Also the Sweet Drabblethon
Business Trip II
These days there is nothing good about being summoned to Rossum Headquarters - her famous dislike of Tucson is just adding insult to injury. This is not a business trip to be anticipated with anything other than dread.
She is ‘collected’ from her office by insistent men and women who are not quite wielding guns - though the point is made by the bulges beneath their jackets. She isn’t surprised - she has been blotting her copy book far too often lately and her direct superiors are not forgiving men; they aren’t necessarily her superiors either - though that is an argument for another day. The point is, her many failings are no longer to be overlooked - punishment is necessary.
She expects that someone else is already sitting in her office, overseeing her house - she wishes them joy of the task. It is unfortunate that the hard drive of her computer has been accidentally erased, that many important computer systems were recently destroyed by a fire in the imprinting lab, that the occupants of her house staged a breakout - led by the ever creative Echo and have not yet been found. But quite soon she expects these to be the least of her replacement’s worries.
It is a pity that Boyd Langton is dead - but since he wasn’t the real Langton she regrets the stain his blood left on the carpet rather more than the loss of his life. She has never pretended to be a forgiving woman and she does not take kindly to manipulation of that score.
She is a little sorry about the men and women escourting her on what they undoubtedly expect is a one-way trip to the attic. Their mood is appropriately funereal even if she is being conveyed in one of the nicer company limousines to, she presumes, an equally pleasant corporate jet. She considers what meal the staff on board might be preparing for her last supper.
But she isn’t planning on getting that far.
She glances at her watch, finishes her glass of vodka and sits back - not quite the condemned woman. As she settles against the plush upholstery there is a dull thud and the car spins a clean 180 degrees. The tyres screech and burst. The driver, his companion and presumably the people in the cars escourting them are all killed or incapacitated. The young woman beside her hesitates a second too long and with macabre pleasure she kills her with the small, discrete gun that no one had searched her for. Her victim looks surprised and she is vaguely amused that apparently there are still some people who don’t understand how dangerous she is. Their number is rapidly diminishing.
The car door is wrenched open and she steps outside - blinking in the bright sunlight of the LA morning as she moves gracefully towards the rescue party. Echo, or Caroline flashes her a quick grin of greeting, though her eyes are watchful. “Going somewhere?”
“It seems not.” The team is jittery, the extraction was not without risk and needed careful, expert co-ordination. They have little time to linger, there is work to do. But she searches the familiar faces, looking for one person in particular; the man she knows is responsible for this particular rescue.
“Adelle,” turning at the sound of his voice she smiles as everything settles seamlessly into place.
“Your timing is as impeccable as ever Laurence.”
The End
These days there is nothing good about being summoned to Rossum Headquarters - her famous dislike of Tucson is just adding insult to injury. This is not a business trip to be anticipated with anything other than dread.
She is ‘collected’ from her office by insistent men and women who are not quite wielding guns - though the point is made by the bulges beneath their jackets. She isn’t surprised - she has been blotting her copy book far too often lately and her direct superiors are not forgiving men; they aren’t necessarily her superiors either - though that is an argument for another day. The point is, her many failings are no longer to be overlooked - punishment is necessary.
She expects that someone else is already sitting in her office, overseeing her house - she wishes them joy of the task. It is unfortunate that the hard drive of her computer has been accidentally erased, that many important computer systems were recently destroyed by a fire in the imprinting lab, that the occupants of her house staged a breakout - led by the ever creative Echo and have not yet been found. But quite soon she expects these to be the least of her replacement’s worries.
It is a pity that Boyd Langton is dead - but since he wasn’t the real Langton she regrets the stain his blood left on the carpet rather more than the loss of his life. She has never pretended to be a forgiving woman and she does not take kindly to manipulation of that score.
She is a little sorry about the men and women escourting her on what they undoubtedly expect is a one-way trip to the attic. Their mood is appropriately funereal even if she is being conveyed in one of the nicer company limousines to, she presumes, an equally pleasant corporate jet. She considers what meal the staff on board might be preparing for her last supper.
But she isn’t planning on getting that far.
She glances at her watch, finishes her glass of vodka and sits back - not quite the condemned woman. As she settles against the plush upholstery there is a dull thud and the car spins a clean 180 degrees. The tyres screech and burst. The driver, his companion and presumably the people in the cars escourting them are all killed or incapacitated. The young woman beside her hesitates a second too long and with macabre pleasure she kills her with the small, discrete gun that no one had searched her for. Her victim looks surprised and she is vaguely amused that apparently there are still some people who don’t understand how dangerous she is. Their number is rapidly diminishing.
The car door is wrenched open and she steps outside - blinking in the bright sunlight of the LA morning as she moves gracefully towards the rescue party. Echo, or Caroline flashes her a quick grin of greeting, though her eyes are watchful. “Going somewhere?”
“It seems not.” The team is jittery, the extraction was not without risk and needed careful, expert co-ordination. They have little time to linger, there is work to do. But she searches the familiar faces, looking for one person in particular; the man she knows is responsible for this particular rescue.
“Adelle,” turning at the sound of his voice she smiles as everything settles seamlessly into place.
“Your timing is as impeccable as ever Laurence.”
The End