The temptation of fate

The last time I posted, it seemed like the initiative was returning to me. My lawyer had prised a promise from my employers and for the first time in days I relaxed and began to look forward to the summer. 

For the next couple of days, James and I waited for the promised letter and with each hour of its failure to materialise, the tension rose. After 24 hours James lost patience and rang the head of HR, only to be told she was not available. Emails went unanswered, the head of the legal department did not return his calls. Things suddenly started looking very bad and I could hear in James' tone that he was worried as well as annoyed. After two days of the runaround from LRI, James started to put the pressure on with a threat of a claim on my part. In his letter he alluded to certain documents in my possession which were highly discreditable to LRI. "That should do it." He told me over the phone as I waited anxiously in the London flat. It certainly did.

When I returned from dinner with friends that night, the door of my flat had been forced and the flat ruthlessly searched. My desktop computer and the Asus mini laptop I have been using on my camping adventures were gone; filing cabinet broken open; cds and backup hard drive missing as well. My passport had been taken, yet the jewellery in the same drawer was untouched. Standing in the paper strewn mess of my office I rang James. His mobile number was engaged and I found out why when he returned my call a few minutes later. Security at his plush offices had just alerted him that his office had been similarly turned over. "Where are the LRI docs?" we asked simultaneously. His copies were in his office strong room which the burglars had not breached. Mine were on the USB drives which I have been carrying on me ever since I left London.

"It can't be a coincidence," I said, hoping he'd contradict me, "both of us being burgled at the same time." And then, "Where are you? Are you at home?" 

"Yes," he replied, "And it's all right, they haven't been here ... yet."

"Should I call the police?" 

There was a pause; finally James said "Yes, that's the right and proper thing to do. Besides, your passport has been stolen and that has important implications for the security of your identity. Call the police now and insist that they come round."

"How much should I tell them?" A longer pause this time. 

"You're shocked, frightened, confused. Your computers have been stolen and your passport. The burglars must have been interrupted because they didn't have time to  take anything else. We should talk about this tomorrow morning. I'll drop by on my way to work." As I said goodnight I caught the message in his words - my burglars might have left something as well as taking something - or perhaps my flat or phone had been bugged earlier. The feeling of security of the last few days had evaporated.