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Chapter One
Sidnie
People employed in intelligence agencies must have balls of steel. They put themselves in danger every day, donning disguises to infiltrate top-secret locations. They risk being shot or tortured or locked away in terrible foreign prisons. How do they manage to do it without hyperventilating into a paper bag?
I’m not in disguise, unless you count the green coveralls that Shine Professional Cleaning and Maintenance Services give me to wear. And this location isn’t exactly a top-secret government office. But my palms are still sweating, and I’m close to throwing up.
Relax, I scold myself, taking deep breaths as I slot my battered old Toyota into a space in the car park out the front of Koru Technology. Nobody has a clue that I’m doing anything suspicious. I’ve been working for Shine for four months, and I quickly established myself as a reliable and trustworthy employee, always on time for my shift. Plus, it’s nearly seven p.m., and the other offices I clean are normally empty by this time. Most office workers are out of the door soon after their official hours, unless it’s a law firm, when they might hang around a bit longer. But this is a technology company, so I would imagine most of the employees have headed home by now.
I get out and check the pockets of my coveralls, finding my phone, a lip salve, a pair of sunglasses, a poem I scribbled on a serviette an hour ago in the coffee shop, three fifty-cent coins, a tissue, and finally my Shine ID card. After locking the car, I walk across to the security guard sitting in a small office by the barrier.
“Evening,” I say, proud that my voice doesn’t waver. “I’m from Shine Cleaning.”
The guard—a good-looking Maori guy—slides his gaze over me and says, “Can I see your ID please?”
I push the Shine ID card across to him, and he scans it into his computer. “Haven’t seen you here before,” he says conversationally.
“I’m covering for Pippa. She’s off sick.”
“Oh, right. Okay, all cleared. Have a good evening.”
“Thanks.” I pocket the ID, give him a wave, and head toward the main office block.
It’s an impressive building. Constructed entirely on one level, it’s a pretty blue from the lamps nestled in the neatly trimmed grass strip in front of it. The setting sun has lit the large windows that make up most of the front wall, and it glows like a jewel in the evening air.
It’s quiet here, despite Grafton being a busy part of Auckland, New Zealand. Auckland City Hospital is just down the road, and so is the main University of Auckland campus. It’s a stone’s throw from the CBD—the central business district, with its shops and entertainment—and a short walk to the beautiful Albert Park. Talk about prime real estate. But it’s relatively quiet here, the main road far enough away to muffle the sound of the never-ending traffic.
I walk up to the Shine van parked out the front of the building. Dodie has already started unpacking the cleaning carts with two other members of her staff, and she nods at me as I approach. In her forties with salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a ponytail and not a scrap of makeup, she’s brusque but friendly, with the air of someone who takes pride in her work. She told me at my interview that she’s been Head Maintenance Attendant for twenty years. I silently begged the heavens to shoot me if I’m still cleaning when I’m forty-two.
“Hey, Sid,” she says, turning to face me. She chuckles. “Have trouble with your hair tonight?”
“Lost the battle, but I’m hoping to win the war.” My shoulder-length hair is a mass of messy blonde curls. I’ve had so many women tell me they wish they had hair like mine, but I’d kill to have limp, straight locks. Unfortunately, my hair straightener has given up the ghost, and I can’t afford another one, so I’m stuck with the mop. Tonight, I tried to wrestle it into a bun, but, as Dodie’s noticed, I wasn’t a hundred percent successful.
“Thanks for doing this at the last minute,” she adds, pulling out another cart.
I move forward to help her. “No worries. How is Pippa?”
“Feeling better, apparently, but I told her to stay at home. I don’t want anyone else coming down with her bug. We’re short-staffed as it is with Chris on vacation and Lou off on maternity leave.”
I take one of the carts and only then notice that my hands are shaking. I’m certain Pippa was paid to say she was sick. Does she feel as uneasy about lying as I do?
“It’s pretty quiet around here,” I say. “I’m guessing everyone’s gone home?”
“The general office staff will have done, yeah.” Dodie shuts the back of the van and locks it. “Let’s get a move on.”
Pushing my cart, I follow her and the other two cleaners to the main entrance. Another security officer checks our IDs again before pressing the button to open the doors.
We enter a large lobby with an impressive reception desk to one side, now empty, a waiting area with a large coffee machine and water cooler, and in the center a ring of soft cream leather seats around an enormous Christmas tree decorated with silver and black tinsel and decorations—the colors from the Koru Tech logo. Huge paintings hang on the walls—unusual art that looks abstract, but on closer inspection contains details of the inside of a computer—zoomed-in fans, motherboards, and video cards. There’s a sense of opulence without it being ostentatious.
“Wow.” I follow Dodie across the tiled floor, looking around with wide eyes.
“I know, it’s very classy, isn’t it? Must be a cool place to work.” She stops by the door. One of the cleaners has already started washing the lobby floor. The other turns toward the right wing and pushes his cart along the corridor.
“This way,” Dodie tells me. “You’ll be doing Pippa’s section—the management offices. If you need me, send me a text—I’m off to the hall that contains the supercomputer. They don’t let just anyone in with Marise.”
“Marise?”
She grins. “That’s what the computer’s called. I don’t know why.” She looks ahead and stops walking. “Hang on a minute.”
