Chapter 16
Journal entry – November 5th
Nate pitched a new job today.
Since the accident, I've only been tasked with planning and research, sometimes manning the coms when Hardison is busy. It's easy really, just using my knowledge from my old jobs to guide the team around any issues. Take last week, for example, very few people could recognise ex-special forces by the way they tied their shoes, but I can. That's why I told Nate to go left when everyone else screamed right, they couldn't see that the three police academy dropouts were a much easier target to take down. Luckily, Nate trusts me, and so do the others. I was actually starting to get used to my new position, keeping my team safe in any way that I can.
But today, Nate decided that I'm ready to take on more.
I thought that was what I wanted, to get back in the field, to feel like I'm contributing again. And I do want that, I want to pay my way and earn the help and kindness of my friends. But is it worth the risk?
What if Nate is only doing this to make me happy because I told him it was what I wanted? He's our mastermind, he shouldn't be thinking about what I want, just what's best for the team. And that's certainly not me in the field where I can get in the way. There are so many ways this could go wrong. If the mark catches wind, we might have to make a quick exit, but with me still in this chair that's not really an option. Or I could have one of my attacks, I know they don't happen often, but if one does at the wrong time, I'll be useless and the con would fall apart.
No, there are too many risks, I have to tell Nate that he's mistaken, I'm not ready.
...
But what if they need me?
Maybe Nate picked this one because it was impossible to do without five people. It is one of those smaller grifting roles that I normally took on in the past. A lot of the time I didn't even need to hit anyone, just stand there looking small and unassuming. Maybe that's why they need me? Parker can't do it; the job requires socialising and that always comes with a risk of sharp instruments. And Hardison just blows when it comes to grifting. Logically, I'm the only option on such short notice.
But it's still a big risk, one that I would never suggest with good conscience. The only reason I'm even considering it is my own selfish needs. I know I can't stay trapped in here forever, that nagging feeling that I'm worthless and wasting everyone's time hits me at least three times a week. I mean, today's a good day and I still don't like myself that much, still think that the team would be better off replacing me.
Stupid journal, I thought you were supposed to help me understand all this. But here I am, no closer to knowing why I get so anxious whenever my competency comes into question.
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"Right, Eliot it's up to you now. We need the mark distracted for at least fifteen minutes if we want to get in and out without being detected."
The plan was a simple one.
Get Parker and Hardison inside the marks office so they can search the safe and set up surveillance equipment, while Nate leads the team on coms, easy. Except, Ms Wesley never leaves her office and they have no plausible reason to get her to change this behaviour. It isn't like she's working hard in there, trying to be the best boss she can be. No, for a matter of fact she is awful at her job, completely lazy, always taking credit for other people's work and firing them when they start to complain. The only reason she goes into that office is to hide away and shop online. So, if they can't use a work-related emergency, then...
That's where Eliot comes in.
Mr Daniels had been scheduled to interview with Ms Wesley in ten minutes, however on arriving he was informed that her office was on the eighth floor and the elevator had stopped working. This was a huge problem given that Mr Daniels was confined to a wheelchair.
"Excuse me, ma'am," his soft southern drawl reached over the reception desk, luring the young lady to follow its echo. Eliot looked quite helpless sitting a good two inches below the high desk, struggling with a heavy briefcase as he tried to balance it on his lap. "I'm meant to be meeting with Ms Wesley in..." he looked at his watch, losing control of his case as it bounced along the floor. "Ah, sorry... let me just..." He made to reach for it, but the sweet girl beat him to it, resting the item gently on his legs. "Thank you, as I was saying. I have a meeting with Ms Wesley right now but the lifts are down and I can't use stairs." The hitter chuckled to himself, acting as if it was his usual comedy routine, but the girl just looked horrified.
"Oh, of course... No, I'll call Ms Wesley right away and have her meet you down here." She stumbled, reaching over to the phone and dialling with great economy. It seemed Nate's plan was working just as they expected.
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Twelve minutes later, a very polished woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, wearing way too much makeup and flashing designer brands, came strolling down the stairs. She flashed Eliot a smile, trying to hide the fact that if she hadn't needed the good press, she would have cancelled this meeting as soon as she was called downstairs. It was all that bitch Carla's fault. Ms Wesley's personal assistant had gone to the papers claiming stolen work ideas and unfair dismissal. They'd managed to fight the claims using a team of cutthroat lawyers, but the court of public opinion was still out. That's why the board was making her do these interviews, telling her to be on her best behaviour or get voted out.
"Mr Daniels," she greeted, holding her hand out to the man who waited patiently. Eliot took the offered hand grasping it weakly despite his growing strength. Sometimes it was better to play the sub when working a con, marks often played along better if they felt they were running the show. In this case, they were hoping she would stay longer if things continued to go her way. "I'm sorry about the lift, I would have called and rescheduled had I known it would be an issue."
Eliot shook it off, following her lead as she guided him toward a meeting room. "Oh, no need to apologise, things like this do happen sometimes." Especially when a certain hacker decided he wants them to. "I'm sure down here will be fine."
She started to get comfy, pouring herself a drink but forgetting her guest completely. It was such behaviour that'd given Ms Wesley a bad reputation among her staff, many claiming that 'her' work was actually theirs. People like her really pissed the hitter off, if there was one thing he learnt in the army, it was how to lead. She wasn't a leader, she was a thief... and not the good kind.
"Remember Eliot," Sophie's voice chimed through the coms. "You need to keep her with you. Make sure the questions are easy, nothing that may make her look bad if she doesn't know the answer. Give her lots of praise, and keep the subjects light."
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About ten minutes into the interview, things were still going well for the hitter.
"I'm really impressed. It's not often we see CEOs taking such an active role in the day-to-day business of a company. How do you find the time?" He smiled at her, fumbling with his tablet slightly as he made fake notes. He didn't understand why Hardison insisted he use it, except maybe to make him look even more inept as his large fingers struggled with the touch screen keyboard. He much preferred a good old pen and paper any day of the week.
"It's a talent I guess," Ms Wesley replied nervously, the fear that she may be caught out bubbling under the surface. "Talking about busy schedules, I must get back to mine." She stood up abruptly, a hand pointing out the exit letting Eliot know they were done. "It was a pleasure to meet you and I can't wait to read your article."
"Eliot hold her, Hardison and Parker aren't done yet." Nate's panicked voice echoed inside his head. He wasn't sure what to do, and Sophie wasn't making any helpful suggestions.
Think, damnit think! I need a way to keep her just long enough for the others to get out.
Suddenly, a sharp groan stopped all movement. It came from the man in the chair who was now holding his head in a tell-tale way.
"Mr Daniels, are you alright?"
His forehead was wracked with lines, his eyes scrunching closed as if the room's light was physically burning them. He was breathing through gritted teeth, quite clearly in a lot of pain.
"I'll be fine... It's ju-just a migraine... I-I get them sometimes, since the accident." He was still clutching his head with one hand, while the other reached into his pocket, scrambling for a bottle of pills. "I just n-need these pills, then I-I'll be good to go."
"El, are you ok? Do you need me to pull you out?" Nate continued down the coms.
"Do you need me to get you anything?" Ms Wesley spoke over the mastermind, her hand resting gently on the hitter's back.
"A glass of water... p-please."
It didn't take long for her to pour him a drink, but it brought just enough time for the others to finish their mission and get out of there undetected. After saying his goodbyes to Ms Wesley and the kind receptionist, Eliot wheeled himself across the street and over to where Lucile was waiting for him.
Nate swung the door open, launching himself out of the van and landing right in front of the hitter.
"Eliot are you ok? Did you take your meds this morning? Do you feel like you're going to have an episode?" The question came too quick to answer, as Eliot just sat there completely dumbfounded.
"What are you... That wasn't real Nate, I was just buying them two some time. I'm fine I promise." He pushed the hands that were holding him off his arms, moving around the mastermind so he could get into the front seat.
"That was an act?" Sophie asked, rather impressed by the other man's performance.
"Yeah well," he shrugged, uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting. "You always tell us to use our own experiences to better our performance." The implications of the statement were not lost on the team as they shuffled into the van.
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Journal entry – November 8th
Today was good.
I got the job done and protected my team... sort of.
I should feel good about it, proud of my accomplishments, I would if it were anyone else.
I remember this one guy back in the army. We'd been paired up doing checks on abandoned vehicles looking for explosives and disarming them. It was standard stuff, but that didn't make it any less dangerous. One wrong move could have us blown into many different pieces, scattered across a lonely dirt road, probably not enough left to identify the remains. Luckily for me, my guy was good... no, great at his job. The best damn bomb specialist in our regiment. It was a shock when, one day whilst off duty, his car got flipped onto its roof, his broken body crushed into the steering wheel. The doctors said he would never walk again thanks to a fracture in his spine.
But that never stopped him?
A year after his accident, I was invited to be a groomsman at his wedding. He met his new wife during physio, flirted with her whilst doing sit-ups and bench curls. He never was that shy. I didn't go to the wedding, too busy doing very classified things for our government that they (to this day) swear never happened. I did, however, check up on him a couple of months after, saw him working on an old jeep at the mechanic's shop he worked at. I was so proud of him, the way he moved forward no matter how small the victory was.
That's how you're supposed to feel. With injuries like his and mine, you're supposed to be proud of the little accomplishments, because for you they're pretty big.
But I don't.
My head just tells me, in that condescending voice that is way too familiar, that I should be doing more. Anything I do is not enough, will never be enough to pay for my mistakes.
Why do I feel like this?
Is this what the doctor meant?
The thing that I needed to learn about myself so I can heal. Because if it is, then I have no clue how I'm supposed to fix it. I don't think I can be fixed.