She took a paper clip from Reynolds’s tabletop, straightened the outer prong, and inserted the rounded center into the lock. She jiggled the clip for a few seconds. Ben heard a tiny clicking noise. Christina withdrew the paper clip and the drawer popped open.
“Not really designed to hold state secrets,” she said.
“Lucky for us.” Ben examined the top row of files. “True to the man’s word, here’s what we’re looking for.” He pulled three thick files out of the drawer, then closed it.
Ben perused the files for a few moments. “These are exactly what we need. They explain how much money Lombardi got from ADC, with names, dates, and places. Have you got that copier?”
“You bet.” Christina withdrew a black hand-size device from inside her jacket.
“That’s a copier?”
“The crème de la crème. It can scan four by eight inches at a time, and it’s very quiet.”
“What did that set you back?”
“Only twenty bucks. I got it from Burris. Secondhand.”
“At least.” Ben handed her the documents. Christina turned on her machine. There was a soft purring noise, then a red light flashed.
“Watch this.” She pulled the scanner down the first column of the top document, then pressed a button. A printed strip of paper emerged from the back of the scanner, but after a second or two, the paper became tangled and snarled. The paper backed up, clogging the machine. The scanner began to vibrate, then emitted a high-pitched squealing noise.
“Shut it off!” Ben said. Christina pressed the power button. The squealing gradually subsided.
Ben sighed. “So much for the crème de la crème. Get your money back.”
“Can’t. Burris doesn’t give guarantees.”
“With good reason. Where’s the firm’s copy machine?”
Christina led the way. At the end of the hall, they turned left into the central supply room. A large wall-to-wall window admitted faint illumination into the room. Ben saw paper cutters, typing paper, printers, a computer terminal, and in one corner, wedged between a tiny supply closet and the wall, a large photocopier.
“Stay away from the window,” Ben whispered. “We don’t want to be seen from the street.” He scrutinized the front panel of the copier. “I can’t tell which button turns this machine on. Have you still got that flashlight?”
“Yeah.” Christina withdrew a small plastic flashlight. A weak beam shone across the room for a few seconds, flickered, then died.
“D’you get that from Burris, too?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Just a lucky guess. Next time, Christina, you might try testing these things first. Or better yet, shop at Wal-Mart.”
“Easy to say in hindsight.”
“Help me pull this monster into the light.” Ben gripped the photocopier. Although the machine was on wheels, it was extremely heavy. After a few moments, it began to budge. Ben and Christina wheeled it out of its niche beside the closet into the faint light.
Ben squinted at the control panel. There were at least a hundred buttons, in different sizes and shapes, some red, some green, some labeled, some not. He didn’t know where to begin.
“Allow a bona fide document handler to assist,” Christina said, pushing him aside. She punched a large green button. The lights came on and a low humming sound emerged. It was alive.
“Look at all these buttons,” Ben exclaimed. “This machine collates, staples, enlarges, reduces, copies on both sides, and copies in color.”
Christina frowned. “Boys and their toys. Stop drooling and get to work.”
Half an hour later, the documents were almost copied. Ben nudged Christina’s shoulder.
“Did you hear something?”
“Oh, please don’t start that again.”
“I’m serious. Listen.”
Christina listened. After a few seconds, they both heard it. The sound of footsteps. And voices. Coming closer.
“Is it the guard from downstairs?”
Ben shook his head no. “Maybe an employee, maybe a real cop, or—it could be Reynolds! Quick, hide!” Ben grabbed the documents, originals and copies, and ran into the supply closet behind the copier. Christina followed.
They closed the door quietly. The closet was pitchblack. There was barely enough room for its top-to-bottom supply shelves, much less two adult bodies. They crouched down and listened.
“I could’ve sworn I heard something, Joe,” said a voice on the other side of the door.
“You’re losing your mind,” a second voice growled. “This Reynolds clown is never here after five-fifteen, much less this late.”
“Which is all the more reason we should check it out. Oooof!”
Ben heard a sharp grunt followed by mild swearing, then the sound of something clattering to the floor. Ben saw the beam of a flashlight, one that worked, crisscross the room.
“Look at this,” the first voice said. “The goddamn Xerox machine is in the middle of the room. I could’ve killed myself.”
“That would be embarrassing,” his companion said. “Imagine the obituary. Frank Kellerman, security guard. Killed by a Xerox machine.”
“Don’t be a jerk. Help me push this back against the wall.”
Ben and Christina held their breath and tried to be as quiet as possible. Two seconds later, Ben felt something bang against the closet door.
“Much better,” the first voice said. “Jesus, isn’t that just like an attorney to turn his office into a goddamn deathtrap? Probably hoping for a slip-and-fall case.”
“Sure, Frank. Now, if you’re done redecorating the supply room, let’s find this intruder of yours.”
Ben listened as the footsteps receded.
“Think they’ll talk to the guard downstairs?” Christina whispered.
“Possibly. And he’ll tell them we’re supposed to be here, and those clowns’ll assume we left by the back door and they just missed us. We’re okay.” Ben released a sigh of relief and tried to open the closet door.
It wouldn’t budge.
“I may have spoken prematurely.”
“That’s not funny, Ben.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” He pressed against the door again; it wouldn’t open, not even a crack. He leaned forward and pressed his shoulder, with all his weight behind it, against the door. He felt a slight give, then the door slipped back into its groove.
“Ohmigod,” Christina said. “They pushed the copy machine back against the closet door, didn’t they?”
“Kind of looks that way.” Ben twisted the doorknob both directions, without results. “What’s more, I think the top of the machine is wedged under the doorknob. Even though it’s on wheels, it’s holding tight. We’re stuck.”
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” Christina said. “What are we going to do?”
“Not a hell of a lot, I think, since we can barely move.”
“What will we do in the morning when everyone comes in and finds us trapped in the closet?”
“I suppose we’ll find that out when it happens.”
“Isn’t there something you can do?”
“Like what? I left my acetylene blowtorch at home, Christina. Ditto on the sonic screwdriver. You might as well try to get comfortable.” He fell back against the side wall, stretching his legs out as much as possible, which wasn’t much.
He heard a muffled sputter from the darkness on the other side of the closet. “Ben, are those your feet?”
“Yeah. Why, do they, smell?”
“Not really. But I still don’t want them in my mouth.”
“Sorry.” He folded his legs back into the cannonball position. “Know any good jokes?”
“Sorry. Haven’t been in much of a joking mood lately.”