“Oh for feck's sake.” Jenn's heart started beating at a reasonable rate after a minute or so of staring at Wes and Tom. She realized she was staring over the rifle barrel again, so she made a clear effort to methodically put it back in its rack over the workbench.
“I just need to get a fresh set of survey photos and we can all get the feck out of here and get a drink.” She doesn't question both of them showing up at this point. Frankly, she's glad Wes isn't a little black-haired girl in a red dress as well.
She was about to set the box upright on the counter and position it when she caught a couple of meaningful stares from across the room. “Right. Gloves.” She pulled a couple of nitrile gloves out of a box in a drawer in the workbench and slipped them on with a snap.
That done, Jenn moved the small golden casket, setting it upright and positioning it to get a shot of the first side's cramped lines of hieroglyphs. “Wes? Get the camera for me? Tom? Er... don't shoot anyone?”
The process went relatively quickly with the extra sets of hands. Jenn loaded the files onto the building's secure servers and also dumped a copy to a thumb drive that she tossed in her shoulder bag.
On the way out, with Tom completely re-armed (some extensive time later), Jenn stopped at the front desk. “Pat, put the cameras back on in the corridors on Sub-level 3? I... the intercom malfunctioned... that way if I'm down there I can just wave at you from the hall.”
She ignored the meaningful “what do you mean 'if you're down there'” glances and headed for the doors to the street. “Drinks. I'm buying. Hope these bloody pictures stick this time!”
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