After a second more of staring me down, she steps aside, and I nod, keeping my head towards the floor. When I get outside, I head straight for the bushes that line the entirety of the house. They’re on an elevated flower bed, so I have to climb and push through the scratchy thick ferns until I’m closest to the wall.
I cling to the stone as I squat down, beginning to move my legs in an awkward run that still needs to be quiet so as not to attract attention. If my sense of direction is correct, and it usually is, I should keep moving through the flowerbed all the way to the front of the house. The only issue that will arise is that my car is parked to the left of the entrance, and I’m currently on the right side of the house. That leaves an entire gap of crossing the rotunda entrance, which is heavily guarded even on a normal day.
I try not to think about this because I’m already in too deep, so I continue my painful trek to the front. Branches and thorns prick me on one side as the brick scratches up my knees and arm on the other side. If I do make it out of this bush, I’m going to look like a bloody, cut-up mess. I've got to think of an excuse for that one at some point. I know anything I have to come up with is just a lie. Something about that irks me more than it did before. It could be the fact that I’m choosing to rebel against what I’ve been told, to follow feelings, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Two security guards' voices grumble to each other just past the final bush. I’m nearing it, fully committed to this, but absolutely no idea how I’m going to pull it off. Think. What can I do to get out of here? I stop right before I reach the end and nearly fall out of the bush because of a large rock under my foot.
Before I can decide, my hands move towards a course of action. Now I’m scooping the rock up in my hands, lifting it above my head and heaving it as far as it will go, past the bushes and back towards the gardens. The chatter stops, and guns clank around as their meaty hands aim toward something. If it’s me, this is it, but if it goes the way I hope, and they were too wrapped up in a conversation to see where the rock came from, then—
“I think something is in the garden, Banks.”
“Or someone.” They begin to discuss it as they follow exactly what I wanted them to do, moving towards the garden and leaving their post. Now, I know enough about this type of shit from movies and games to know that there has to be someone else at this post too, or else they’ve just left this section of the house vulnerable.
I squint through the scattered openings of the dense bushes, trying to spot someone who might be in the way, but I see no one. I don’t have much time before the two guards get back, so either I book it to my car and possibly get caught, or I wait here and definitely get seen. With a deep inhale, I choose the better odds, at least that’s what I’m telling myself, and leap out of the bushes and hit the gravel driveway with a determination that gives me the push I need to keep going.
I keep my eyes on my car, unwavering in my adrenalin run, straight to the driver's side door. I hold my breath, so I don’t pant loudly from the length I’ve just sprinted faster than I knew I could go. Quickly and quietly, I unlock my door and slip inside, closing it gently and shoving my key in the ignition. After turning it, I look back to see the security at the front door have switched places and are very close to one another, speaking with angry faces.
The two guards I somehow distracted are still walking around the garden, guns pointed, walkie in one of their hands. The second I start driving, they will see me, and I honestly have no way of explaining my escape to anyone if they do. Shit.
As I’m debating, spending time I don’t have, my phone begins to ring. Agent Riggs again. I’m exactly one hour away from completely missing my final deadline to get the tech to him. Subsequently, he’ll be coming to the San Giovanni’s home with a team of armed FBI, and I grow sick thinking about what will happen next.
I slam my foot down on the break, grab the clutch and shift into first gear. Back out of the spot slowly and then pumping the clutch as I riskily shove her into fifth gear, faster than I have ever before. I zoom down the driveway, headed towards the closed gates.
“Fuck!” I yell, knowing I’m going to have to stop. I grab the shift and am about to pump the clutch when the gates swing open, and a black car pulls up to the entrance side of the gates. At first, I celebrate, knowing that I’ll make it in time, and then that feeling quickly passes when I realize it's Vince’s car. I grit my teeth as my car decelerates to full speed, and I zoom out of the exit, imagining his face through the black tinted windows.
My tires screech as I whip the car around my first turn and head straight for the highway. Everything in me is overthinking this. Vince is going to try to follow me, then Tito will hate me forever if he finds out what I’m doing. Even if he doesn’t know who it’s for. Giving up our tech, even prototypes, is absolutely forbidden and will definitely end my career with this family.
I’m endeavoring to remain calm and not let my brain go to the worst possible scenarios as I weave in and out of cars like I’m in a race. I guess I am in a race. A race to save the people I’ve grown to care for and the people on the other side of the success of what we’re doing as a team. Then, the FBI might even let up on this mission, if there truly is a misunderstanding. After our next test run, they might see this could be something good for everyone and perhaps dissolve my contract.
These are hopeful thoughts in a very disparaging time. That confuses me a little because it doesn’t seem rational. But my veins are pumping with adrenaline, so I guess there is little I can do about the side effects.
I’m already at the warehouse, so I put my thoughts on pause and jump straight into action. I leap out of the car and enter the workspace with twenty minutes to spare. Just enough time to get the tech to the stupid drop box and get the hell back to the San Giovanni’s.
Quickly, I cross to the corner of the room where we keep the prototypes. They’re rarely observed anymore, considering the amount we have already made, so I grab them out of the first drawer in our team-shared work desk and fill my arms to capacity with them. My heart is pounding in my ears as I turn around and sprint back outside, running over to my car and tossing the tech in the back seat before speeding out to the main road. As I’m driving, I carefully type in the address for the drop-box, and once that’s set, I hold it with half my hand while the other half steers.
I follow the road, still dodging cars left and right, with little cars honking and people rolling down their windows to start a debate with me about how recklessly I’m driving. I ignore everyone and keep my eyes on the road until I nearly miss the turn into the stupid lot.
In a stressful halt, I shove on the brakes and pump the clutch as I make it back to first gear. By some miracle, I don’t stall, and I head into the parking lot. After parking in the fire lane, turning on the hazards, and scooping up all the prototypes, I run over to the drop boxes, finding the one he told me about. I place everything I brought onto the ground, so I can twist the lock code Agent Riggs gave me. After turning to the last number, the lock shifts open.
As cars pass by, I imagine Vince in one of them, waiting to pull into the parking lot at any moment and bust me, but no one even drives through the entrance. I bend down and grab all the prototypes, shoving them into the drop box before closing it and clicking the lock through the latch hole again. After one last look around me, I run back to my car and head straight back to the San Giovanni’s.
This is a longer drive than I realized, considering the lockbox is in the opposite direction of work and the house. It’s about an hour of overthinking, silence, and toiling over the repercussions of what I’ve done tonight. But I can’t say I’m not relieved. Knowing the San Giovanni’s won’t be ambushed and that our tech might have a chance to change things around for everyone, is enough to give me a sliver of hope. I’m not going to be so naive as to hold on to it for certain, but perhaps I am not done fighting yet.
Giving up isn’t an option. So, no matter what, I’m going to make this tech work perfectly for our next test run, Tito will get to have his tech dreams, and I’ll deal with the FBI however that plays out.
As I pull up to the house, the gates open for me. The security in the booth nods to me, and I nod back, pulling through and going straight back to the spot I was parked in before leaving. When I get out of the car, it’s too dark for me to tell what security is still outside. It seems the only one there, or the only one I can spot, is at the front door.
The only thing I can do now is try to sneak back inside or pretend I got locked out. Certainly, the guys at the door saw me leaving, so perhaps I can act as though I were just running errands and come right up to the front door. This seems too risky, but I don’t know what choice I have besides that. I pull my phone out of my pocket and begin walking around the front of the cars parked next to mine.
The moment I am out in the open, my options as to what I’ll be doing dwindle. My feet decide for me as I head to the front, my stomach churning as I reach the steps. The security takes one look at me as I step up to the porch, and we hold an awkward gaze for a few moments until I’m basically at the door.
“Ms. Summers, are you alright?”
“What?” I follow his gaze to my knees, crusted with blood. He looks up and down when I realize this is a trend over every exposed part of my body. I knew I’d look scratched up, but this is just embarrassing.
“Yes, I took a walk in the gardens.”
“A walk?”