The Assassin Drone, Part 4
+++++
Almost as soon as Lucas and Tim returned to the Grid, they were called to the briefing room to give their reports.
"Accordng to Mr Blaze, the head of Tarla Industries, there are three engineers responsible for the drones," Tim said. "Jeremy Owusu, Olivia Stephens, and George Kumar. Jeremy Owusu was missing from work to-day, and did not call in sick. Olivia and George were both there, neither appeared to know anything about the explosion. Everyone that we spoke to at Tarla Industries, however, identified this as an assassination drone for soft targets in the Middle East. Olivia went so far as to mention Osama bin Laden as a possibility."
Harry was not impressed by the name-dropping. Lucas took up the thread. "But Olivia did say something odd when we told her about the bus. She wanted to know if Jeremy Owusu had been on it."
"Did she say why?" Harry asked.
"She said he hadn't come in to work that day, and hadn't called in sick," Lucas explained. "I asked if she knew if Jeremy Owusu usually rode that bus, but she said he hardly ever went into the city, and she was just being stupid. Also, by the way, she was crying when we came in."
"She tried to pass it off as hayfever," Tim added, "but she didn't sniff or sneeze once while we were in her office."
Lucas was surprised that Tim had noticed. The young man might have a bit of a mouth, but he was more observant than Lucas had expected.
"And George Kumar said he'd never noticed Olivia having hayfever before," Tim went on.
"Do we think there might be a connection between Olivia and Jeremy?" Harry asked.
"If there is, we'll find it," Lucas said. "I suggest that we put all three of them on close surveillance, starting immediately."
"Agreed," Harry said, then turned to Ben and Connie for a report on the identities of the victims of the bus explosion. As Lucas had expected, Jeremy Owusu was not among them.
+++++
By three thirty that afternoon, Olivia had realized that she couldn't smuggle the entire drone out at once. Neither the antenna or the remote controlled helicopter would be able to hold more than a few hundred grams of extra weight, and although the drone was actually quite light for its size, it still weighed much more than that. If she hung a bag holding the complete drone from the antenna, the relatively flimsy metal would bend significantly, if not break outright, and the bag would slip off. Even if she managed to get it onto the helicopter, it would render the toy unable to fly. She'd only be able to do a few parts a day, and considering the total weight of the drone, she wouldn't even manage half by the deadline! Nor could she manage more than one pick-up a day; it would look too suspicious if she suddenly changed her habits and started going out each lunchtime, and one of the many Tarla workers who ate at nearby cafes was sure to spot her aiming the helicopter at their building. There was nothing else for it, she knew, but to ask the men for more time, explain that she was smuggling as much as she could each evening, and hope they didn't hurt Owen.
Thinking of Owen, no doubt kept prisoner somewhere, left alone, wondering what was going on and why the men weren't keeping their promise about taking him to Legoland, made her want to cry. She bit down mercilessly on her bottom lip, put the thought of Owen away in a separate part of her mind, and got back to getting things ready. She'd already swiped a set of working thrusters from an older spy drone prototype, and had hidden them in her desk, but the question of weight had made her give up the idea of extra padding. Now she was searching her desk for a lightweight plastic bag to hold the thrusters.
Five minutes later, however, she was ready to scream with frustration. How could she not have a simple plastic bag anywhere? She wasn't especially neat or tidy, but apparently, she either didn't hoard bags, or she'd never brought one in to work. Frowning, she got up, wandered around her office, and almost fell over the solution. Her rubbish bin had been emptied the night before and was still empty, with a fresh plastic bin liner just beckoning to her. Thankfully, she grabbed it up and laid it out on her desk. It was much too big for what she needed, so she snipped off the top twenty centimeters, then cut ovals in the sides to produce makeshift handles. Yes, it would do. She wasn't an engineer for nothing.
Keeping an eye out for George, Olivia dashed over to the workshop for the stepladder and wondered what she would say if George caught her. In the end, though, there was no need for any excuse; she didn't see anybody as she went to the loo and set the ladder up. Looking out of the window, she realized she'd made a good choice with the bin liner; it was as white as the side of the building and wouldn't stick out too awfully much. There wasn't any wind, either, and the bag hung limply. As she put the stepladder away, Olivia wondered what would be the best time to come. If she had a plane with the right kind of camera, she could do it in the dark, but since she didn't, she'd have to come after most people had gone home, but while it was still light enough to see. She'd wait until the kidnappers had called her that night at seven, then leave the house directly afterwards.
+++++
Lucas spent the rest of the afternoon at the computer, doing his spying from his desk. When they were called in for another briefing, he glanced at his watch, surprised that so much time had already gone by. He had much to report, but Malcolm Wynne-Jones, the technical genius behind Section D who dealt with gadgets, was also there, and Harry called on him first.
"We successfully bugged the houses of Jeremy and George," Malcolm said, "but when we got to Olivia's, we found that somebody had beaten us to it. We got out as soon as we noticed, and I don't think they picked up anything except a few shuffling sounds. But you know that two surveillance systems can cancel each other out, and in the interest of not revealing ourselves, we thought it best not to continue with our plans. I did leave two men in the neighbourhood to watch the house as well as they could without electronic help."
"And you didn't find anything like that in Jeremy's house?" Ben asked. "Because I found a financial trail in his bank accounts, or rather, a special account which was receiving ten thousand pounds a month for the last six months. I'm thinking it would make more sense for someone to bug Jeremy."
"No similar trail for Olivia?" Harry asked, and Ben shook his head. "Nothing. So who would be wanting to listen in on her, then?"
"I'd rule out any of our sister agencies," Malcolm said. "As far as I could tell, the bugs were not standard issue."
"Could it be the mastermind behind the attack?" Tim asked, but Malcolm merely shrugged.
"Any clue as to Jeremy's whereabouts?" Harry went on.
Lucas spoke up. "Jeremy’s car got a parking ticket to-day, and I’ve tracked it backwards through the CCTV footage. As far as I can tell, he came home yesterday from Tarla at shortly past six, then drove out again at eleven o’clock in the evening, joining the A4020 going west, then turning onto the A4000, Gunnersbury Lane, in a south, south-west direction. He parked close to Gunnersbury Park, left the car there, and disappeared."
"Has he tried to leave the country? Have you checked planes, trains, and ferries?" Harry asked.
"I'm still in the middle of that," Lucas admitted, "but so far, no sign of him. I also checked Olivia's movements, to see if I could find anything between her and Jeremy. As far as I can tell, she didn’t leave her house at all in the evening, or else she kept to roads that have no CCTV. But here's another odd thing. She has a son, Owen, who is nine years old and attends Seathwaite Primary School in Acton. Yesterday, she dropped him off and picked him up at the same place. To-day she didn't, she drove directly to Tarla and back home again."
"He could be sick," Adam said. Adam had a son of his own, Lucas remembered, and would know about these things.
Harry glanced over to Malcolm. "Any sign of a sick child in the house when you were there?"
"No," the older man said. "There was nobody there at all."
"He might have been asleep," Tim suggested, but Adam shook his head. "Parents don't leave young children home alone, especially not when they're sick. If Olivia didn't ask anybody to come over and baby-sit, she probably took him to someone."
"Well, it couldn't have been his gran, because Olivia's mother lives in Kettering," Tim put in. "That's a bit far."
"A friend or a neighbour," Adam suggested.
"Right," Harry said, putting an end to the child-care discussion and turning to Lucas for an explanation as to why he'd brought up the subject in the first place. "So …?"
"So I think there's a connection here somewhere," Lucas said.
"A connection between a sick child and an exploding bus?"
"We don't know that he's sick," Lucas said. "But I do know that his mother is worried about him. I was watching her to-day and she looked at his photo when she was talking about the security in Tarla Industries."
"I'm going to need more than a look, Lucas," Harry said, and Lucas nodded. "I know, Harry. I'll find it."
"Right," Harry said, and moved on to what Adam and Ben had to report.
+++++
With Owen gone, the house was quiet, too quiet, and Olivia tried not to think about the permanent silence that would result if he never came home again. When she'd got home from work, she'd gone upstairs to her bedroom workshop and had cannibalized a wire coat hanger, snipping it to the right length, then bending a curve at one end. Finally, she'd soldered it to the front of the remote controlled helicopter. It actually took longer to find the binoculars that she would need in order to see and guide the helicopter to the plastic bag. Now, after locating them at the top of her wardrobe, Olivia found herself wandering around the house from room to room, not quite knowing what to do as she waited for the phone to ring. After each round, she ended up in the living room, in front of the wall where she'd hung Andy's photo on the day afer he'd died. I wish you were here, she said silently, each time she passed it and saw his smiling face. Andy had died in a car crash, completely unexpectedly, when Owen had just turned three. Owen didn't even remember him, but Olivia could not forget. We were a good team. I miss your support. I miss you.
But he wasn't here, and as much as she might wish otherwise, Olivia had become used to doing things on her own now. Grimly determined that she would do everything she could to ensure that Owen would not be reduced to a simple photo on the wall and a stone in the graveyard, Olivia turned away from the wall and wandered into the kitchen. She could fix supper while she waited, even though it was a bit earlier than they usually ate.
The phone finally rang at two seconds past seven, and Olivia, who had been hovering over it for at least ten minutes, snatched it up. "Hello!"
"How are things coming along?" It was that man, she recognized the faint accent.
"Owen," Olivia demanded. "How's Owen?"
There was a pause, and then Owen came on the line, loudly protesting, "Mum, they promised they'd take me to Legoland, but they haven't!"
"Love, are you all right?" she asked.
"We didn't go anywhere to-day, just to their house, and they don't even have any Legos here!"
Owen's habit of saying exactly what was on his mind and not noticing the need for anything else had never been more frustrating than to-day. Olivia broke into his recitation. "Owen, how are they treating you? Did you have anything to eat to-day and are you all right?"
But then it was the man again. "He's fine, Olivia, just fine. And how are you? Have you got everything you need?"
"No," she cried! "I already told you, I need more time!"
"Jeremy Owusu managed," the man told her reproachfully.
"Yes, but I don't know he did it!" Olivia almost sobbed with frustration. "I do have a plan, I can get everything out of Tarla eventually, but I can only do a little bit at a time!"
"Why?" the man asked.
"Because I'm using a remote controlled helicopter to pick up the parts, and if I put too much weight on it, it will crash," Olivia wailed, desperate for them to understand.
"Explain," the man snapped.
Olivia explained her actions with the antenna, the bag of parts, and the helicopter, but got flustered, and ended up telling everything backwards. When she got to the point where she had to admit she was smuggling things out through the window in the loo, the man laughed heartily.
"I'm doing the best I can," Olivia told him tartly, stung by his amusement. "If I get caught and sacked, you'll never get your drone."
"And you won't get Owen back," the man said.
"I know! And I'm doing everything you want! Please let me have more time! I can do a few parts each day, then assemble it here at home and give it to you by … Friday. Friday midnight at the latest. Please!"
The man sighed. "That's cutting it very close, but if you can promise it will be fully functional by then—"
"I can!" Olivia said quickly. Her heart was thudding fast and hard in her chest. "I promise! I wouldn't risk the life of my son, I'm doing the best I can, and if it's not good enough, then –"
"Then what?"
Olivia remained silent, realizing she'd just talked herself into a corner, and the man chuckled mirthlessly. "We can extend the deadline, but it will have to be eleven p.m., not midnight."
"I can manage that," Olivia assured him.
"Good. We'll call again to-morrow." The man cut the connection, and Olivia hung up in a cold sweat. Thank goodness. Owen was still alive, and aside from not having been in Legoland, he was obviously not being badly treated, otherwise he would have said something. And they'd extended the deadline. Three more nerve-racking days, but at least now she had a good chance of pulling it off successfully and getting her son back. Placing the helicopter carefully into a carrier bag, Olivia added the remote and the binoculars, then went out to the car and put the bag in the back seat. She drove away from the house, and as she turned the corner, she noticed a red car coming up behind her, and turning in the same direction. In the warren of narrow, short streets where she lived, it was easy to spot movement, even in the rear view mirror.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that someone might be following. Could the government have put her under surveillance? Or was it the same men who had Owen? No, it couldn't be, she told herself. They wouldn't have to follow because they knew she'd do exactly what she was told. It had to be the government. If they caught her and prevented her from getting the drone to the men, she'd never get Owen back! The thought made her want to panic, and she fought the feeling down. She'd have to lose them, even though they were probably professionals and she was just an amateur at the game. A picture came into her mind, the view from the loo window. Beyond the security fence of Tarla, she'd been able to see Central Middlesex Hospital in the background. Maybe she could shake them off there. It was her only chance, not to mention being close to Tarla.
She drove to the north entrance of the hospital and found a parking space, then hurried towards the building. As she walked, she looked around, but the red car was no longer visible. Had she lost them already, or were they just hanging back? She couldn't stop to find out; it would be dark soon enough as it was. The hospital was a huge complex, and she got lost once, but managed to find a nurse to give her directions to the opposite entrance. Eventually, she emerged. The industrial park in which Tarla was located was directly ahead, although the entrance to Tarla was on the other side, but she crossed the street and got as close as she could. People often walked their dogs here in the grassy spots between parking lots and industrial estates, and she hoped that she wouldn't stick out too much, even if she was walking a helicopter instead of a hound.
After some searching, she found a place where she had a direct line of sight to the north wing of the Tarla building where she'd hung the bag out of the loo window. Focusing the binoculars, she was relieved to see that it was still hanging there, but then she had to lower them again to get the helicopter started. It took off, and she flew it high, out of range of security cameras and curious guards.
She let it circle the area twice, trying to act casual, then picked up the binoculars again and began to aim the helicopter more carefully. It would be easier, she thought, if she had the targeting software and her laptop, the way they controlled the drones, but if she had all that, she wouldn't need to be picking up the parts in this clandestine way. She brought the helicopter down to the level of the loo window and let it hover, then positioned it carefully and nudged it forward, watching carefully to make sure the wire coat hanger slid in under the handles of the bag. Then she pushed the helicopter up just a smidgen and was rewarded with a view of the bag rising as well. Very carefully, she backed the helicopter away from the building and held her breath, watching the bag follow the movement. It didn't fall, and she took the helicopter up higher again, then brought it back to where she was standing and lowered it ever so slowly to the ground. As soon as the rotors had stopped turning, she grabbed the bag and inspected the thrusters. Safe and sound!
She was so relieved she wanted to cry, but then she thought of how many more times she'd have to do the exact same thing, and a chill down her spine chased the tears away again.
Part 5
Almost as soon as Lucas and Tim returned to the Grid, they were called to the briefing room to give their reports.
"Accordng to Mr Blaze, the head of Tarla Industries, there are three engineers responsible for the drones," Tim said. "Jeremy Owusu, Olivia Stephens, and George Kumar. Jeremy Owusu was missing from work to-day, and did not call in sick. Olivia and George were both there, neither appeared to know anything about the explosion. Everyone that we spoke to at Tarla Industries, however, identified this as an assassination drone for soft targets in the Middle East. Olivia went so far as to mention Osama bin Laden as a possibility."
Harry was not impressed by the name-dropping. Lucas took up the thread. "But Olivia did say something odd when we told her about the bus. She wanted to know if Jeremy Owusu had been on it."
"Did she say why?" Harry asked.
"She said he hadn't come in to work that day, and hadn't called in sick," Lucas explained. "I asked if she knew if Jeremy Owusu usually rode that bus, but she said he hardly ever went into the city, and she was just being stupid. Also, by the way, she was crying when we came in."
"She tried to pass it off as hayfever," Tim added, "but she didn't sniff or sneeze once while we were in her office."
Lucas was surprised that Tim had noticed. The young man might have a bit of a mouth, but he was more observant than Lucas had expected.
"And George Kumar said he'd never noticed Olivia having hayfever before," Tim went on.
"Do we think there might be a connection between Olivia and Jeremy?" Harry asked.
"If there is, we'll find it," Lucas said. "I suggest that we put all three of them on close surveillance, starting immediately."
"Agreed," Harry said, then turned to Ben and Connie for a report on the identities of the victims of the bus explosion. As Lucas had expected, Jeremy Owusu was not among them.
+++++
By three thirty that afternoon, Olivia had realized that she couldn't smuggle the entire drone out at once. Neither the antenna or the remote controlled helicopter would be able to hold more than a few hundred grams of extra weight, and although the drone was actually quite light for its size, it still weighed much more than that. If she hung a bag holding the complete drone from the antenna, the relatively flimsy metal would bend significantly, if not break outright, and the bag would slip off. Even if she managed to get it onto the helicopter, it would render the toy unable to fly. She'd only be able to do a few parts a day, and considering the total weight of the drone, she wouldn't even manage half by the deadline! Nor could she manage more than one pick-up a day; it would look too suspicious if she suddenly changed her habits and started going out each lunchtime, and one of the many Tarla workers who ate at nearby cafes was sure to spot her aiming the helicopter at their building. There was nothing else for it, she knew, but to ask the men for more time, explain that she was smuggling as much as she could each evening, and hope they didn't hurt Owen.
Thinking of Owen, no doubt kept prisoner somewhere, left alone, wondering what was going on and why the men weren't keeping their promise about taking him to Legoland, made her want to cry. She bit down mercilessly on her bottom lip, put the thought of Owen away in a separate part of her mind, and got back to getting things ready. She'd already swiped a set of working thrusters from an older spy drone prototype, and had hidden them in her desk, but the question of weight had made her give up the idea of extra padding. Now she was searching her desk for a lightweight plastic bag to hold the thrusters.
Five minutes later, however, she was ready to scream with frustration. How could she not have a simple plastic bag anywhere? She wasn't especially neat or tidy, but apparently, she either didn't hoard bags, or she'd never brought one in to work. Frowning, she got up, wandered around her office, and almost fell over the solution. Her rubbish bin had been emptied the night before and was still empty, with a fresh plastic bin liner just beckoning to her. Thankfully, she grabbed it up and laid it out on her desk. It was much too big for what she needed, so she snipped off the top twenty centimeters, then cut ovals in the sides to produce makeshift handles. Yes, it would do. She wasn't an engineer for nothing.
Keeping an eye out for George, Olivia dashed over to the workshop for the stepladder and wondered what she would say if George caught her. In the end, though, there was no need for any excuse; she didn't see anybody as she went to the loo and set the ladder up. Looking out of the window, she realized she'd made a good choice with the bin liner; it was as white as the side of the building and wouldn't stick out too awfully much. There wasn't any wind, either, and the bag hung limply. As she put the stepladder away, Olivia wondered what would be the best time to come. If she had a plane with the right kind of camera, she could do it in the dark, but since she didn't, she'd have to come after most people had gone home, but while it was still light enough to see. She'd wait until the kidnappers had called her that night at seven, then leave the house directly afterwards.
+++++
Lucas spent the rest of the afternoon at the computer, doing his spying from his desk. When they were called in for another briefing, he glanced at his watch, surprised that so much time had already gone by. He had much to report, but Malcolm Wynne-Jones, the technical genius behind Section D who dealt with gadgets, was also there, and Harry called on him first.
"We successfully bugged the houses of Jeremy and George," Malcolm said, "but when we got to Olivia's, we found that somebody had beaten us to it. We got out as soon as we noticed, and I don't think they picked up anything except a few shuffling sounds. But you know that two surveillance systems can cancel each other out, and in the interest of not revealing ourselves, we thought it best not to continue with our plans. I did leave two men in the neighbourhood to watch the house as well as they could without electronic help."
"And you didn't find anything like that in Jeremy's house?" Ben asked. "Because I found a financial trail in his bank accounts, or rather, a special account which was receiving ten thousand pounds a month for the last six months. I'm thinking it would make more sense for someone to bug Jeremy."
"No similar trail for Olivia?" Harry asked, and Ben shook his head. "Nothing. So who would be wanting to listen in on her, then?"
"I'd rule out any of our sister agencies," Malcolm said. "As far as I could tell, the bugs were not standard issue."
"Could it be the mastermind behind the attack?" Tim asked, but Malcolm merely shrugged.
"Any clue as to Jeremy's whereabouts?" Harry went on.
Lucas spoke up. "Jeremy’s car got a parking ticket to-day, and I’ve tracked it backwards through the CCTV footage. As far as I can tell, he came home yesterday from Tarla at shortly past six, then drove out again at eleven o’clock in the evening, joining the A4020 going west, then turning onto the A4000, Gunnersbury Lane, in a south, south-west direction. He parked close to Gunnersbury Park, left the car there, and disappeared."
"Has he tried to leave the country? Have you checked planes, trains, and ferries?" Harry asked.
"I'm still in the middle of that," Lucas admitted, "but so far, no sign of him. I also checked Olivia's movements, to see if I could find anything between her and Jeremy. As far as I can tell, she didn’t leave her house at all in the evening, or else she kept to roads that have no CCTV. But here's another odd thing. She has a son, Owen, who is nine years old and attends Seathwaite Primary School in Acton. Yesterday, she dropped him off and picked him up at the same place. To-day she didn't, she drove directly to Tarla and back home again."
"He could be sick," Adam said. Adam had a son of his own, Lucas remembered, and would know about these things.
Harry glanced over to Malcolm. "Any sign of a sick child in the house when you were there?"
"No," the older man said. "There was nobody there at all."
"He might have been asleep," Tim suggested, but Adam shook his head. "Parents don't leave young children home alone, especially not when they're sick. If Olivia didn't ask anybody to come over and baby-sit, she probably took him to someone."
"Well, it couldn't have been his gran, because Olivia's mother lives in Kettering," Tim put in. "That's a bit far."
"A friend or a neighbour," Adam suggested.
"Right," Harry said, putting an end to the child-care discussion and turning to Lucas for an explanation as to why he'd brought up the subject in the first place. "So …?"
"So I think there's a connection here somewhere," Lucas said.
"A connection between a sick child and an exploding bus?"
"We don't know that he's sick," Lucas said. "But I do know that his mother is worried about him. I was watching her to-day and she looked at his photo when she was talking about the security in Tarla Industries."
"I'm going to need more than a look, Lucas," Harry said, and Lucas nodded. "I know, Harry. I'll find it."
"Right," Harry said, and moved on to what Adam and Ben had to report.
+++++
With Owen gone, the house was quiet, too quiet, and Olivia tried not to think about the permanent silence that would result if he never came home again. When she'd got home from work, she'd gone upstairs to her bedroom workshop and had cannibalized a wire coat hanger, snipping it to the right length, then bending a curve at one end. Finally, she'd soldered it to the front of the remote controlled helicopter. It actually took longer to find the binoculars that she would need in order to see and guide the helicopter to the plastic bag. Now, after locating them at the top of her wardrobe, Olivia found herself wandering around the house from room to room, not quite knowing what to do as she waited for the phone to ring. After each round, she ended up in the living room, in front of the wall where she'd hung Andy's photo on the day afer he'd died. I wish you were here, she said silently, each time she passed it and saw his smiling face. Andy had died in a car crash, completely unexpectedly, when Owen had just turned three. Owen didn't even remember him, but Olivia could not forget. We were a good team. I miss your support. I miss you.
But he wasn't here, and as much as she might wish otherwise, Olivia had become used to doing things on her own now. Grimly determined that she would do everything she could to ensure that Owen would not be reduced to a simple photo on the wall and a stone in the graveyard, Olivia turned away from the wall and wandered into the kitchen. She could fix supper while she waited, even though it was a bit earlier than they usually ate.
The phone finally rang at two seconds past seven, and Olivia, who had been hovering over it for at least ten minutes, snatched it up. "Hello!"
"How are things coming along?" It was that man, she recognized the faint accent.
"Owen," Olivia demanded. "How's Owen?"
There was a pause, and then Owen came on the line, loudly protesting, "Mum, they promised they'd take me to Legoland, but they haven't!"
"Love, are you all right?" she asked.
"We didn't go anywhere to-day, just to their house, and they don't even have any Legos here!"
Owen's habit of saying exactly what was on his mind and not noticing the need for anything else had never been more frustrating than to-day. Olivia broke into his recitation. "Owen, how are they treating you? Did you have anything to eat to-day and are you all right?"
But then it was the man again. "He's fine, Olivia, just fine. And how are you? Have you got everything you need?"
"No," she cried! "I already told you, I need more time!"
"Jeremy Owusu managed," the man told her reproachfully.
"Yes, but I don't know he did it!" Olivia almost sobbed with frustration. "I do have a plan, I can get everything out of Tarla eventually, but I can only do a little bit at a time!"
"Why?" the man asked.
"Because I'm using a remote controlled helicopter to pick up the parts, and if I put too much weight on it, it will crash," Olivia wailed, desperate for them to understand.
"Explain," the man snapped.
Olivia explained her actions with the antenna, the bag of parts, and the helicopter, but got flustered, and ended up telling everything backwards. When she got to the point where she had to admit she was smuggling things out through the window in the loo, the man laughed heartily.
"I'm doing the best I can," Olivia told him tartly, stung by his amusement. "If I get caught and sacked, you'll never get your drone."
"And you won't get Owen back," the man said.
"I know! And I'm doing everything you want! Please let me have more time! I can do a few parts each day, then assemble it here at home and give it to you by … Friday. Friday midnight at the latest. Please!"
The man sighed. "That's cutting it very close, but if you can promise it will be fully functional by then—"
"I can!" Olivia said quickly. Her heart was thudding fast and hard in her chest. "I promise! I wouldn't risk the life of my son, I'm doing the best I can, and if it's not good enough, then –"
"Then what?"
Olivia remained silent, realizing she'd just talked herself into a corner, and the man chuckled mirthlessly. "We can extend the deadline, but it will have to be eleven p.m., not midnight."
"I can manage that," Olivia assured him.
"Good. We'll call again to-morrow." The man cut the connection, and Olivia hung up in a cold sweat. Thank goodness. Owen was still alive, and aside from not having been in Legoland, he was obviously not being badly treated, otherwise he would have said something. And they'd extended the deadline. Three more nerve-racking days, but at least now she had a good chance of pulling it off successfully and getting her son back. Placing the helicopter carefully into a carrier bag, Olivia added the remote and the binoculars, then went out to the car and put the bag in the back seat. She drove away from the house, and as she turned the corner, she noticed a red car coming up behind her, and turning in the same direction. In the warren of narrow, short streets where she lived, it was easy to spot movement, even in the rear view mirror.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that someone might be following. Could the government have put her under surveillance? Or was it the same men who had Owen? No, it couldn't be, she told herself. They wouldn't have to follow because they knew she'd do exactly what she was told. It had to be the government. If they caught her and prevented her from getting the drone to the men, she'd never get Owen back! The thought made her want to panic, and she fought the feeling down. She'd have to lose them, even though they were probably professionals and she was just an amateur at the game. A picture came into her mind, the view from the loo window. Beyond the security fence of Tarla, she'd been able to see Central Middlesex Hospital in the background. Maybe she could shake them off there. It was her only chance, not to mention being close to Tarla.
She drove to the north entrance of the hospital and found a parking space, then hurried towards the building. As she walked, she looked around, but the red car was no longer visible. Had she lost them already, or were they just hanging back? She couldn't stop to find out; it would be dark soon enough as it was. The hospital was a huge complex, and she got lost once, but managed to find a nurse to give her directions to the opposite entrance. Eventually, she emerged. The industrial park in which Tarla was located was directly ahead, although the entrance to Tarla was on the other side, but she crossed the street and got as close as she could. People often walked their dogs here in the grassy spots between parking lots and industrial estates, and she hoped that she wouldn't stick out too much, even if she was walking a helicopter instead of a hound.
After some searching, she found a place where she had a direct line of sight to the north wing of the Tarla building where she'd hung the bag out of the loo window. Focusing the binoculars, she was relieved to see that it was still hanging there, but then she had to lower them again to get the helicopter started. It took off, and she flew it high, out of range of security cameras and curious guards.
She let it circle the area twice, trying to act casual, then picked up the binoculars again and began to aim the helicopter more carefully. It would be easier, she thought, if she had the targeting software and her laptop, the way they controlled the drones, but if she had all that, she wouldn't need to be picking up the parts in this clandestine way. She brought the helicopter down to the level of the loo window and let it hover, then positioned it carefully and nudged it forward, watching carefully to make sure the wire coat hanger slid in under the handles of the bag. Then she pushed the helicopter up just a smidgen and was rewarded with a view of the bag rising as well. Very carefully, she backed the helicopter away from the building and held her breath, watching the bag follow the movement. It didn't fall, and she took the helicopter up higher again, then brought it back to where she was standing and lowered it ever so slowly to the ground. As soon as the rotors had stopped turning, she grabbed the bag and inspected the thrusters. Safe and sound!
She was so relieved she wanted to cry, but then she thought of how many more times she'd have to do the exact same thing, and a chill down her spine chased the tears away again.
Part 5