notice me come in – I was good at being quiet like that – until the door squeaked. I winced, scrunching up my face, expecting what was to come with a lump in my throat.

The guard jumped up, but then just stood there, looking at me. Had he known I had a hardly-healed wound in my side, he might have stood a chance. I was nowhere near my best, and in a fistfight – however amateur – I probably wouldn’t have done all too well. But his few moments of confusion and then shock were more than enough for me. I stepped forward and rammed his head with my gun, apologizing even as he went down, hard.

Without sparing him another second I didn’t have, I sat behind the computers. The trick wasn’t to delete any evidence of the Elite once the mission was over – there was always a smarter computer geek that could somehow recover the recordings you didn’t want found. The trick was not to let such evidence exist in the first place. So the cameras had to go down.

The computers were a tad more secure than I had expected after the lousy lock and the failure of an alarm system, but I was in soon enough. A few right keystrokes, a few codes – God, how I’d missed this part of the job. I hadn’t even realised how empty I had felt all these years in prison when I was unable to do the one thing I was really good at. The one thing I had been born to do.

“I’m in,” I told the men in the cars. “Come in. But be careful – if our intel is right, there are still two guards wandering around somewhere.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I heard shuffling over the coms, but otherwise, there wasn’t much to hear. The agents of the Elite were all trained to move about almost without a sound. Stealth was a virtue amongst members of the organisation and Orwell did not tolerate people who could not deliver on it.

The bank was quickly flooded with black figures. I joined them in a hallway that lead to one of the safes, turning off my com since I hardly needed it anymore.

“Everything go as planned, Ma’am?”

“Yes, 106. Thanks for asking.”

He nodded his acknowledgement. “This should be a quick job. We only have to get into the safe and we’re done.”

“Yes. Let’s just stay focused and get through this.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

We reached the safe. When I got close enough to inspect it, I noticed a guard that had already been taken care of. He had a wound on his head – probably from a fist or a pistol that had met it a bit too roughly.

Two down, one to go.

Pulling myself back to the moment, I looked at the lock of the safe and nodded to myself contently. We’d prepared for exactly this type of lock beforehand. The men didn’t need my expertise here anymore, partly because the safe was as out of date and lousy as everything else in the building had been. I would have only had to step in if our month-old intel had somehow been wrong, but since the lock was nothing unexpected, my job was done.

“Get the money. Then get out. I’ll do another sweep. Make sure that that third guard didn’t see us.”

106 nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. We’ll meet you back at the cars.”

I was about to turn around when a shot rang out, echoing in the quiet of the bank. My blood froze. Everyone stopped moving.

I knew I had to get the situation back under control. Immediately.

I turned to 106. “Hurry. Get the money and get out. I’ll check it out. If I’m not in the parking lot in ten minutes, go without me.”

“Ma’am?” Apparently even someone as cold as 106 could have a bad feeling about leaving a person behind. Even if that person was as obnoxious as me.

“Is that understood, 106?”

He looked down. “Understood, Ma’am.”

“Good.”

And I turned away from him, realising, not for the first time, that Fate hated my guts.