“Hello? Anyone here? Everything all right?”
An officer’s pressed and starched white uniform, from the knees down, appeared. Whoever it was turned and left the office.
Philby was inside.
* * *
Taking directions from Philby over her Wave Phone, Charlene moved deeper into the guts of the ship. She’d left Maybeck outside the Crew Members Only door, near the forward end of the starboard companionway.
“Do you see the corridor to your right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s where they took the crate. But I can’t see all of it.”
“It’s long. All gray paint. A crew area for sure.”
“Doors?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Three on the left and one at the very end. None on the right.”
“There are numbers by them. Read them back to me.”
Walking the corridor, Charlene read off the three numbers in a whisper.
“Okay. Consulting a floor plan here…” he said. “Did you know they have iPAQs—handhelds—that can control most of the ship’s functions and all of the security devices?”
“You know, I don’t care, Philby. Not only don’t I care, but you’re distracting me and things are just a little tense down here. Not to mention hot. I mean, where’s the air-conditioning for the crew?”
“That’s what I’m talking about: the iPAQs can control the air-cond—”
“Will you shut up?” She spoke too loudly for the narrow corridor, scaring herself with her own voice.
“I’m going to borrow one,” he said against the background sound of a keyboard clicking.
“I really do…not…care…”
“You will.”
“Oh my gosh! Enough!”
“Try the door at the end of the corridor,” he said. “On the floor plans that door connects backstage to the theater. The doors on the left are emergency doors to the auditorium itself. I’m definitely going with backstage.”
“Actually, it’s me going with it,” Charlene said.
“You’ll have to leave the phone. It won’t go through the wall with your hologram.”
“I could try it.”
“Trust me. I was stopped by a hair.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you another time. Leave the phone somewhere you can find it later.”
“So when I’m in there, I’m on my own?”
“Afraid so.”
“Are you going to give me some clues?”
“Stand by. Checking the floor plan.”
“You don’t have to sound like a robot.”
“Pardon me for living. Look who’s nervous.”
“I am nervous,” Charlene said. “I don’t particularly love creepy places. So help me out here.”
“The hallway you’ll enter angles left—”
“Left,” she said, checking her hands. Charlene had a little trouble with left and right.
“It looks like there are some storage areas or offices off it. All very small.”
“And?”
“It leads past a stairway, up and down and out into an area that’s off the stage.”
“Stage left,” she said.
“Whatever. The stage is ginormous, but it looks like curtains hide most of it from the audience. No way to tell from here what’s back there.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“There’s another level below, down those stairs you’ll pass. I’ve got some safety cams down there as well as onstage. Maybe I can control the lights if I can figure out the iPAQ.”
Enough with the iPAQ! she wanted to say.
“Okay,” she said.
“You set?”
“I’ll put my phone behind a fire extinguisher.”
“Perfect.”
“So I guess this is it for now.”
“I’ll be watching you at least some of the places. You’re not alone.”
Then why do I feel so alone? she wanted to say. But she’d volunteered for the assignment. She couldn’t complain now.
She tucked the phone behind the fire extinguisher, summoned her courage, and walked through the door. She opened her eyes once through to the other side.
The corridor was narrow and more confined than she’d expected. The lighting wasn’t great, either. The carpet was indoor-outdoor stuff that felt spongy and therefore a little weird underfoot. Charlene practiced 2.0 moves repeatedly, as had become her habit—reaching out to physically touch, then reaching out again and intentionally remaining projected light. This practice had become second nature, and she went down the hall doing the moves absentmindedly—running her fingers along the wall, running her fingers into the wall’s metal, so that her fingernails and first knuckle were missing.