heard the break-room door swing open and shut. She slipped back out into the corridor.
That was way too close, she thought.
She paced quickly through the remaining cubicles, returned to her original vantage point at the other end of the corridor with the locked door in it, and waited.
She glanced at her watch. It was now 4.59 p.m. She guessed that she had about five minutes before she had warmed up enough to disturb the camera. But she wouldnât need to wait that long. At five oâclock, most of the remaining cubicle-dwellers would head home; but before they did, they would go to the bathroom.
The security guard was standing as rigidly to attention as before. He wasnât looking towards her, but he wasnât looking away either. He would see her as soon as she rounded the corner.
Beads of icy water from Ashâs hair trickled down her spine. She opened her handbag, took out the chilled foundation, and started painting it on her face. Her nose stung from the cold.
A minute later she looked in her pocket mirror. Her mascara had run, her hair was slicked against her skull, and she was wearing so much foundation that her skin looked plastic. She looked like a Bratz doll. Itâll take a million paper towels to clean this up, she thought. It had better hide me from the camera.
She slipped the mirror back into her handbag and removed a miniature pair of bolt cutters. She held them in one quivering hand as she stared at the guard.
At the far end of the corridor, a woman was looking for the other bathroom, having followed the arrow on Ashâs sign. The adhesive tape stuck to her shoe when she stepped on it, and as she walked, the elastic thread stretched behind her.
Crash! The bin toppled over, spilling all the items Ash had filled it with onto the floor. The guardâs head snapped towards the source of the sound. Ash slipped into the corridor, now outside his peripheral vision. She raced towards the locked door as quickly as she could without making a sound.
Keep looking, she thought. Come on, you big dumb security guard; keep watching the distraction. Just long enough for me to get behind you.
Five steps to go. Three. One.
There! Ash stood perfectly still, sandwiched in the 60 centimetres between the guardâs back and the locked door. The guardâs cotton and polyester shirt was only centimetres in front of her eyes. She breathed as silently as she could. Her blood thumped in her ears.
Seeing the woman pick up the bin and start to put the rubbish back in it, the guard turned back to his former posture. As he moved, Ashâs hand snaked forwards and wrapped itself slowly around the keys beside his hip.
Ash was still for a moment. The guard showed no sign that he knew she was behind him, or that heâd felt her grab the keys. She eased the bolt cutters forward with her other hand and waited.
Having returned the bin to an upright position, the woman started walking again; only to have it fall over behind her a second time. She hadnât yet noticed the sticky tape attached to the bottom of her shoe, or its invisible link to the bin. As a second crash rang out through the corridor, Ash squeezed the bolt cutters, and with a soft click , the guardâs key ring was shorn through.
Ash paused again. The guard still hadnât seemed to sense her presence. She slipped the key she wanted off the ring. Then she slowly inserted it into the lock.
She glanced up as she worked. The guard was watching the woman clean up the mess for the second time. Ash had to hurry; right now she was shielded from the womanâs view by the alcove around the door, but once the woman removed the tape and walked a few metres closer, Ash would be spotted.
Pressing the folds of her soggy jacket over the keypad to muffle the clacking of the keys, she pushed the buttons through the fabric: 72269. Then she moved the jacket to the handle, and turned it very slowly.
The woman straightened up the bin and started
That was way too close, she thought.
She paced quickly through the remaining cubicles, returned to her original vantage point at the other end of the corridor with the locked door in it, and waited.
She glanced at her watch. It was now 4.59 p.m. She guessed that she had about five minutes before she had warmed up enough to disturb the camera. But she wouldnât need to wait that long. At five oâclock, most of the remaining cubicle-dwellers would head home; but before they did, they would go to the bathroom.
The security guard was standing as rigidly to attention as before. He wasnât looking towards her, but he wasnât looking away either. He would see her as soon as she rounded the corner.
Beads of icy water from Ashâs hair trickled down her spine. She opened her handbag, took out the chilled foundation, and started painting it on her face. Her nose stung from the cold.
A minute later she looked in her pocket mirror. Her mascara had run, her hair was slicked against her skull, and she was wearing so much foundation that her skin looked plastic. She looked like a Bratz doll. Itâll take a million paper towels to clean this up, she thought. It had better hide me from the camera.
She slipped the mirror back into her handbag and removed a miniature pair of bolt cutters. She held them in one quivering hand as she stared at the guard.
At the far end of the corridor, a woman was looking for the other bathroom, having followed the arrow on Ashâs sign. The adhesive tape stuck to her shoe when she stepped on it, and as she walked, the elastic thread stretched behind her.
Crash! The bin toppled over, spilling all the items Ash had filled it with onto the floor. The guardâs head snapped towards the source of the sound. Ash slipped into the corridor, now outside his peripheral vision. She raced towards the locked door as quickly as she could without making a sound.
Keep looking, she thought. Come on, you big dumb security guard; keep watching the distraction. Just long enough for me to get behind you.
Five steps to go. Three. One.
There! Ash stood perfectly still, sandwiched in the 60 centimetres between the guardâs back and the locked door. The guardâs cotton and polyester shirt was only centimetres in front of her eyes. She breathed as silently as she could. Her blood thumped in her ears.
Seeing the woman pick up the bin and start to put the rubbish back in it, the guard turned back to his former posture. As he moved, Ashâs hand snaked forwards and wrapped itself slowly around the keys beside his hip.
Ash was still for a moment. The guard showed no sign that he knew she was behind him, or that heâd felt her grab the keys. She eased the bolt cutters forward with her other hand and waited.
Having returned the bin to an upright position, the woman started walking again; only to have it fall over behind her a second time. She hadnât yet noticed the sticky tape attached to the bottom of her shoe, or its invisible link to the bin. As a second crash rang out through the corridor, Ash squeezed the bolt cutters, and with a soft click , the guardâs key ring was shorn through.
Ash paused again. The guard still hadnât seemed to sense her presence. She slipped the key she wanted off the ring. Then she slowly inserted it into the lock.
She glanced up as she worked. The guard was watching the woman clean up the mess for the second time. Ash had to hurry; right now she was shielded from the womanâs view by the alcove around the door, but once the woman removed the tape and walked a few metres closer, Ash would be spotted.
Pressing the folds of her soggy jacket over the keypad to muffle the clacking of the keys, she pushed the buttons through the fabric: 72269. Then she moved the jacket to the handle, and turned it very slowly.
The woman straightened up the bin and started
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