M L Gammella’s Picture Choice: 2
Title: Tracing a Revolution - Part 2
Trace hurtled through the sky towards the Corporation building. The air whistled past her ears, her hair plastered against her head. Within seconds, she smacked up against the imposing structure.
She was prepared for this. Trace had adjusted her body to absorb the impact so she remained unhurt. With a slight bounce, her body repelled from the wall. Trace carefully moved along the seams of the building, her fingers and toes digging into the tenuous holds.
She shuffled until she arrived at a small, private balcony. The advantages of being the big shot, Trace thought to herself as she laughed without humor.
Once over the edge of the railing of the balcony, her feet landed with a soft thud. Trace retracted the amarid floss and pocketed her tools.
The door to the balcony wasn’t locked at all. Who’d expect someone to walk in from the outside, this far up? Trace was almost disappointed. She enjoyed lock-picking, especially high-end electronic locking mechanisms. However, the open door saved her several minutes of valuable time.
She scanned the door to make sure there wasn’t any other kind of security features that weren’t readily seen. Nothing came up on her equipment. The President of the Corporation was apparently very confident in the safety of his office.
Trace gently opened the door and slipped inside. The door didn’t make a sound as it shut. Perfect. She needed access to the mainframe to plant her chip, and she would need to start here. The actual system was much farther down in the depths of the building but she needed his security clearance.
It would have been easier to steal the security clearance of one of the mainframe techs, but their low level clearance wouldn’t give her the access she needed. Only the President had that. So she went right for the top.
The President’s office was large, the main room was nearly half of the whole floor. His massive desk dominated one part of the room, flanked by touchpads, computer screens, and other electronics. There was also a more informal part of the room that had a chaise lounge and a beverage service with a large crystal decanter. There were three doors, two were on each side of his desk area and one was more central to the room. That was the elevator door, disguised to look like the other wooden doors. Very clever.
Trace didn’t waste any more time looking around the room and ran over to the President’s desk to his main computer interface. She began typing rapidly on the screen as she searched for the information she needed.
Trace almost found it when she heard the swoosh of the elevator car approaching and the ding as it came to a stop. She looked around wildly to find a place to hide. The room was just far too open and the balcony was all glass, so no hiding outside. She’d have to take a chance with one of the nearby doors and hope that she wouldn’t get caught.
Before making a break for it, she slipped an eavesdropping microchip under the desktop and cleared her search query from the computer. Trace opened her connection to the microchip and ran for the door. Trace had just pulled the door shut to the adjoining room when the elevator door slid open.
“I want the latest report on the activity in Sector C right away,” the President demanded, his steps powerful and unwavering.
“Yes, sir,” a timid voice said, whose steps paralleled the voice. This person, maybe an assistant, was clearly intimidated by the President.
“After that, send Joanie up here when you leave. I am also not to be disturbed for the rest of the day. Understood?”
Trace listened to a clink of glass and splash of liquid. The President must’ve been pouring himself a drink. Afterward, his steps increased in volume, Trace assumed that he was approaching the desk..
“Yes, sir,” the same voice repeated, squeaking out the phrase. “The report is spooling now. It will be on your desk in less than a minute.”
“Great. Now, why are you still here?”
“Oh! Ah, yes, sir. I’m going now, sir. Thank you, sir.” Hurried footsteps scurried away toward the elevator. An answering chime, swish of the door, and the assistant was gone.
The microphone in the planted microchip was very good. Trace could hear every movement the President made, every sigh.
The elevator dinged again, and the president sighed happily this time, his clothes rustling. “Bout damn time,” he muttered.
Women’s heels clicked across the floor without hesitation, unlike the timid assistant.
“You wanted to see me sir?”
This must be Joanie.
“Yes, I did.” The President paused in his speech. His voice dropped when he spoke again. “I’m glad you came dressed appropriately.”
When the woman spoke again, her voice was much closer, like she was on the immediate other side of the desk. “Well, I remembered last time how frustrated you were over the amount of layers you had to deal with. I certainly wouldn’t want to do that again,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t want that either. Give me a moment to finish reading this.”
“Mmm, why don’t I just start without you?” Snaps popped, a zipper opened. “Encourage you to hurry up.”
“You never wanted me to hurry before,” he commented.
“I think you know what I mean.” The whisper of clothes sliding to the floor was the only sound.
Trace wished the pick-up on the microchip wasn't as good as it was, or that she could turn it off without permanently disabling it. The slurpy sounds of sucking and the occasional moan came through into her ear crystal clear, like she was right there. She nearly gagged over some of the things the President said as he rammed his dick down Joanie's eager throat.
After a final, satisfied grunt, the President commented, "You certainly know how to take the edge off."
"My pleasure, sir," Joanie purred. Fabric rustled.
"Hmm, don't get dressed. I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh?" she asked.
The President stood, the sound of his chair sliding back a gentle sound compared to the other things Trace had heard.
"As great as your mouth feels, your pussy will feel much better."
"Anything you want sir," she replied, excitement in her voice.
The man laughed, but it seemed without much humor. "What I truly want, you can't give me. But, in the meantime, I'll satisfy myself by taking you over and over again."
Footsteps increased in volume. The President and Joanie were moving toward where Trace was hiding.
Shit, she thought. Trace was in a bedroom, perfect place to hide provided the President wasn't going to use it for some daytime stress relief. Looking around quickly, Trace was running out of options. There wasn't a closet in the room, but there looked to be enough room under the mattress. The frame was raised from the floor, like old-fashioned beds were made. She quickly darted underneath the bed, knowing full well what she was about to subjugate herself to while she was trapped in there. The door burst open, just as she completely slid under the bed. The President and Joanie were all over one another, kissing and rapidly removing their remaining articles of clothing.
Trace had to admit that while the President may have been a corrupt man with no real redeeming qualities but he kept himself in shape. She surmised that his physically attractiveness must've been a part of his lure, how was able to do the horrible things he was able to do.
The two tumbled on the bed, where the President quickly positioned Joanie where he wanted. Not that it took much effort. Joanie was quite willing, and even offered suggestions. Before much time had passed, the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping skin as he pounded into her resounded across the room. Just when Trace thought he might be done, he got his second wind and kept going. Joanie wasn't complaining one bit. The President had an impressive stamina for his age.
As impressive as it was, it was all Trace could do to keep from screaming. It was a horrible kind of torture to have to listen to the President get his jollies off with his secretary, when all she wanted to do was run into the next room and get the information she needed.
Finally, much to Trace’s relief, the President was finally sated and fell asleep, snoring loudly. When she didn’t hear any movement from the secretary, Trace slowly crawled out of her hiding spot under the bed. She stayed low to the floor as she inched her way to the door. THe last thing she needed as for one of them to wake up and see her in the room.
With a final glance at the bed, Trace reached up and quietly opened the door. The soft hiss of the door opening, that was normally barely noticable, sounded like a roar in the stillness of the room When no movement or sound came from the bed, Trace scurried through the door and back into business.
Trace disconnected the eavesdropping chip and downloaded the data to her wrist cuff. Most of the information she would need soon would be from the chip. She needed to know how the President interfaced with his computer.
As it downloaded and her pre-programmed algorithms began processing the information, she clicked away at the computer. Occasionally she referenced the data gathering on her cuff. The Corporation’s system was tricky and it took all of her concentration to work through the levels of security. Normally, she didn’t allow herself to be so soley focused but this was too important.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Trace’s head whipped around. The secretary, dressed in a soft, black robe, walked toward her as the bedroom door whispered shut behind her.
“It’s probably best that you don’t know,” Trace replied as she slid her hand into her pocket, wrapping her fingers around her weapon.
“If you’ve blown my cover, I will kill you,” Joanie seethed.
Trace stopped short, looking at the woman with suspicion. “What cover?”
“You idiot. I’m a part of the rebellion. I’m assuming based on what you are trying to do that you are a part of the same.”
Trace blinked, completely caught off guard ... which didn’t happen often. “I don’t believe you. You are trying to trap me.”
The woman that Trace knew as Joanie laughed. “Why? I just admitted to being a part of the rebellion. What benefit would I have for making that up?”
“To give me a false sense of security, so you can stop me.”
Joanie shook her head. “Not this time. I want the same things you do, I just have a different method.”
Trace tapped a few more times on the computer, not wanting to comment on what she thought of the other woman’s methods.
“Why would they send me in if you were already inside?”
Joanie shrugged as she picked at a fingernail. “My methods, while effective, are time consuming. They probably got tired of waiting for me to bring them some hard facts.”
“Looks like you were getting it pretty hard earlier,” Trace mumbled under her breathe, but not quietly enough.
Joanie’s nostrils flared as her brow furrowed. “I don’t question what you do. You don’t get to question mine. They are both effective, just in different ways.”
“Yours is not a way I’d choose.”
Joanie shrugged. “Doesn’t make a difference to me. Like I said, we are on the same team.”
Trace nodded as something blinked on her cuff, trying to get her attention. She still didn’t believe Joanie but now was not the time to argue with her.
“My time is up. I have to leave,” she said, wiping her access into the President’s computer.
“Did you get what you sought?”
Trace didn’t reply, only quickly walked out of the room and onto the balcony. Her amarid floss was flying through the air before she stopped at the edge. With a final backward glance at the other woman, Trace jumped off the balcony, hanging onto the floss as it guided her to a nearby building.
Dusk was beginning to settle in the city. Trace found a perch along the water where she could think about everything that happened. Her superiors would want her report soon, but she wasn’t quite ready to file that report. There were too many questions and not enough answers.
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M L Gammella lives in Ohio with her husband and their three pets. She is currently working on her first novel, a paranormal suspense based in Maine. Please follow her at @MLGammella and visit her website at Onward to the Written Word.
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