The New Job - 2

“No problem,” I say. I force my hand to detach from the desk, leaning down to pick up the briefcase full of surveillance tech.

He’s almost too quick, leaning down himself. His fingers brush against mine, and he draws back, looking embarrassed. I feign a little shyness, lifting the case to my lap.

“The laptop’s clean,” the voice in my ear says.

I pull open the case and remove the laptop. “This okay?”

The IT guy looks a little concerned. “I’m actually supposed to take everything that comes in from the outside for a security check.” He looks at the case.

“Does that include me?” I say with a smile, using her dazzling features and whiter-than-white teeth to good effect. “Maybe I’ll set off something.”

He laughs at that, shakes his head. “Just the case.”

Time to shift tactics. “The thing is,” I say, trying to look embarrassed yet also a little flirty, “there’s a few items in there that… well, let’s just say they’re personal. I’m a little sensitive about this stuff.”

“They’re pros. Don’t worry.”

I frown a little, open the case. Inside there’s a packet of sanitary towels that I keep for just this sort of distraction. I let them peek out a little, throw a glance his way. He catches it. “My first day, too,” I mutter. “So embarrassing….”

“Don’t hand over the case!” The guy in my ear is freaking out a little.

I lay the sanitary towels on the desk slowly, searching through the case as I kill time. The IT guy shifts a little, glancing about.

“Listen,” he says, after I place a bottle of unidentified pills on the desk. “If it’s just all personal stuff in there, I’m sure the guys will be okay with it. There’s no electronics, right?”

“My phone. Do you want that?”

“Got to have it. That should do, though.”

I hand it over happily. It’s clean as a whistle. If he’d wanted me, or the case, we’d have problems.

“Thanks for understanding,” I say. I rise from my chair and shake his hand quickly, professionally, but still with a fun-loving smile. “Hope I’ll see you around the office.”

He nods, grins. “Hope so too.”

I sink slowly back into my luxurious desk chair as he closes the door behind him, and I breath.

“Good work,” the man in my ear says finally.

“Would have been nice to know about that little detail in advance,” I say.

“We must have missed it on the sweep. Sorry. We’ll adjust. For now, keep the case close to the desk, okay? Just like we discussed.”

“Got it.” I place the case back where it was. “Anything else you need from me?”

“Maybe another smile,” he says with a laugh.

“Play your cards right, you’ll see a lot more than that,” I tease. He doesn’t reply, but I know he wants to. “Now leave me alone until HR turns up, would you? I need to explore.”

Another soft click. I assume he’s still watching, even if he’s not bugging me.

I turn on the iMac. Time to get to fake work.

///

“Knock knock,” my first visitor says, without knocking.

I look up and smile my best fake smile. “Hello. I’m Amaira.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Jan, from HR.”

“Nice to meet you. And to see another woman!”

Jan slips inside and into the seat opposite mine, uninvited. “You’ll find most of the staff here are female. Apart from a few obvious exceptions. You met the doorstop, I’d guess.”

“Yeah, I saw him on the way in.”

“That’s Bruno. Then there’s our IT guy, Tony….”

“Met him too. He seemed nice.”

“He is nice,” she says, pulling out a tablet from within a folder. “Makes sure we keep things running.” She taps the screen. Small talk is over. “So, there’s a few things I need to go over with you. Nothing too crazy, I hope.” She laughs pointlessly. “Just some pointers to get you oriented.”

“Okay,” I say, faking my smile again. “Fire away.”

We spend the next twenty minutes going over the usual crap. It’s been a while since I’ve had a real job, so some of it is a refresher course. Most of it is expected.

It’s when Jan puts the tablet to one side and her smile drops that I get interested. I hope my mutual friend is watching at this point. He hasn’t said a word, but the camera’s still running.

“Now,” Jan says, looking more serious than ever, “there are a few ground rules about working here that we should get clear.”

“Okay,” I say, composing Amaira’s face to look as serious as Jan’s.

“One. You do not enter the executive floor unless invited, or accompanied by an executive. Your keycard won’t grant you access anyway, but don’t tailgate, for example when exiting the elevator.”

“Right. Makes sense.”

“Two. This is outlined in your packet, but we need to be clear. Absolutely nothing from within the company is to be taken outside of these walls. That includes any digital data on any device. Your laptop is being looked at by security, correct?” I nod. “As you can see, we don’t provide laptops for employees. When you’re working, you do it here. Not elsewhere.”

“No overtime, then,” I say, smiling. Jan doesn’t return the feeling, but shakes her head.

“Three. Last, but not least.” She leans forward a little. I lean forward myself, conspiracy style. “Ms Gagliardi expects loyalty. Absolute loyalty. She may ask you to do things that are… unusual. My advice is that you follow her orders without question. Because loyalty… is rewarded.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous,” the voice in my ear chimes in. I lower my head, trying my hardest not to laugh, given his timing.

“Understood,” I manage to say.

“Great!” Jan exclaims. She has me sign a couple of things, and then leaves me be. For about ten seconds.

The phone rings. It’s Gagliardi’s assistant. Time to meet the boss.

///

Carmella meets me at the elevator bank. Even though we’re only going up one floor, she’s come down to meet me. I think about mentioning Jan’s advice about the exec floor, but Carmella looks too serious for that, even though she’s smiling.

“Going up?” I ask with a smile.

“Absolutely,” she says, pressing the button. “Ready to meet Ms Gagliardi?”

“I guess so. She seems like a busy person.”

“Always is.”

We wait for a few moments in silence, then enter the elevator together. “Give me a good look around,” the voice in my ear says. I shift my body a little, the camera on my lapel taking everything in. The lift is featureless, but looks weirdly expensive. I barely feel it as we rise a floor and stop.

The doors open on a corridor not dissimilar to the one below, but darker, with subtle lighting. I feel like I’m in the inner sanctum, which I guess is the general idea. Carmella’s heels click fast, tick-tack-tick-tack, on the hard floor as she surges ahead of me. I’ve practiced; I can match her step for step if I need to - but I take it slow, the nervous employee on their first day, keeping a couple of steps behind her as we approach the end of the corridor.

There’s a door. Huge. Leather covered, like some first edition. Stupidly, I think that if Carmella knocks, it won’t make a sound. She doesn’t knock. Instead, she looks up at a camera I realize is mounted above the door and smiles.

The door swings open as if it’s oiled. No sounds. And inside, is the office of Ms Gagliardi. I’m in.

“Welcome,” she says from behind the desk, rising like a cobra.

Everything about her makes me pause. She’s older than I expected, but looks younger than she should. She’s dressed to impress, like she’s on her way to a cocktail function, even though it’s morning. She’s also holding out her hand and smiling, like this happens every day. Maybe it does.

“Get closer,” my voice says. I take a few steps forward, hand outstretched. Ms Gagliardi moves from behind the desk, which surprises me too, and grips my hand firmly. Tightly.

Everything about that handshake feels wrong. At her urging, I sit. Thinking hard.

“Positive ID,” my voice says. “Good start. Keep her in frame for me. Sound is good.”

I cross my legs slowly, any thoughts of arousal gone. Every nerve is on edge. I’m inside the belly of the beast. This woman could have me killed with a twitched eyebrow, and I’m in no mood to die today.

“Ms Chopra,” she begins. “It’s wonderful to have you here. We’re all excited about having you on-board. Thanks for joining us.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m looking forward to being part of the team. And please, call me Amaira.” I wonder if the real Ms Chopra would have said the same.

“Amaira. That’s a lovely name. Does it have any significance?”

“Roughly, it means ‘one who will be beautiful forever’.” I was very happy when I found that out. It seemed fitting, given the long-lasting nature of my fake face.

“Wonderful,” she says with a smile. “Well, I know you’ve looked around a little, so you probably understand a fraction of what’s going on.” I instantly wonder if she’s monitoring my computer. Almost certainly. I don’t hear anything from my monitoring voice, so don’t bother asking for details. “While we do have a very secure computer system, I prefer to keep the important details… well, spoken only, if you see what I mean.”

“I understand completely.” I’d do the same if I was a paranoid crime boss.

“Well then. Let’s get down to it.” She scratches the back of her hand. Interesting trait, says the actor in me. “Our firm - and the wider company - is about to partner with some significant interests in the Middle East, and beyond. A mutual expansion. It won’t be a merger, but instead a true partnership. As with all matters of business, we need to ensure that everything is clear between both parties at all times. While our potential partners speak and understand English excellently, I cannot say the same for us. That’s why we need on-the-spot translation.”

“That’s what I specialize in,” I lie. I don’t speak a word of anything other than English, at least not fluently. I’ve studied and prepped a few phrases if I get tested, but otherwise, I’m not the right man-dressed-as-a-woman for the job.

“Excellent. Well, our partners are flying into the area later this week, and we have a very full itinerary lined up for them. It’s our hope that we’ll be able to conclude our business during their visit. Of course, a large part of that hope rests on you being able to quickly and accurately convey their wishes.” Her smile fades a little. “Even when they are not interested in having their wishes conveyed. If you understand my meaning.” She scratches the back of her hand, then moves around to her palm. If we were playing poker, it would be a world-class tell.

As it is, I can’t tell if she’s nervous, lying, or both. None of those emotions make any sense right now. She’s the boss. She’s in charge. I’m the infiltrator here.

“I absolutely understand,” I say. “Anything they say that I can hear, you’ll know about.”

“Excellent. Well, we’ve got a couple of days to bring you up to speed on the deal, on the scope of things, so you’re completely informed of what’s going on. We don’t have time to pause and fill you in when they’re here.” I nod again. “Carmella, did I miss anything?”

Scratching her hand again. I look at it, while she’s looking at Carmella. It looks normal enough….

“I don’t believe so, Ms Gagliardi. That covers everything I can recall.”

“Excellent.” She stands, I stand. She reaches out the same hand she’s been scratching. I take it, giving it another quick glance.

And then I figure it out. What’s wrong with her hand.

My blood turns cold, but I force a smile. “Looking forward to working with you,” I say, my voice sounding distant.

“Likewise.”

Carmella and I turn and leave, her slightly ahead of me. The door shuts again. The camera watches us as we walk away. I put a little shimmy in my stride.

As I step into the elevator, I realize Carmella is studying me. For reactions, perhaps. For fear. I smile as wide as I can. She says nothing, but her smile is as fake as mine.

///

The voice in my head is smart enough to keep quiet until my office door closes.

“Looked good to us,” he says. “In fact - ”

“Did you see it?” I hiss.

“See what?”

“Pull up the footage of when I was leaving. The handshake.” I sit behind the desk and login. I know I won’t be able to access any of the files they’re looking at from here, but this way there’s a digital timestamp of me going back to work.

“Okay, got it. What am I - ”

“Her skin,” I say quietly. “Can you see her skin? Can you get in close?”

“Pretty close.”

“Watch what happens when she scratches.”

I wait for it. “Nothing.”

“Exactly. Absolutely nothing. That woman had nails. You scratch your hand the way she scratched it, and you’d leave a mark. Nothing permanent. But something. Try it yourself. The blood will flow back; you’d see the flesh react.”

I pause and let him watch the footage again.

“I’m not sure I get what you’re saying.”

“What I’m saying is… that’s not flesh. That’s not her skin.” I let that sink in for a moment. “She’s a fake. Just like me.”

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