Читать книгу The Zima Confession - Iain M Rodgers - Страница 14

Though it was not yet five p.m. it was already quiet in the office. Most of them would leave early to try to beat the rush, or go for a drink so that the rush hour had died down before they actually set off home. The rush ‘hour’ in London starts around four p.m. and goes on until around seven p.m.

As Richard opened Mitchell’s drawer, he was aware Jim Callan was approaching down the corridor of the open-plan office. His heart sank. Should he close the drawer quickly? A brown envelope was the one and only thing in there. Should he try to pick it up before Callan saw him? It was too late for that. In any case, he was only looking into a drawer, for Christ’s sake, not stealing the Crown jewels. Just keep calm.

Jim Callan was not someone who would just come and casually talk to you. He would always plant himself strategically before you and puff himself up a bit before starting a conversation. He did that now.

“I thought that was Mitchell’s drawer.”

“Don’t know. It’s a hot-desk. I had the keys.”

Callan eyed Richard malevolently. Whatever he did, Callan always did it confrontationally. There was a long, intense silence as though Callan was a judge in a reality cookery contest and was about to vote Richard out.

“The hot-desks are over there.” He pointed to the area behind reception, near the managers’ glass cubicles and the break-out room.

“I guess they moved them. I was given this one ages ago. Maybe they did it by mistake,” Richard offered.

“What you need it for anyway?”

“I kept some tax forms and things here for safe-keeping while I was away in Moscow.”

Callan paused again, preparing to escalate the level of confrontation. But this time he seemed to realise it was none of his business anyway. He relaxed slightly, perhaps to catch Richard off-guard.

“How was Moscow?”

“Expensive. Painfully expensive. The per diems barely covered our food. We were all teetotallers by the time we were done.”

Callan allowed himself a little smile at this. All the consultants drank like fishes when they were away from home. “I mean how did the project go?”

“Not bad. The project’s still ongoing but they’re into phase three now. I’m back in the UK for a bit.”

“What’s next for you?”

“Nothing next as yet. I’m still at Oldhams, for a good while.”

“Did you know that project will be finishing up soon?”

“No?” Richard’s heart missed a beat. If he was moved on from Oldhams, what was the point in having the memory stick?

“Be careful.” Callan looked pointedly at him. Richard felt an involuntary spasm in his cheek. He wasn’t very good at this, he realised.

“There are a few redundancies coming up. Consultants need to be chargeable.”

“Don’t worry, I know that.”

With that, Callan decided to withdraw. Richard watched him move slowly and purposefully back up the corridor and re-enter his frosted glass cubicle. Callan was another of those on-contract project managers that rarely made an appearance in the office and seemed to have the vaguest workload. For some reason, Richard didn’t like him. He waited until he was sure Callan was settled into his cubicle before quickly picking up the envelope. Then he went down the service elevator at the back of the building to avoid having to pass Callan’s office.

Christ! If I’m made redundant, the plan’s over, he thought.