InsaneJournal

Current mood:

working

Martine finally reached the building on Threadneedle Street. She looked around in the early light. Nobody was about yet, but she'd long since learned not to be complacent. There was simply no telling where a random pair of eyes might be watching. What she had come to call her "spidey sense" wasn't tingling, however, and after a final visual scan of the immediate area, she went inside.

The former bank had floors that echoed as she moved, no matter how careful she was to keep the noise down. Buildings like this always had incredible acoustics which had to be appreciated even if they could be responsible for a sudden death or, worse, arrest and interrogation. She briefly entertained the notion she always had when her work brought her here that it would be wonderful to see the place restored to its undoubted former glory.

She made her way along and through the remains of a doorway whose thick wooden door had no doubt been salvaged to heat somebody's night long ago, and counted her steps until she finally stopped.

This was where she was to wait. NOW her senses started tingling. Odd, that. It had started off as some sort of a joke whose origin she didn't even know. But it was strangely apt, and rarely misplaced. Suddenly, she grinned. Without looking in any direction other than straight ahead, she spoke.

"Stop arseing about, MacNamara. I know you're there, you know I'm here. Let's just get this sorted so I can get back to my breakfast, shall we?"