Scene Thirty Seven
In which events are truly underway
Clare was having one of those strange moments when a leader has to look like they are the ones in control, or at the very least have some idea of what’s going on.
She didn’t have the slightest idea where all the bespectacled scientists had come from. She had said to Ants that she needed to bring experts in to look at the mess, and now there were hundreds, literally, hundreds of the aforementioned people, crawling all over the place and theoretically under her command. She knew that there was a logical connection between the two things, but she hadn’t been the one who had made it.
They had set up a temporary command under a large piece of metal which stuck up from the mess. There everyone who could be spared was pouring over the security footage which Andrew had dug out. It wasn’t that the footage was damaged in anyway, but it was taking a very long time to get information from the tapes; there was just so much of it to watch.
She had put Andrew in charge of the recordings; mostly to keep him out of the way, but he had taken to the task with intensity which surprised Clare. She wanted to put that down to good leadership, but she knew that it was really just simple dumb luck, and then she started wondering how many great military victories were the results of dumb luck.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure running toward her, ducking and weaving the whole way, like a puppet with someone joggling the strings around. She didn’t even need to focus on him, “Hello, Andrew”, she said, as he reached her; out of breath.
“Mi- Miss Clare”, he panted, “W-we found something, you should see”
Clare noticed that Andrew still didn’t seem to be able to make eye contact with her, but he had gotten through a complete sentence this time, I should write a self help course, she thought.
She followed Andrew back to their makeshift command center, where dozens of computer screens let off an eerie glow even in the bright noonlight of the Amazon. All the staff of the center were clustered around one of the computers in the corner. She walked up at looked into the monitor.
The recordings were in black and white, but she could see that whoever had decorated the room that the monitor was depicting had excellent taste. She recognized the faces of her editor and her immediate boss, sitting in lazy boys no less, Clare almost laughed seeing that. At least she knew for sure that they had been there. She looked at the third person that the camera showed. Well hello, she thought, who are you? The man, whoever he was, was sitting on what was clearly an expensive couch and looked like he was the one in charge. I’ve found my lead, she thought.
She turned suddenly to Andrew, who jumped back in shock, “Get a clear picture of that man’s face to Ants” she said, “and when that is done, follow the footage backwards and forwards. I want you to be able to tell me within the hour exactly how Tony Tony and Greg got there, and how they left.”
Andrew made a sharp jerk of the head, which may have been a nod. Then he sprinted outside before turning and sprinting back in, looking embarrassed. As he started giving orders Clare excused herself and walked back into the noonlight. She could feel a wicked grin spreading across her face, things are looking up, she thought.
 Which is to say, everyone who could be spared