The Assassin Drone, Part 3
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Peter Blaze, the president of Tarla Industries, stared down at the mangled mess of metal and other components that Lucas had spread out on his desk. He picked up several pieces and studied them closely, then finally said, "Our Death Star!"
"Yours? How can you tell?" Tim asked.
Mr Blaze showed them something that obviously made perfect sense to him, but which neither Lucas nor Tim could see. "I'd recognize that work anywhere."
"What kind of drone was it?" Lucas asked.
"It's one of our latest prototypes," Mr Blaze said. "An assassination drone. One of our engineers made it look like the Death Star, just for fun, but the final product would be almost as deadly. For people, that is, not for planets."
"What?" Tim exclaimed.
"Oh, yes. It's small, but designed to carry a camera and a laser. Once the target has been identified, we can shoot from up to fifteen meters," Mr Blaze said.
Tim goggled at the man. Lucas was surprised, but tried not to show it as he asked, "This was a prototype, though, and not being used in any official capacity? You hadn't already handed it over for official use?"
"No," Mr Blaze said. "It wasn’t finished – this design needed some modifications, and I think the final version was going to look like a Mylar balloon. And none of the prototypes should have left the building. I don't know how this one got out, but I'm going to order an internal investigation. Our security should have been tight enough to prevent that."
"Who knew about it?" Lucas asked.
"Theoretically, anybody in the company could have been spying," Mr Blaze said. He looked dismayed at the thought.
"Could you narrow it down a bit? Who was actually working on this? Who designed it, who knew what it was capable of?"
"We've got a team of three engineers for these particular contracts." Mr Blaze smiled a little at the term. "Jeremy Owusu, Olivia Stephens, and George Kumar. They've always been our best, and we keep them sequestered up on the third floor of the north wing. Do you want to talk to them?"
"Yes," Lucas said.
"My PA will show you the way."
Lucas noted that the PA used a key card in the lift to take them one floor up. They stopped first at Jeremy Owusu's office, but the door was shut and knocking produced no answer. The office of Olivia Stephens, however, was just down the corridor, and the PA gestured at the open door, then walked away. Lucas peered in, and saw Olivia sitting at her desk, staring at her computer screen, From what Lucas could see, it appeared she was avidly watching some science fiction movie such as Star Wars, but then she put her hand to her cheek as though wiping away a tear. A moment later, the picture disappeared, and programming language took its place.
Lucas knocked, and Olivia looked up, blinking. Yes, Lucas thought, she had been crying. Her eyes were red and another tear was running down her cheek already. She wiped it away and tried to act casual.
"Hi, I'm Simon Houlte, this is Chris Barlow, we're from the government," Lucas said, smiling and coming in. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Right," Olivia said, running her finger across her cheek and forcing a smile. "Sorry. Hayfever. Is this about a new design?"
She sounded desperate somehow, Lucas thought, and said, "No it's about an old one, actually."
He'd brought the wreckage along, and now he spread it out on top of her desk, hitting a picture frame as he did so. It was a young boy, a fact which Lucas noted for later before turning his attention back to Olivia. "Do you recognize this?"
"Good heavens," Olivia murmured, running her fingers through the pieces. "Our Death Star! What happened to it?"
"It was used to blow up a bus here in London just after midnight," Tim said, and Olivia stared at him in horror, her mouth literally hanging open. When she could speak again, she squeaked, "A bus!"
"You didn't hear about it?" Tim went on. Olivia shook her head. "I don't catch the news much. Oh, no, this is terrible! Was anybody killed?"
"Six people," Lucas told her. Olivia put her hand to her mouth, looking from Lucas to Tim and back again. "Oh, no. Oh, no!"
"Did you help build this?" Tim asked, leaning forward to put his hand comfortingly on Olivia's arm. Olivia nodded mutely.
"So you must have known it would be used for assassination," Tim went on.
"Yes, but for people like Osama bin Laden!" Olivia exclaimed. "Not for buses here in London. Oh!"
Another wave of horror washed over her face, and she glanced from Tim to Lucas. "Do you happen to know if Jeremy Owusu was on that bus?"
"Why do you ask?" Lucas queried, watching Olivia closely.
"He hasn't come in to work to-day," she said. "And—and he hasn't called."
As excuses went, it sounded weak, but Lucas let it go, noting it for later.
"Not all of the victims have been identified," Tim said. "Do you know if he usually rode the number 24 on Grosvenor Street?"
Olivia shook her head in true bewilderment. "Grosvenor Street? Why would he? He lives out here in Acton, like I do, he hardly ever goes into the city."
"So why did you ask?" Tim asked.
"Because I didn't know where the bus had blown up,” Olivia said. "I'm sorry. I was just being stupid."
But she didn't look stupid, Lucas thought. She looked scared. He decided to change the subject. "So you built this?"
"I helped design it,” Olivia said. "It was my idea to make it look like the Death Star."
"Mr Blaze said it wasn't finished?"
"No. We're still trying to perfect the design."
"Do you have any idea how someone might have smuggled it out of the building?"
Olivia shook her head and whispered, "Security is so tight here … We need our cards to do everything, even move from one floor to the next." Lucas noticed that her eyes went to the photo of the young boy.
"Ms Stephens," he said, leaning closer. "Think back to the last month or six weeks. Has anyone expressed any special interest in your work? Wanted to know details of what you did?"
She shook her head without taking time to consider. "No. Nobody. I hardly talk to anybody outside of work, just Owen, really. There's not much time for anything else."
"Owen?" Tim asked.
"My son." Olivia looked at the photo again. "He's nine."
Lucas knew from others that there was usually an element of pride in parents' voices when they talked about their children, but in Olivia's voice, only worry was audible. Another thing to note for later.
"Thanks for your time," Lucas said, standing up. "Can you take us to George Kumar's office, please?”
George Kumar had seen the news and knew about the bus, but seemed genuinely shocked to find out that one of Tarla's drones had been involved. He, too, was surprised that Jeremy Owusu had not come in, but he didn't jump to any conclusions about him being dead in the explosion, not did he have any ideas of how the drone had been smuggled out of Tarla. One thing he did mention, however, was that whoever had flown the drone had not only known what they were doing, but they also had the right software and perhaps even the right kind of experience to control it.
"This is not a video game," George told them. "It is not as easy as twiddling a joystick. In fact, there is no joystick. You need both hands on the keyboard to control this drone."
Lucas and Tim drove back to Thames House with that piece of important information and their other first impressions.
xxxxx
After the government agents had gone, Olivia sat at her desk and took deep breaths, trying not to cry. What had she got herself mixed up in? The Death Star was meant for use in foreign countries, not here at home! And Jeremy hadn't come in to work – the men had been right. He was dead. He'd done something wrong and they had killed him. Owen would be next, and then her, if she did anything wrong. Somehow, she had to get them what they wanted.
She went down the corridor and into the workshop. As she stood staring at the jumble of parts on the workbench, George Kumar came in.
"Have they spoken to you yet? The people from the government?" When Olivia nodded, George went on. "How are you doing?"
Olivia made a helpless gesture with her hands. "I can't believe somebody used our Death Star to kill innocent people!"
"Are you crying about it?” he asked. "Those people who came along, from the government, they wanted to know if you've always suffered from hayfever."
"Yeah," Olivia lied. "Yeah, I'm crying about it. This isn't how it's supposed to be. When I helped design the Death Star, I was thinking of Osama bin Laden and other members of Al Qaeda, not innocent people on a bus in the middle of London!"
"It is bitter," George said. "Of course, you never know. Maybe there was a member of Al Qaeda here in London, and they were trying to get him, but they missed."
"If somebody official was using this thing, they wouldn't have sent agents around here to ask what it was and who built it," Olivia snapped.
"True," George agreed. "So that means it wasn't somebody official."
"But if it wasn't somebody official, then how did they get their hands on it?" Olivia asked. "I mean, who knew about it besides us, Jeremy, and Mr Blaze?"
"Speaking of Jeremy, have you heard anything from him?" George asked.
Olivia shook her head. "No, have you?"
"No.” George shrugged, then said, "And to think I considered taking the day off to-day, too. I would have missed all the excitement. Or perhaps not. Can you imagine MI-5 knocking on my door and catching me in front of the telly after I had called in at work saying I had symptoms of death?"
That was his usual excuse whenever he felt the need to stay home, but to-day, Olivia gave him a hard look. "That’s not funny."
"No, you are right. Well, if I am going to stay home anytime soon, I will have to think of a new excuse. Water on the brain? Sprained my dignity and can't get up?"
Olivia sighed. George took the hint. "Right, then, let us see what we can do about making our Death Star bigger, better, newer and more improved, and able to do not only the washing up, but also the hoovering."
"I'd settle for getting it to change channels on the telly," Olivia murmured.
They switched from gossip to technical jargon then, but as they spoke, Olivia found herself missing Jeremy already. There was a different feel to the discussion without him. She tried to remember if he'd ever not been there, and couldn't. Eventually, both of them sensing the strangeness, she and George broke off the discussion and went back to their offices to work separately. There, Olivia was free to let her mind roam to the other problem she was grappling with. How had Jeremy managed to get the drone out of Tarla? As she’d told those men, he hadn't just walked out with it under his arm. Had Jeremy flown it? They often did outside tests with the drone, up on the roof, but the only person with a card authorized to open the roof door was Mr Blaze himself. None of the windows in the building opened at all, except for those in the loo.
The loos. There were windows in there, high up on the outside wall, just big enough to let a little light in, and enough air to keep the room fresh. They only opened at the top, and the Death Star itself wouldn’t fit through the gap. If she broke it down into its component parts, Olivia thought, she could squeeze them through. But then what? Throw everything out and let it land on the pavement three stories below? That would certainly shatter the thrusters, the camera, and the laser, and even if she packed everything in padded bags, they'd still be inside the security fence when they hit the ground.
Padded bags. Flying drones. She let the ideas run around in the back of her mind, even when the security agents came to do their internal investigation of how the Death Star had managed to get out of the building. Close to lunchtime, the solution came to her in a flash. She could hang a padded bag of components outside the loo window and use a remote controlled helicoper from outside the security fence to pick it up. Assembling the pieces at home would not be a problem, as she often did that kind of thing in her bedroom workspace. She also happened to have a remote controlled helicopter at home, too, which she'd given Owen for Christmas. He'd only been mildly interested; she had actually played with it more than he had.
Now she just needed somewhere to hang the bag so that a remote controlled vehicle could pick it up … a long horizontal pole would be best. Olivia went into the loo, balanced herself on the toilet seat, and looked out of the window at the side of the building next to it. If she could get a drill without being noticed, she could drill a hole right there, and stick something in it, something thin, but strong, like the metal aerial of old-fashioned radios. It would have to be smooth at the end, no little bumps or anything else that would impede the handles of the bag from sliding right off once the vehicle caught them. Yes. It could work. And then she'd hand the drone over to those awful men and get Owen back.
Olivia went back to the workshop and hunted through the available parts until she'd found something similar to the aerial she'd envisioned, then checked the clock. Lunchtime. Hopefully, George had already gone down to the canteen. Sticking her head out the door to check that nobody was in the corridor, Olivia picked up a drill and carried it boldly to the loo. Security had come and gone, and she felt safe enough now. She wasn't tall enough to reach out of the open window, even by standing on the toilet, and had to go back to the workshop for a stepladder. It just barely fit in the cubicle, and she was able to snake one arm out through the opening, holding the drill tightly in her hand. It didn't take long to make the hole, but she couldn't help that it slanted slightly to one side. She pulled the drill back in, then reached for the metal pole and pushed it into the hole, careful not to drop it. It stuck out at about an eighty degree angle from the side of the building, but extended out a good forty five centimeters, which would give her just enough room to maneuver the helicopter. It would be even better if she equipped the helicopter with a similar pole in front, perhaps with a hook on it, to lift the handles of the bag and hold them in place. Yes, it was going to work. Feeling a sense of relief and a glimmer of hope that she might actually get Owen back, Olivia took the drill out of the loo.
Ahead of her, George strolled out of his office, no doubt having been working so hard he'd forgotten it was time to eat. He turned as soon as he saw her, making Olivia's heart sink, and looked at the tool in her hands. "Let me guess, you left your sandwiches out overnight and now they're so hard and stale you have to drill through them."
Olivia glanced down guiltily at the drill she was carrying, but tried to collect herself. "Yeah, something like that."
"May I suggest a saw instead?" he said.
"Or a laser?" Olivia asked. George did an exaggerated double take. "Could it be that you are finally developing a sense of humour, Olivia? You have worked with me for five years – I was starting to despair that it would ever happen!"
"It must be a fluke," Olivia said. "I won't be funny to-morrow, I'm sure."
To her great relief, George went away smiling, and Olivia continued on her way back to the workshop. She was trembling, almost shaking with fear and stress, when she put the drill away, and it took her a long moment to settle down enough to go back for the stepladder. This time, however, she checked to make sure that the corridor was clear before exiting the loo. Even though they usually had this part of the floor to themselves, messengers, PA's, and sometimes Mr Blaze himself showed up occasionally, not to mention the internal investigators, and Olivia was sweating with the stress by the time she'd replaced the ladder where it belonged.
Part 4
Peter Blaze, the president of Tarla Industries, stared down at the mangled mess of metal and other components that Lucas had spread out on his desk. He picked up several pieces and studied them closely, then finally said, "Our Death Star!"
"Yours? How can you tell?" Tim asked.
Mr Blaze showed them something that obviously made perfect sense to him, but which neither Lucas nor Tim could see. "I'd recognize that work anywhere."
"What kind of drone was it?" Lucas asked.
"It's one of our latest prototypes," Mr Blaze said. "An assassination drone. One of our engineers made it look like the Death Star, just for fun, but the final product would be almost as deadly. For people, that is, not for planets."
"What?" Tim exclaimed.
"Oh, yes. It's small, but designed to carry a camera and a laser. Once the target has been identified, we can shoot from up to fifteen meters," Mr Blaze said.
Tim goggled at the man. Lucas was surprised, but tried not to show it as he asked, "This was a prototype, though, and not being used in any official capacity? You hadn't already handed it over for official use?"
"No," Mr Blaze said. "It wasn’t finished – this design needed some modifications, and I think the final version was going to look like a Mylar balloon. And none of the prototypes should have left the building. I don't know how this one got out, but I'm going to order an internal investigation. Our security should have been tight enough to prevent that."
"Who knew about it?" Lucas asked.
"Theoretically, anybody in the company could have been spying," Mr Blaze said. He looked dismayed at the thought.
"Could you narrow it down a bit? Who was actually working on this? Who designed it, who knew what it was capable of?"
"We've got a team of three engineers for these particular contracts." Mr Blaze smiled a little at the term. "Jeremy Owusu, Olivia Stephens, and George Kumar. They've always been our best, and we keep them sequestered up on the third floor of the north wing. Do you want to talk to them?"
"Yes," Lucas said.
"My PA will show you the way."
Lucas noted that the PA used a key card in the lift to take them one floor up. They stopped first at Jeremy Owusu's office, but the door was shut and knocking produced no answer. The office of Olivia Stephens, however, was just down the corridor, and the PA gestured at the open door, then walked away. Lucas peered in, and saw Olivia sitting at her desk, staring at her computer screen, From what Lucas could see, it appeared she was avidly watching some science fiction movie such as Star Wars, but then she put her hand to her cheek as though wiping away a tear. A moment later, the picture disappeared, and programming language took its place.
Lucas knocked, and Olivia looked up, blinking. Yes, Lucas thought, she had been crying. Her eyes were red and another tear was running down her cheek already. She wiped it away and tried to act casual.
"Hi, I'm Simon Houlte, this is Chris Barlow, we're from the government," Lucas said, smiling and coming in. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Right," Olivia said, running her finger across her cheek and forcing a smile. "Sorry. Hayfever. Is this about a new design?"
She sounded desperate somehow, Lucas thought, and said, "No it's about an old one, actually."
He'd brought the wreckage along, and now he spread it out on top of her desk, hitting a picture frame as he did so. It was a young boy, a fact which Lucas noted for later before turning his attention back to Olivia. "Do you recognize this?"
"Good heavens," Olivia murmured, running her fingers through the pieces. "Our Death Star! What happened to it?"
"It was used to blow up a bus here in London just after midnight," Tim said, and Olivia stared at him in horror, her mouth literally hanging open. When she could speak again, she squeaked, "A bus!"
"You didn't hear about it?" Tim went on. Olivia shook her head. "I don't catch the news much. Oh, no, this is terrible! Was anybody killed?"
"Six people," Lucas told her. Olivia put her hand to her mouth, looking from Lucas to Tim and back again. "Oh, no. Oh, no!"
"Did you help build this?" Tim asked, leaning forward to put his hand comfortingly on Olivia's arm. Olivia nodded mutely.
"So you must have known it would be used for assassination," Tim went on.
"Yes, but for people like Osama bin Laden!" Olivia exclaimed. "Not for buses here in London. Oh!"
Another wave of horror washed over her face, and she glanced from Tim to Lucas. "Do you happen to know if Jeremy Owusu was on that bus?"
"Why do you ask?" Lucas queried, watching Olivia closely.
"He hasn't come in to work to-day," she said. "And—and he hasn't called."
As excuses went, it sounded weak, but Lucas let it go, noting it for later.
"Not all of the victims have been identified," Tim said. "Do you know if he usually rode the number 24 on Grosvenor Street?"
Olivia shook her head in true bewilderment. "Grosvenor Street? Why would he? He lives out here in Acton, like I do, he hardly ever goes into the city."
"So why did you ask?" Tim asked.
"Because I didn't know where the bus had blown up,” Olivia said. "I'm sorry. I was just being stupid."
But she didn't look stupid, Lucas thought. She looked scared. He decided to change the subject. "So you built this?"
"I helped design it,” Olivia said. "It was my idea to make it look like the Death Star."
"Mr Blaze said it wasn't finished?"
"No. We're still trying to perfect the design."
"Do you have any idea how someone might have smuggled it out of the building?"
Olivia shook her head and whispered, "Security is so tight here … We need our cards to do everything, even move from one floor to the next." Lucas noticed that her eyes went to the photo of the young boy.
"Ms Stephens," he said, leaning closer. "Think back to the last month or six weeks. Has anyone expressed any special interest in your work? Wanted to know details of what you did?"
She shook her head without taking time to consider. "No. Nobody. I hardly talk to anybody outside of work, just Owen, really. There's not much time for anything else."
"Owen?" Tim asked.
"My son." Olivia looked at the photo again. "He's nine."
Lucas knew from others that there was usually an element of pride in parents' voices when they talked about their children, but in Olivia's voice, only worry was audible. Another thing to note for later.
"Thanks for your time," Lucas said, standing up. "Can you take us to George Kumar's office, please?”
George Kumar had seen the news and knew about the bus, but seemed genuinely shocked to find out that one of Tarla's drones had been involved. He, too, was surprised that Jeremy Owusu had not come in, but he didn't jump to any conclusions about him being dead in the explosion, not did he have any ideas of how the drone had been smuggled out of Tarla. One thing he did mention, however, was that whoever had flown the drone had not only known what they were doing, but they also had the right software and perhaps even the right kind of experience to control it.
"This is not a video game," George told them. "It is not as easy as twiddling a joystick. In fact, there is no joystick. You need both hands on the keyboard to control this drone."
Lucas and Tim drove back to Thames House with that piece of important information and their other first impressions.
xxxxx
After the government agents had gone, Olivia sat at her desk and took deep breaths, trying not to cry. What had she got herself mixed up in? The Death Star was meant for use in foreign countries, not here at home! And Jeremy hadn't come in to work – the men had been right. He was dead. He'd done something wrong and they had killed him. Owen would be next, and then her, if she did anything wrong. Somehow, she had to get them what they wanted.
She went down the corridor and into the workshop. As she stood staring at the jumble of parts on the workbench, George Kumar came in.
"Have they spoken to you yet? The people from the government?" When Olivia nodded, George went on. "How are you doing?"
Olivia made a helpless gesture with her hands. "I can't believe somebody used our Death Star to kill innocent people!"
"Are you crying about it?” he asked. "Those people who came along, from the government, they wanted to know if you've always suffered from hayfever."
"Yeah," Olivia lied. "Yeah, I'm crying about it. This isn't how it's supposed to be. When I helped design the Death Star, I was thinking of Osama bin Laden and other members of Al Qaeda, not innocent people on a bus in the middle of London!"
"It is bitter," George said. "Of course, you never know. Maybe there was a member of Al Qaeda here in London, and they were trying to get him, but they missed."
"If somebody official was using this thing, they wouldn't have sent agents around here to ask what it was and who built it," Olivia snapped.
"True," George agreed. "So that means it wasn't somebody official."
"But if it wasn't somebody official, then how did they get their hands on it?" Olivia asked. "I mean, who knew about it besides us, Jeremy, and Mr Blaze?"
"Speaking of Jeremy, have you heard anything from him?" George asked.
Olivia shook her head. "No, have you?"
"No.” George shrugged, then said, "And to think I considered taking the day off to-day, too. I would have missed all the excitement. Or perhaps not. Can you imagine MI-5 knocking on my door and catching me in front of the telly after I had called in at work saying I had symptoms of death?"
That was his usual excuse whenever he felt the need to stay home, but to-day, Olivia gave him a hard look. "That’s not funny."
"No, you are right. Well, if I am going to stay home anytime soon, I will have to think of a new excuse. Water on the brain? Sprained my dignity and can't get up?"
Olivia sighed. George took the hint. "Right, then, let us see what we can do about making our Death Star bigger, better, newer and more improved, and able to do not only the washing up, but also the hoovering."
"I'd settle for getting it to change channels on the telly," Olivia murmured.
They switched from gossip to technical jargon then, but as they spoke, Olivia found herself missing Jeremy already. There was a different feel to the discussion without him. She tried to remember if he'd ever not been there, and couldn't. Eventually, both of them sensing the strangeness, she and George broke off the discussion and went back to their offices to work separately. There, Olivia was free to let her mind roam to the other problem she was grappling with. How had Jeremy managed to get the drone out of Tarla? As she’d told those men, he hadn't just walked out with it under his arm. Had Jeremy flown it? They often did outside tests with the drone, up on the roof, but the only person with a card authorized to open the roof door was Mr Blaze himself. None of the windows in the building opened at all, except for those in the loo.
The loos. There were windows in there, high up on the outside wall, just big enough to let a little light in, and enough air to keep the room fresh. They only opened at the top, and the Death Star itself wouldn’t fit through the gap. If she broke it down into its component parts, Olivia thought, she could squeeze them through. But then what? Throw everything out and let it land on the pavement three stories below? That would certainly shatter the thrusters, the camera, and the laser, and even if she packed everything in padded bags, they'd still be inside the security fence when they hit the ground.
Padded bags. Flying drones. She let the ideas run around in the back of her mind, even when the security agents came to do their internal investigation of how the Death Star had managed to get out of the building. Close to lunchtime, the solution came to her in a flash. She could hang a padded bag of components outside the loo window and use a remote controlled helicoper from outside the security fence to pick it up. Assembling the pieces at home would not be a problem, as she often did that kind of thing in her bedroom workspace. She also happened to have a remote controlled helicopter at home, too, which she'd given Owen for Christmas. He'd only been mildly interested; she had actually played with it more than he had.
Now she just needed somewhere to hang the bag so that a remote controlled vehicle could pick it up … a long horizontal pole would be best. Olivia went into the loo, balanced herself on the toilet seat, and looked out of the window at the side of the building next to it. If she could get a drill without being noticed, she could drill a hole right there, and stick something in it, something thin, but strong, like the metal aerial of old-fashioned radios. It would have to be smooth at the end, no little bumps or anything else that would impede the handles of the bag from sliding right off once the vehicle caught them. Yes. It could work. And then she'd hand the drone over to those awful men and get Owen back.
Olivia went back to the workshop and hunted through the available parts until she'd found something similar to the aerial she'd envisioned, then checked the clock. Lunchtime. Hopefully, George had already gone down to the canteen. Sticking her head out the door to check that nobody was in the corridor, Olivia picked up a drill and carried it boldly to the loo. Security had come and gone, and she felt safe enough now. She wasn't tall enough to reach out of the open window, even by standing on the toilet, and had to go back to the workshop for a stepladder. It just barely fit in the cubicle, and she was able to snake one arm out through the opening, holding the drill tightly in her hand. It didn't take long to make the hole, but she couldn't help that it slanted slightly to one side. She pulled the drill back in, then reached for the metal pole and pushed it into the hole, careful not to drop it. It stuck out at about an eighty degree angle from the side of the building, but extended out a good forty five centimeters, which would give her just enough room to maneuver the helicopter. It would be even better if she equipped the helicopter with a similar pole in front, perhaps with a hook on it, to lift the handles of the bag and hold them in place. Yes, it was going to work. Feeling a sense of relief and a glimmer of hope that she might actually get Owen back, Olivia took the drill out of the loo.
Ahead of her, George strolled out of his office, no doubt having been working so hard he'd forgotten it was time to eat. He turned as soon as he saw her, making Olivia's heart sink, and looked at the tool in her hands. "Let me guess, you left your sandwiches out overnight and now they're so hard and stale you have to drill through them."
Olivia glanced down guiltily at the drill she was carrying, but tried to collect herself. "Yeah, something like that."
"May I suggest a saw instead?" he said.
"Or a laser?" Olivia asked. George did an exaggerated double take. "Could it be that you are finally developing a sense of humour, Olivia? You have worked with me for five years – I was starting to despair that it would ever happen!"
"It must be a fluke," Olivia said. "I won't be funny to-morrow, I'm sure."
To her great relief, George went away smiling, and Olivia continued on her way back to the workshop. She was trembling, almost shaking with fear and stress, when she put the drill away, and it took her a long moment to settle down enough to go back for the stepladder. This time, however, she checked to make sure that the corridor was clear before exiting the loo. Even though they usually had this part of the floor to themselves, messengers, PA's, and sometimes Mr Blaze himself showed up occasionally, not to mention the internal investigators, and Olivia was sweating with the stress by the time she'd replaced the ladder where it belonged.
Part 4