Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me
Beta: Thank you Mitchy and BrownBetty for the beta
Notes: Thank you so much for the encouraging comments! I'm glad to know it's working.

+Hefeweizen, StrangeLittleSwirl & anon: Thank you, I'm glad you're finding the fic enjoyable!
+SmileThough: Ariadne is a thief :)
+ESP: I'm pretty sure if I could introduce a concept as fascinating as the DreamScape, I would actually be Chris Nolan, but failing that I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic anyway - that's pretty much its only point *g*
+inconstant heart: You're absolutely right - it's Inception characters from the movie in a Leverage-ey verse, you don't really need to know anything about Leverage. And thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the other fic too :)
+Titan of Saturn: I hope you enjoy this one too!

A week later, Cobb sipped his coffee, triple-checked the time on the plastic, nicotine-stained clock on the wall and said, "Eames?"

Still nothing.

He gritted his teeth and told himself that he was irritated, not concerned. He waited a few seconds and tried again. "Eames, answer me - where the hell are you?"

There was a burst of static; Eames' voice came through on the tail of it. "- Here, I'm here."

"You realise that the buds only work if you actually wear them?" Yusuf said, tapping at his keyboard. "Do you need me to explain their use again? Step one: place earbud in ear. Step two: stop poking it."

Over Yusuf's shoulder, Cobb watched as lines of numbers began to scroll hypnotically back and forth across the laptop's screen. He blinked rapidly and looked away. "Or at least remember your check-in time," he added, catching up.

"Forgive me and my unreasonable desire for a few seconds of privacy," Eames muttered. "Don't think I don't know you're recording everything, Yusuf."

"I have no interest in recording your conversations," Yusuf denied quickly, if not particularly convincingly. "Although Jasmine from Accounts is right – Elliott Yamin was robbed."

Eames made a small, pained sound. "So I'm led to believe. And something about Michael C. being the Devil. I'm not this person, Cobb."

"You're anyone you want to be, Eames, " Cobb pointed out mildly. "That's why you're the best. That's what the notes you left your marks said, anyway."

"Allegedly. Look, I don't do water cooler chitchat and whoever invented filing was a raving sadist. I have paper cuts in places you don't want to know about. And these ridiculous costumes!"

"They're called suits," Arthur cut in helpfully. He sounded oddly winded and his background score was a screeching of car tires and loud, scattered cracks.

Cobb looked askance at Yusuf, who widened his eyes and tapped his keyboard again. The scrolling numbers were replaced with a primary colored city map; five green lights pulsed serenely across it. Yusuf pointed at one of them and murmured, "He's near the Bay."

"No, what you wear are suits," Eames groused, still caught in his nine-to-five horror story. "I'm not sure there's a word for what I'm wearing."

"That's not actually new, Eames," Arthur murmured – whispered, really. "You should have stayed in the army, at least they have some dress sense."

Eames snorted. "Clearly you've never seen-"

Cobb cut across quickly. "Arthur, what are you doing?"

"Waiting," Arthur breathed, almost sub-vocally.

Cobb looked at Yusuf, who shrugged and shook his head.

Apparently the little green lights were only helpful to a point.

"For what?" Cobb asked uneasily, and felt himself pre-emptively wincing. There was a fast series of sounds; he replayed them in his head until several thuds, a short, sharp cry and a loud crack made sense.

"For that," Arthur said at normal volume a few seconds later. There was an extended sound of exertion, punctuated by a loud splash. "Someone didn't like my questions."

"Maybe if you hadn't just thrown the guy in the Bay, you could have asked him who," Ariadne pointed out. She sounded a little tinny. Cobb wasn't precisely sure where she was, other than somewhere in the business district, but he thought he could hear the sound of rushing wind.

"We'd moved beyond talking," Arthur said, "but I'll tell you this for free: if it's Vaultech, they're outsourcing their muscle. These guys were probably South African."

"What do you mean, 'probably?'" said Cobb.

"Wait, 'guys?'" said Ariadne.

"Did you say South African?" said Eames.

"Were?" said Yusuf.

-o-

Three hours later, Eames entered the warehouse with a box of Thai take out and a faintly smug smile that Cobb couldn't quite parse. Keeping up a running litany of ingredients, Eames began distributing the cartons; Cobb tuned out after 'tentacles'.

Arthur appeared a few minutes later with a blood-pocked rucksack and a carefully neutral expression. He was missing his vest and tie and his hair was damp, wavy without the pomade; there was a smear of dirt on his neck he'd missed during cleanup.

Cobb tried not to stare. Ariadne wasn't quite so polite, she grinned widely. "You're not wearing a tie. You hippie."

Arthur's smile was fleeting, but amused. "Save the whales, man."

Yusuf shivered. "That's just wrong."

"And so is this." Arthur upended his bag over the middle of the table.

Ariadne jerked back as a grenade spun her way. When it failed to explode, she pushed it gingerly back to the pile. "Warning next time." Her hand hesitated over some loose ammo; she picked up one of the bullets and rolled it between her fingers. "Is this a hollow point?"

Arthur glanced over and then nodded. "Rangers - T series."

Ariadne made a disgusted sound, dropped the bullet back with the others, and then rescued her carton of soup from the bottom of the box.

"Black Talon?" Eames whistled softly. "Nasty little buggers, I thought they were illegal. If they aren't, they should be." He was still wearing his cheap suit, but the jacket had been thrown unceremoniously on the floor and the tie was pulled loose from its knot; he undid another button at his collar.

Somewhat comfortable again, Eames reached across and picked up a wickedly sharp-looking survival knife. He held the handle delicately between two fingers and looked thoughtful. "Exactly what questions have you been asking these people, Arthur?"

Arthur dropped into his chair and picked up his chopsticks. "This wasn't what I'd call a proportional response, if that's what you mean."

"Fischer Morrow has significant South African holdings," Yusuf volunteered. "Of course, they have significant holdings almost everywhere."

"So does Vaultech, that doesn't really tell us anything." Ariadne looked over at Arthur. "Why did you say probably South African?"

"They were speaking Afrikaans, but I don't know if their accents were genuine." He dug through his Pad Thai. "I've played 'vaguely European' once too often to assume anything."

Cobb wondered if that might be overly paranoid, but guessed not when the other three nodded with complete understanding. He knew their world well enough to do the job and do the job well, but he wasn't a part of it. And didn't want to be, he reminded himself.

Dinner still untouched at his elbow, he laced his fingers to a steeple and stared over them to the pile of ordnance. Grenades, blocks of Semtex with detonators already embedded, DetCord and a few piece of electronic equipment he couldn't identify. "Don't take this the wrong way, Arthur," he said at last, "but I don't think this was for you."

Arthur methodically finished chewing his mouthful, swallowed and then nodded. "Agreed."

"So, what?" Eames looked around the table. "They were off to conquer a small nation and thought they'd stop for a quick spot of assassination en-route?"

Yusuf ran a clinical eye over the pile and then pecked one-fingered at his keyboard. "There was nothing else?"

Arthur shook his head. "No ID, no cell phones. Nothing. They were military trained, though."

Eames smirked. "But not particularly well, apparently."

"I had no complaints," Arthur said dryly. "Thanks."

Eames waved a hand. "I mean, both companies can afford better than Recce wash outs. Fischer Morrow could afford me. And you, I suppose," he added as an afterthought.

"A second-tier operation with ambition, running out of South Africa." Arthur glanced at Yusuf, who nodded.

"Cobol," the hacker said darkly.

Eames looked between them. "Never heard of them."

Ariadne spoke around a mouthful of dumpling. "Me either."

"I have," Cobb said. "Next-gen weapons tech, dirty as hell, but they're not really international players – not yet."

"But they try much, much harder," Yusuf said quietly, expression still shadowed.

It didn't look like he was going to be more forthcoming and Cobb wasn't inclined to push him. "Get me a brief on them," he said instead. "Look into their accounts."

When Yusuf nodded, Cobb moved on. "Arthur, were they definitely trying to kill you? The attack couldn't have been about warning you off, or making sure you heard them speak?"

Arthur opened his mouth and then shut it again. After a moment, he managed to edit his reply down to a raised eyebrow and nod.

"They'd have no way to know about the ear bud, so they didn't know anyone was listening in - the accents weren't for anyone's benefit, it probably wasn't a set up." Cobb swung around. "Eames, what have you got?"

Eames hesitated very briefly and then began to give a succinct report, without any of his usual flair. "Fischer Morrow recently lost quite a large account with a South African company, which is interesting, given the givens. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get the specifics – the lovely Jasmine cornered me before I could investigate, but it seems a tad coincidental.

"Something's up with upper management and wild rumours abound – middle management is very nervous and it's filtering down the chain. I haven't heard anything solid, but apparently the old man's taken ill. Robert Fischer's name has certainly been appearing on a lot of internal memos.

"I need a couple more days to work myself into a position to find out more, unless Yusuf's toys can help me take a few short cuts.

"As for Vaultech." Eames grimaced a little and shook his head. "Not a great deal there, to be honest - no one's wandering around laughing maniacally. But here's an interesting little titbit that our Ariadne may be interested in." He leaned toward her and lowered his voice temptingly. "Seven floors, third floor – sorry, American, fourth floor – there's a room in the very center of the building. No windows, one very, very locked door."

Ariadne leaned down to the bag at her feet and withdrew an architect tube; Cobb tried not to notice the security stamps emblazoned across it. She emptied the rolled up blueprints onto the table before her and then swept empty cartons away as she spread it out; she borrowed Cobb's coffee mug to hold the far corner.

One finger traced across the plans, then she looked at him. "According to this it's just a storage area."

Eames nodded and grinned. "So I was told, but biometric security seems a bit excessive for a few biros."

She pursed her lips and then frowned pensively; she reached into her bag again and this time came back with a highlighter pen. "Okay, this is pretty weird. There are cameras here, here and here." The marker moved deftly to cross the spots in neon pink. "But there's a blind spot," she tapped the paper. "The door into your mystery room.

"I looked at the first couple of floors earlier, there's no blind spots anywhere else - this was deliberate."

Yusuf peered over her shoulder and then sat back. "I can't explain the security issues, but is there any kind of noise - a hum, perhaps? Or vibrations?"

Eames thought about it and then nodded. "There's an electric sort of hum sometimes."

"Some companies keep their high security servers in small, climate controlled rooms much like this. And the plans do show an unusually large network of power cables." Yusuf perked up at the prospect of interesting new technology he hadn't hacked. "Does anyone ever go in or out?"

"Not that I've seen, but I'm not really in a position to say – you stand around waving a duster too long and people start to notice. Besides, no one else tends to be there at night."

Ariadne gave a startled laugh. "You're a janitor?"

"I have access, I'm invisible and I can carry around practically anything without being asked awkward questions." Eames nodded. "Yes, absolutely - best job in the world.

"And as an added bonus, I don't have to file anything. We prefer 'Custodial Services', though." He looked at his watch. "My shift starts in an hour – do you want to tag along, take a look at the mystery room?"

Ariadne wavered. "Depends - do you have a floor waxer?"

"I do."

"I'm so there." She stood and reached for her bag.

Cobb resisted his first instinct: to insist they looked a little more before they leapt. Ariadne and Eames were going to leap whatever his objections and they both knew what they were doing; he skipped to damage control. "Arthur, go with them. Yusuf, get into the building security – I want to be in control of whatever you can get. Lights too."

Ariadne looked amused. "You don't trust us?"

"Someone tried to have Arthur killed," Cobb pointed out, not sure which word to emphasise and stressing them all to be sure.

Ariadne looked mystified, Eames nodded sadly. "A lot of people do – no learning curve whatsoever, bit tragic really."

Cobb stared at them. They stared back. In the midst of mutual incomprehension, Arthur finished his Pad Thai and reached for his jacket.

"Okay," Cobb said finally. "We don't know how much they know, so we're playing safe. Humour me."

"Fine." Eames held up his hands. "I take it you and Yusuf will be on nanny-cam?"

Cobb waved them towards the door. "Go to work."

-o-

Eames hummed under his breath as he walked the low-lit corridor, pushing the cleaning cart before him. He gave a pleasant smile to the patrolling floor security guard, the guard nodded back. He was new; Eames made a mental note to have a look through the man's file on the way out.

At the bank of elevators, Eames pushed the cart inside the first that opened and stepped in after it. Carelessly, he allowed the mop head to fall in front of the tiny camera in the panel of buttons.

When the elevator began to move he said, "All right, you're clear."

Arthur awkwardly rolled out of the bottom of the cart and stood with a grimace. He rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck. "Next time, I get the roof."

Not quite able to help himself, Eames reached out and straightened the crooked collar. "You'll be lucky." He stepped back, linked his hands together and braced. "Up you go, then."

Arthur stepped up and quickly opened the access panel above. A moment later, Ariadne dropped down and landed neatly between them. She wore black Lycra pants and a hoodie, with soft-sole sneakers to finish. Firmly strapped to her back was a small, but full-looking pack. It was considerably more minimal than most of the other thieves Eames had worked with; he'd mentioned that once when they'd first worked together and never again.

He grinned. "A two from the tricky Romanian judge. Are we clear, Cobb?"

"Yusuf's looped the cameras in this elevator and on the main section of the fourth floor," Cobb relayed. "He hasn't cleared the offices yet, and there's still the patrol. Avoid them if you can, but we can squelch their radios if we have to."

A few seconds after they emerged from the elevator, Ariadne stopped and looked down with a small frown. "Wait," she instructed, then crouched and laid her palm flat on the floor. Her lips moved as she counted and then she looked up. "There's a pulse every three seconds."

Eames laid his hand against the wall. "Nothing here."

"It's unlikely to be a generator," Yusuf said over comms. "And I don't know any sensors with that kind of signature – it would be counter-intuitive at best. I'm running another system profile."

The main expanse of the floor was mostly open plan, with a row of glass-walled offices at the far end. Desks were arranged in groups of four, with just enough by way of personal touches not to be entirely sterile. Eames absently righted a picture frame as he passed a desk almost overflowing with manila folders.

In the very center of the room, just as Eames had described, was the mystery room. It was about ten feet across and if it hadn't been for the plastic, plain white door on its far side, it could have been a purely structural feature – maybe even decorative.

Ariadne moved closer to study the door intently. There was no handle or lock and its edges disappeared into the frame seamlessly – an airtight seal. She touched it with one gloved hand and then pulled back sharply, as if burned. "It's vibrating. It's warm."

Eames frowned. "It wasn't yesterday, that humming noise has gone too."

Ariadne made a vague sound, now entirely absorbed with the fingerprint and retina scanners on the wall next to the door.

Arthur touched Eames' shoulder to get his attention and then spoke quietly. "I'm going to take a look around."

Eames nodded slowly – something was definitely off. "Be back soon, you know how Cobb frets."

"Cobb can hear you," Cobb reminded them. "Arthur, can you try and find the guards? They should be patrolling, but Yusuf can't pick them up on the monitors. Their radios are still at their desks, they aren't."

"Maybe it's an elevator," Ariadne said. "Or a really, really big vacuum tube."

Eames turned back to her. "If it is, it only goes up. The floors below are entirely open plan and whatever's above us doesn't need mopping – I haven't managed to work my way up there yet."

"I'm disappointed, Mr. Eames," Arthur said as he slipped back out into the corridor.

Eames laughed under his breath. "You and my sainted mother. So what's the professional opinion, Ariadne?"

Ariadne held a small flash light over the print scanner and moved her head slowly from side to side. She clicked the light off and stepped back decisively. "It's a dummy. There's no oil on the print scanner, there should be some smudging. And there's a scratch on the retina scanner – It's useless. Take a look."

He looked as directed and finally, squinting like he was trying to see a magic picture, just about made the fissure out. He moved back again. "Someone stuck a generator in a box and thought a fake door would make a nice decorative touch?"

Ariadne shook her head. "Not exactly: the door isn't fake, but it's not opened by the scanners. I'm guessing they're secondary security – attempting to use them at all probably sets off an alarm."

She pressed her hand to the white door again. "Maybe it reads biorhythms. I've never seen anything like it."

"You can't get in?" Cobb asked.

She blinked, a tiny crease of a frown between her eyebrows. "Of course I can get in, it just won't be elegant. If you can't go through a door one way or another, you go through the wall, floor or ceiling."

"We'll call that plan B," Cobb said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"We have a problem," Arthur said, with no smile in his voice at all.

"Oh good." Eames reached into his cart and pulled a semi-automatic out from under a pile of black liners. "I was starting to worry nothing would go wrong."

"What's happening?" Cobb asked, back on alert.

Arthur crouched behind the security desk and pressed two fingers against a guard's neck. "I found the guards, they're both dead."

Eames swore under his breath.

"That's not the problem," Arthur went on flatly. "The problem is, they're still warm."