I left the Academy and went to my new studio apartment in Lower Manhattan. It was barely furnished, and the fire escape blocked my view of the zigzagging steel fire escapes on the backs of other buildings.
The White Queen instructed me to call Vanus as soon as I reached the city, but I freshened up and polished my nails first. It was about four o'clock before I made the call.
"It's me," I said.
"Janet, there you are. I've been waiting for your call." Vanus sounded bubbly and happy, like a fairy. "Let's meet at the usual spot."
I ran downstairs. The midsummer heat and glare were unbearable. I pulled a pair of shades out of my tote bag. The sun immediately began searing my exposed skin and I crossed the street to escape the burning rays.
I peered through the window of The House, my favorite bohemian café. A barista was behind the counter making an espresso at an antique copper and brass cappuccino machine. I was looking for signs of a spy, but there were only a few students huddled around a corner table. The place was oddly quiet. In fact, it was downright somber.
Vanus was sitting in the corner opposite the students, reading a magazine. She was wearing her usual green shirt and jeans. Her dress sense was so unlike her mother's penchant for all things white. There was half a glass of iced latte on the table, along with a laptop and a few newspapers.
"Hey, Vanus," I said softly.
"Janet! Do you want an iced latte?"
"Can I just drink some of yours?" I asked, picking up her glass. I was nervous about my first big undercover mission and I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
"Help yourself." She smiled.
The milky iced latte was cool and refreshing. I'd missed the delicious coffee at The House.
"What's up?" I put down the glass.
"Here are your documents, instructions, and new phone." Vanus handed me a bulky envelope. "I also have your secure laptop and homework. You'll need to read the highlighted articles in these papers." She pointed to the newspaper on the table. "It won't be easy to replace the documents quickly, so don't lose them. And don't forget to destroy the instructions once you've read them."
"I won't." I slipped everything into my bag as police sirens sounded in the distance. "I better get going."
"Wait a sec. Tell me, honestly, are you fully recovered from that mobster mission?" She sounded concerned.
"I'm fine," I lied. I would've died that day if Vanus hadn't rescued us. If I'd died maybe I'd be with my mother now.
"Be careful ... play it safe. Okay?"
"I'll try."
"You're not alone on this job. Don't forget that. Call me if you have to." Vanus reached across the table and touched my arm.
"Thanks Vanus."
I walked on the shady side of the street back to my apartment. As soon as I got inside, I looked through the envelope. It contained instructions, a New York state ID, a passport, a university transcript, and a résumé. My new name was Scarlet Walters and my new birthday was October thirty-first. I was born on Halloween, that's easy enough to remember.
I looked through the newspapers and found one of the highlighted articles.
WILMAR EXPANSION
Wilmar Enterprises has been acquiring properties on prime land around Brooklyn and Manhattan. Plans are underway to redevelop the dilapidated properties into upscale condos and shopping malls. A few thousand residential and business tenants will soon be displaced to make way for the new developments.
Wilmar Enterprises CEO, Johnson Wilmar, said, "We will continue to acquire land on the East and West Coasts of the US for redevelopment."
Wilmar Enterprises is a major property developer in the United States with subsidiaries in logistics, telecommunications and renewable energy. Their combined portfolio is currently worth $200 billion.
The sun was long gone by the time I finished reading all the articles about Wilmar. The articles were mostly about how great the investments would be for property prices. Only a few even mentioned the families and small businesses that had been in those neighborhoods for generations.
I was getting hungry, but the kitchen cabinets and fridge in my new apartment were bare. I didn't like living in an apartment with no food, it made me feel queasy.
I grabbed my shopping bag and went downstairs. It was a bit cooler, but still hot. The street was filled with rainbow neon lights from the shops, and the evening breeze carried the sounds of traffic and sirens. The sirens reminded me of the muffled screams of my targets as they choked on their own blood. I missed the tranquil surroundings of the Academy.
I walked by The House and it was closed. That's strange. It was usually open late. I noticed a note on the door.
Dear Patrons,
We've lost our lease and we've been forced to close our doors.
We want to thank our loyal customers for your wonderful support over the last twenty years.
We'll miss you all.
Sorry,
The House
I wonder if Wilmar Enterprises is behind this.
Walking into the air conditioned bodega on the corner was a relief. I went to the grocery aisle and loaded up on bread, milk, ground beef, beans, soup, canned tuna, and canned vegetables. As I walked by the canned corn I was reminded of how much I hated the color yellow. I despised all things yellow, shiny, and bright—the sun, sunflowers, lemons, corn. Most people thought yellow was bright and cheery like a sunrise, but to me it was the dull, yucky color of vomit. I hated yellow so much that I usually closed my eyes until everything yellow disappeared. I wanted to rush out of the store, but I forced myself to go to the counter and pay for my groceries.
Memories of my mother flooded over me as I walked back to the apartment. I couldn't get the image of her walking away from me out of my mind. Her white dress was flowing behind her as she walked through the sunflower field, toward the setting sun.
I'd tried to find her for so long that I hated to be reminded of her out of the blue. I no longer remembered what she looked like. I detested her. Did she ever look for me? Maybe she's dead. I could put my search to rest if the White Queen handed me her death certificate, or if I found her grave. Until then, I'd be haunted by my fading memories.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment and put away my groceries. Then I warmed up a can of soup and ate it out of the pot.
A black and white cat appeared on the fire escape outside my kitchen window. I figured it was a stray. I opened a can of tuna and put it on the window ledge before I unpacked my suitcases.
I got the envelope and my laptop and sat down on the floor. I looked at my instructions written in agent code. I had to apply to be the secretary for Wilmar's chief security officer. Easy enough. The cat was still sitting in the window as I destroyed my instructions in the kitchen sink by running water over the page—all our agent communications were written in code with a fountain pen.
According to Wilmar's website, Conan W. Casey was the chief security officer. His photo on the site was only a headshot, so I googled him. The first result was a picture from a magazine. I clicked to enlarge the photo. He looked handsome and sophisticated—but tough—in his designer suit. Nice. He had a slender build and his gray eyes gave him a wolf-like quality. I guessed he was in his thirties. There was a short blurb under the photo.
Conan W. Casey, chief security officer at Wilmar said, "We're currently engaged in a hiring drive across the organization. As CSO, my focus is on hiring more security guards to watch over our newly acquired properties."
I was suddenly much more interested in starting this new job. Working for a suave, sexy, powerful boss might not be so bad after all. The White Queen hadn't mentioned anything about killing on this mission, so as long as Mr. Casey's security guards didn't turn on me, I figured it would be a piece of cake. I just had to get into the company, get the information the White Queen wanted, and then return home. Easy. The spies should have more information about Matilda Ann Summers by then.
* * *
The next morning, I wrote my cover letter to apply for the position. Once I was satisfied, I emailed the letter and résumé to Wilmar. One of my sisters was posted in HR and I knew I'd at least get an interview, but the wait was still torturous.
The White Queen sent over some furniture and a bunch of boxes with stuff for the apartment. I spent the next few days organizing the place, shopping for my new work wardrobe, and preparing myself to go undercover as Scarlet Walters. The black and white cat came to the kitchen window most nights. I started feeding it regular cat food and calling it Milky, but it never stuck around for too long. All in all, I was kept busy enough, but I still checked my phone for missed calls every half hour.
The call from Wilmar finally came. I was to go in for my interview in two days. I reviewed my books and practiced answering potential interview questions in the mirror. I was as ready as I could be for Mr. Conan W. Casey.
Interview
I wore a knee-length skirt, a white blouse, and blazer for my interview. To complete the new look, I put on a pair of brown, square-rimmed glasses.
I took the subway to the Upper West Side and exited at Eighty-sixth Street and Broadway just after eight. The Wilmar complex was two blocks away, on Seafront Boulevard. It consisted of six futuristic glass towers connected by skyways.
I stood at the main entrance and looked up. The flowing water of the Hudson River was reflecting off the giant bluish tower. I'm here to get the job. That's what I'm here for. I took a deep breath and clenched my fists as I walked through the glass doors.
There were armed security guards dotted around the large lobby. It smelled like air freshener, and three cleaners were pushing around their carts. The worker rats filed past me, tapping little white cards on turnstiles as they rushed to the elevators.
I went over to the reception desk.
"First time in Wilmar?" the security guard asked, looking down at a list.
"Yes. I'm interviewing for the position of Mr. Casey's secretary. I was told to see the human resources manager, Mrs. Little."
"Are you Scarlet Walters?"
I hesitated for a second. I wasn't used to answering to my new name. Scarlet Walters sounded so ... professional. But this was my new identity, and if I didn't believe it no one else would.
"Yes." I smiled.
"Fill in the information and sign here," he said, shoving a guest book toward me.
"Thanks." I picked up the pen. "What's your name?" As an agent, getting to know security guards was a rule of thumb.
"Peter," he said with a snort. He was burly and had a gigantic nose.
"If you don't mind me asking Peter," I lowered my voice, "why did the last secretary leave?"
"Nice try lady. Loose lips sink ships and all that," he said, getting up from his seat rather quickly given his size. "I'll take you over to the elevator."
"You can't blame a girl for trying to get an advantage over her competition," I smiled.
"No, I guess you can't," he said with a wink as he touched his security pass to the turnstile to let me through. "Take elevator three up to the fifth floor. You'll see Mrs. Little's office as soon as you get off the elevator. Good luck."
"Thanks Peter," I said as I got in the elevator.
The interview with Mrs. Little went well. She didn't even ask about my education.
"You've made it to the next stage," said Mrs. Little. "Take elevator three up to the sixtieth floor and follow the numbers to suite sixty-fifty. It's a corner office. I'll let Mr. Casey know you're on your way."
"Thank you." I smiled as I left her office.
It was a slow ride up to my next interview. The elevator stopped on every other floor as workers rushed in and out, scurrying like rats around a large glass tank.
I got off on the sixtieth floor, turned left, and went through the door marked "6000-6050." There were offices around the perimeter, but the regular workers only had semi-enclosed little workspaces. I walked along the edges of the white cubicle farm to the far corner of the enormous room.
There was a small seating area with a desk outside the corner suite. The letters carved into the wood sign on the door read: "Conan W. Casey, Chief Security Officer."
This was it. I'd done all I could to prepare, but I still felt uneasy. My feet were stuck to the ground, rooting me to the spot. I pinched my left palm with my right thumb and index finger and thought calming thoughts. It was one of the Neuro-lingistic Programming, or NLP, techniques they taught us at the Academy to anchor ourselves, overcome negative thoughts, and control our emotions.
I knocked lightly on the door. No response. I raised my hand to knock again.
"Come in," a deep, authoritative voice called out before my knuckles touched the door.
I stepped into the office and was greeted by a one hundred eighty degree view of New York City. The black leather and chrome furniture was sleek and shiny. All the files were neatly arranged on shelves by color and size. It appeared that the CSO was an orderly man who liked to know exactly where everything was.
Conan Casey was sitting behind a large glass and chrome desk in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. He was wearing a sharp black suit with a navy-blue tie. Judging by the cut of his suit, he looked like the kind of man who checked himself in the mirror and liked what he saw. With his well-defined features, narrow eyes, and neatly groomed dark-brown hair, he was even more appealing in person that he was in his pictures.
He glanced up from his computer and looked at me from head to toe. "Sit." He pointed to a chair in front of his desk. "Name?"
"Scarlet Walters." I sat down and crossed my legs. There was something unsettling about him. I discreetly tugged the hem of my skirt over my knees.
"I need to pull up your résumé." He looked like a wolf gazing at a dangling bone as he read my fake qualifications and work history. "You're twenty-four and a fresh grad. Well, on paper, I suppose you meet my basic requirements. Tell me why you want to work for Wilmar."
"Wilmar's an impressive organization, a forerunner in its many fields." I clasped my hands over my knee and felt the cold sweat on my palms. "You're expanding rapidly, and I'd like to be part of that growth. I believe I'd be an asset to the company, I ..."
"Enough." He sounded like he was growling and he waved his hand.
I jerked back in my seat, surprised by his tone.
"Why do you want to work for me? What has Conan Casey done to catch your attention?"
I took a breath and sat forward. I was determined to get the job, and I wasn't going to let him intimidate me.
"I want to work in security because I'm a keen observer of people ... and I want to work for you because you're clearly a man of taste. For instance, take your Jaeger-LeCoultre Reverso watch." I nodded my head at his left wrist. "It's an elegant yet understated piece that can be worn in the boardroom or at the gym. The reversible case can be turned around to protect the face should the situation call for it. It suits your position and your personality. I commend your choice."
"Go on." Mr. Casey smiled and joined the tips of his fingers in an arch. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk.
"I realize this is an office position, but I like intense situations." I caught a whiff of his fresh cologne as I tucked my hair behind my ear.
"Intense situations?" he said suggestively as he scrutinized me. "You have quite a figure. I'd say you're five foot six and weigh one hundred eight pounds."
"That's inappropriate," I instinctively blurted out. Damn, why did I say that? I felt like he was weighing me up as a potential meal, but I had to recover somehow. "However, you are correct. You must have a scale in your head."
He chuckled. I can make him laugh. This is a good sign.
"Sizing people up is part of my job," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"It's quite all right." I gave him a tight smile but I didn't believe him. I knew it was bullshit.
"The bad news," he said, looking at his computer, "is that you have no real experience to speak of." His eyes darted back and forth between me and the computer. "I need a secretary who can do this job with her eyes closed."
"I interned as a secretary for six months, and I'm a fast learner. If you just give me a chance, I'll prove that I'm up to it."
"Anyone can be a secretary, but my secretary," he said, jabbing his finger on the desk, "can't be just anyone. She needs to know how to keep her mouth shut for starters." He leaned back in his chair and stared at me. "I demand complete confidentiality."
"Mr. Casey, I assure you that you can count on my discretion. I know how to keep secrets." His intense stare was making me nervous. I was beginning to wonder if his last secretary quit because of him.
"Well, Ms. Walters, as you know, Wilmar is expanding. The sitting tenants in our new properties could become hostile after we evict them. The last thing I need is a jumpy little girl who can't field calls from irate ex-tenants. I need to know my secretary won't call me crying if she gets yelled at."
"I understand." I looked down to hide my smirk. I'd like to show you what I can do with a knife. "I can handle it. I'll support you in whatever ways you need."
"I need someone I can trust."
"Then you've found your woman, sir."
"Mrs. Little will notify you of the outcome," he said. He held my gaze for a moment before standing up.
"Thank you Mr. Casey." He was much taller than I realized. I felt his eyes on me as I walked across the room to the door.
"I'll see you out," he said, stepping around his desk.
He shook my hand with an iron grip and opened the door.
A tall, skinny girl was waiting outside. She greeted Mr. Casey and her shrill voice made my skin crawl.
How many people will he be interviewing? Do I even have a chance? If I don't get this job, the last six months will have been all for nothing.
Waiting
I began monitoring the career page on Wilmar's website. I refreshed the page every hour and saw that more job vacancies were constantly being posted.
I didn't know if I should be disappointed or relieved that the secretarial position in the Security Department was still listed. They couldn't remove the listing until someone accepted the job, and I hadn't been called yet, so I decided it was a good sign. I shuddered to think what the White Queen would say if I wasn't hired.
I wanted to be up to date with the latest Wilmar information. I bought online subscriptions to newspapers, magazines, and any trade publications I could find. Wilmar was all over the national and international business news. The media was buzzing about Wilmar's strong quarterly earnings and positive growth forecasts, and their property portfolio seemed to be expanding by the day.
As I was reviewing my business administration textbook, my phone rang.
"Hi Janet," a female voice said.
"Hey Vanus." I sighed.
"How'd the interview go?" she asked.
"I think it went well, but I haven't heard back. Do you have Mimi's new number?"
"Don't lose hope. The interview was only yesterday, and our people inside are there to help. I'll give you Mimi's number in agent code ..."
"Got it, thanks," I said.
"Call me when you hear from them."
"I will."
Vanus hung up and I dialed Mimi's number.
"Hey Mimi," I said. "Wanna meet up?"
"Janet! You're finally here! Why don't we meet at the park and go for a jog?"
"Sounds good. I'll see you in an hour."
I changed into exercise clothes and headed for the subway.
* * *
Mimi was waiting for me at the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park—she was always on time. She spotted me and waved with a childlike grin. Her shoulder-length hair was in adorable pigtails and she was wearing a matching pink top and shorts. She was as cute as an anime character. Seeing her made me happy.
"Hey Scar ... Scaaarlet Waaalters. Your new name sounds sooo seeexy." She gave me a hug and giggled.
"What's your Wilmar name?" I asked.
"Mimi DuPree. The White Queen already had documents with that name, so I guess she thought it would just be easier to change the passport picture than to give me a whole new name."
We walked to one of the paths and started jogging, so no one could eavesdrop.
"What'd you get?" Mimi asked.
"Nothing yet. I've applied to be Casey's secretary. He's the CSO. How about you?"
"I'm Miller's personal assistant. He's the Head of Operations. I start next week. And Liza's in accounts."
"I wonder why they haven't called me yet." I felt a twinge of jealousy and hoped it wasn't obvious in my voice.
"You've never failed a mission," said Mimi. "I'm sure you'll get the job."
"Yeah, but other girls have applied too. Who knows what Casey's really looking for."
We stopped at an empty bench and sat down.
"Janet, they're just girls. They're nothing like us. I know you'll get it. You can be confident of that!" Mimi patted me on the shoulder.
"I hope so."
"You'll get it," Mimi chirped. "I know you will."
* * *
The next few days were excruciating. I couldn't let my mind wander into dangerous territory, so I established a routine to keep busy—read the business news, workout, eat, sleep, repeat.
I continued monitoring the career page on the Wilmar site. I must've refreshed it hundreds of times—I knew it was in the hundreds because every time I refreshed the page I shredded a piece of paper with my blood-red switchblade. A mountain of sliced paper covered the floor next to my desk, and my ream of paper was down to the last few sheets.
The weight of the knife in my hand gave me a sense of security. I loved the sound of the blade flicking straight out of the blood-red handle when I pressed the button. The gleaming stainless steel gave me a sense of control. I enjoyed carefully gliding the blade over my smooth skin and turning it like a spinning top on my palm. The sharp blade concealed in the blood-red sheath was just like me—a deadly weapon hidden beneath a pretty cover.
I practiced my knife skills on homemade ballistic gel that I learned to make at the Academy. The gel somewhat emulated flesh and allowed me to practice sculpting. I experimented with different blades—thin, thick, light, heavy, long, short—stabbing and twisting and carving like an obsessed artist trying to make sense of my art ... the art of the kill.
Cutting up the ballistic gel wasn't nearly as satisfying as slicing up my prey. It couldn't give me the same high as cutting up my targets and watching the blood spill from their mutilated flesh as the life drained from their eyes. I especially liked looking at the expressions on their faces before they submitted to death. Each target became a heavenly masterpiece under my knife. If I wasn't armed with my blades for some reason, a dinner fork or knife would suffice. They can both be used to pierce and slice meat. There's no difference between slicing up animals and slicing up humans. Humans kill animals and I kill humans. I guess I'm over the ordeal with the mobsters.
The phone rang.
"Hello."
"This is Mrs. Little from Wilmar. I'd like to offer you the position of secretary to Mr. Conan Casey. Are you still interested?"
"I am."
"Perfect. I'll email over your employment contract. You start Monday morning at eight thirty. Please bring me a signed copy of the contract first thing."
"I will Mrs. Little. Thank you."
"You're most welcome. See you Monday." She hung up.
I have to get a new ream of paper to print the contract and I better call Vanus. The White Queen is going to be so pleased.