The Paper Factory (Michael Berg Book 1) by Norrie Sinclair Page B
Authors: Norrie Sinclair
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remained protruding from the frame. He laid his jacket across the bottom and hoisted himself through the window. If the building was alarmed, he’d have heard something by now.
Michael was in an ante room behind the reception area. He strode purposefully to the door leading to the stairwell, assuming that if he looked as though he was meant to be there, anyone spotting him would assume that he was. He couldn’t risk using the elevator on the off chance that it got stuck with him inside it.
He exited the stairwell onto the third floor, everything exactly as he had remembered it. Anna Kazinsky had been right. He was standing exactly in the same place that he had been when he’d caught the gaze of the mysterious dark-haired woman not much more than two months before. Five rows down, and the nearest desk to the open corridor. He was sure of it. Michael looked at his watch. Four forty-five. He didn’t want to be here for much longer than another ten minutes. He walked over to the desk. It was clear, with the exception of a dusty computer monitor. He stooped and looked under the desk, then lay on the floor underneath it and examined the underside carefully. He then pulled the desk away from the others it was grouped tightly with and swept his hands around its sides. Finally he examined all the surfaces of the desk once more, with even greater care.
In the few seconds that he and the woman had caught each other’s gaze, Michael had been struck by the pity reflected in her eyes. At the time it had meant nothing. However, when Anna Kazinsky had mentioned that most of the furniture had been left in the building, Michael had an epiphany. The woman had known exactly what was going to happen to him. At least that was how it seemed. Perhaps she had left him a sign, a note, any clue that would help him make sense of what had happened.
Michael had been too carried away with the only thin thread of possibility open to him. It was a dead end. He made his way back to the stairwell. He paused, realized that he hadn’t looked in the most obvious place. He returned to the desk and hit the standby button on the hard drive.
The screen luminously flickered to life. His heart skipped a beat. On the desktop there was one file. Miska. He duly steeled himself, the file most probably completely irrelevant. He clicked on it. Miska opened.
aksim lajvih allun tah cnimrah zit tah cloyn to ygen
Nonsense. In the vague hope that the script had some meaning, he took a pen from an adjacent desk and scrawled the text onto a receipt that he found in his wallet. He walked to the window, catching his foot on the uneven flooring. He took another look at the meaningless scrawl offered by the brighter light streaming through the windows.
The silence was broken. The chattering blades of a helicopter. He had been too preoccupied with the contents of the file to have noticed it before. The interruption from the outside world reminded him that he had been in the building longer than he’d intended.
Chapter 21
“Put it down close to the first building,” Rykov shouted into the pilot’s ear, gesturing downwards, aggressively, with his index finger.
“ Can’t go too close,” came the reply, “… waste ground …” was all that the Russian could hear over the furious whirring of the blades.
He grunted in frustration but positioned himself while the pilot gently lowered the Sikorski to the ground. Both men jumped from the aircraft before it landed. The bemused pilot took her back up, glad to be away from the two overtly menacing men he had met only two hours before. He would wait for their call at Katowice Airport.
Jumping the low fence that separated the wasteland from the manicured lawns of the office park, the two men separated. If Berg was still in the building, they didn’t want him to leave through the back door while they walked in through the front. Rivello wouldn’t tolerate a
Michael was in an ante room behind the reception area. He strode purposefully to the door leading to the stairwell, assuming that if he looked as though he was meant to be there, anyone spotting him would assume that he was. He couldn’t risk using the elevator on the off chance that it got stuck with him inside it.
He exited the stairwell onto the third floor, everything exactly as he had remembered it. Anna Kazinsky had been right. He was standing exactly in the same place that he had been when he’d caught the gaze of the mysterious dark-haired woman not much more than two months before. Five rows down, and the nearest desk to the open corridor. He was sure of it. Michael looked at his watch. Four forty-five. He didn’t want to be here for much longer than another ten minutes. He walked over to the desk. It was clear, with the exception of a dusty computer monitor. He stooped and looked under the desk, then lay on the floor underneath it and examined the underside carefully. He then pulled the desk away from the others it was grouped tightly with and swept his hands around its sides. Finally he examined all the surfaces of the desk once more, with even greater care.
In the few seconds that he and the woman had caught each other’s gaze, Michael had been struck by the pity reflected in her eyes. At the time it had meant nothing. However, when Anna Kazinsky had mentioned that most of the furniture had been left in the building, Michael had an epiphany. The woman had known exactly what was going to happen to him. At least that was how it seemed. Perhaps she had left him a sign, a note, any clue that would help him make sense of what had happened.
Michael had been too carried away with the only thin thread of possibility open to him. It was a dead end. He made his way back to the stairwell. He paused, realized that he hadn’t looked in the most obvious place. He returned to the desk and hit the standby button on the hard drive.
The screen luminously flickered to life. His heart skipped a beat. On the desktop there was one file. Miska. He duly steeled himself, the file most probably completely irrelevant. He clicked on it. Miska opened.
aksim lajvih allun tah cnimrah zit tah cloyn to ygen
Nonsense. In the vague hope that the script had some meaning, he took a pen from an adjacent desk and scrawled the text onto a receipt that he found in his wallet. He walked to the window, catching his foot on the uneven flooring. He took another look at the meaningless scrawl offered by the brighter light streaming through the windows.
The silence was broken. The chattering blades of a helicopter. He had been too preoccupied with the contents of the file to have noticed it before. The interruption from the outside world reminded him that he had been in the building longer than he’d intended.
Chapter 21
“Put it down close to the first building,” Rykov shouted into the pilot’s ear, gesturing downwards, aggressively, with his index finger.
“ Can’t go too close,” came the reply, “… waste ground …” was all that the Russian could hear over the furious whirring of the blades.
He grunted in frustration but positioned himself while the pilot gently lowered the Sikorski to the ground. Both men jumped from the aircraft before it landed. The bemused pilot took her back up, glad to be away from the two overtly menacing men he had met only two hours before. He would wait for their call at Katowice Airport.
Jumping the low fence that separated the wasteland from the manicured lawns of the office park, the two men separated. If Berg was still in the building, they didn’t want him to leave through the back door while they walked in through the front. Rivello wouldn’t tolerate a
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