Black Thunder (Markson AU)

Chapter 13: A File Concealed

 "On the count of three, we go."

Mark nodded firmly, securing the tiny black earpiece snugly in his ear. "Got it."

"Three...two...one...go. Good luck."

With one quick pat on the back, Jackson and Mark parted ways, heading in opposite directions with different objectives in mind. Jackson, to create a diversion and distract the office from their scheme. Mark, to sneak away and execute their plan. They decided to split up after a little bit of persuasion from Mark, who insisted they'd get work done faster that way. Jackson crawled away and dropped down, landing with a soft thud. 

"Try to find the files," Jackson's voice crackled in Mark's ear. "It's in a cream file folder with a red pineapple wax seal. A man named Changkyun has them. The boss wants them by 7:00. That's in two hours. Locate the files and tell me where they are. I'll create a distraction."

"Got it," Mark whispered back. He laid on his stomach and inched his way through the ceiling. A chilly breeze swept through the tunnel, swooshing past the cold metal walls and the weathered black tiles. Mark bit his lip and kept scrawling, careful to distribute his weight evenly among the pipe. It would not be worth it to risk putting pressure on one of the fragile ceiling tiles and have their whole mission ruined. Mark swallowed down fear and kept going.

Suddenly, Jackson's voice made Mark jump. "I just took out the security guards, and now I have a full view of this floor through the security cameras." He panted slightly. "Where are you now? Are you out of the ceiling?"

Mark pressed his free ear up against one of the tiles. "I'm about to bust out. I think I'm inside of the hallway. It's quiet."

"No, no, don't," Jackson immediately said. "You should hear people talking, or a fan whirring or something."

Mark listened closer, straining for a sound of conversation or of machinery. "I think I hear something. It's a fan. I'm breaking out." Without a second thought, Mark whipped out his screwdriver and began hacking at the tile's edges, applying more and more pressure as the tile gave way. Slowly, carefully, he wedged it out of its position in the ceiling and placed it off to the side. Sighing a breath of relief, Mark pulled the tile away and peered down. Just like Jackson said, he was in the hallway. The office room was on the left, with walls made of crystal-clear glass and filled with people hard at work. In one swift motion, Mark hung down and landed in the hallway, the soles of his shoes meeting carpeted floor. Quick as a flash, he pressed himself up against the side of the wall.

"Where are you?" Jackson's voice buzzed. "I can't see you in the footage."

"I'm pressed against the wall," Mark mumbled, jerking his head to the right to try and peek into the office room. His peripheral vision allowed him to see suited men and women rushing back and forth, frantically typing, shaking their heads, sighing. To his left, the door swung open as two men walked out, arguing with each other about safety precautions. Mark's eyes narrowed in determination. "I'm going in," Mark whispered on a whim, darting inside the room and hiding behind a set of file cabinets. Once inside the room, the clicking sounds intensified. Mark's senses were bombarded with sunlight, low-pitched conversation, the lingering scent of old coffee.

Jackson squinted his eyes at the multiple screens in front of him. The biggest monitor, the one that showed the main office room, had a suspicious dark figure cowering behind a wall of beige file cabinets. "I see you now," he couldn't help but chuckle.

Mark flattened himself up against the cold metal of the obstacle in front of him, eyeing the man's desk that was placed before the file holder. Over the man's light brown locks and hunched posture, the gold nameplate placed upon his desk caught Mark's eye.