Gina paused before entering the lobby, absently smoothing her black pullover shirt. She knew there were cameras in the lobby, one of which included the mouth of the corridor in its view. However, there were no motion sensors here, and according to Nick, the feed from these cameras wasn’t monitored by the overnight security firm. It was possible that tomorrow, or some other time, someone could review the footage from the lobby, but even if they did, all that would be seen was a shadow, a dark shape, indistinct and unidentifiable.
Still.... best to play it safe.
She kept her head down and sidled unhurriedly along the wall of the lobby, staying in shadows whenever possible. Moving like this, it seemed to take forever, but soon she passed the main desk, as well as the entrance to the New World Neighbors room. Thus, a mere ten minutes after cautiously entering the lobby, Gina reached the entrance to the Growing Technologies room.
Glancing in, she saw the green lights on the security cameras high up on the walls, as well as the telltale blinking red lights on the motion sensor units, which were positioned at various heights across the room.
Gina reached into her pack and brought out a sealed mason jar which had been securely wrapped in a towel. Tapping the lid and shaking the jar slightly, she positioned herself at the entrance to the exhibit hall where she knew she was out of camera range. Then, pointing the mouth of the jar away from herself, she opened the lid.
Out flew a couple of moths. Gina tapped the jar again; a few more moths flew out. After two or three repetitions of shaking and tapping, all the moths were finally out of the jar. She was glad to see that other than a few stragglers that didn’t do what they were supposed to, almost all of the moths flew obligingly into the Growing Technologies room and were even now fluttering around. By the glow of the Exit sign and a few directional lights that were left on at night, Gina watched the moths flit and fly this way and that.
If all was going according to plan, the movement of the darting insects was even now noticed by the motion sensors, setting off an alarm with the security company. Gina imagined the guards anxiously studying their screens to see what was moving, and the looks on their faces when they noticed the moths.
The movement of the moths was prolonged, and would keep the sensors in a state of alarm for hours. As Nick had suggested, there was only one sensible thing to be done.
Sure enough, after about fifteen minutes, Gina saw the red blinking lights of the motion sensors go off. The security company was obviously satisfied that the pesky Lepidoptera would continue to fly around the room and wreak havoc with the sensors, so they simply turned them off.
So far, so good.
Gina made her way next door, to the entrance of the North American Pathways room. Since this room and the Technologies room were on the same security circuit, cutting off the motion sensors of one turned off the sensors of the other, as well. So half the problem was taken care of.
Now for the other half.
Just as she’d done in the lobby, Gina inched her way slowly along the inside wall of the North American Pathways room, again keeping her head down. She was pretty sure there was no danger of her being seen on one of the video cameras, but decided to take no chances. After all, she’d been just as sure nobody would check the store-room, either; she’d been wrong about that, and she could be just as wrong about this.
Soon Gina was standing directly underneath one of the security cameras, the one which was of particular interest to her. Once again reaching into her bag, she brought out a narrow cylindrical object about eighteen inches long, to the end of which she fitted a padded gripper-like attachment. Adjusting her hat, Gina planted her feet and looked up. Twisting a knob at the end of the cylinder, she watched as the rod telescoped upward toward the camera.
For this step, accuracy was everything, and unfortunately, due to the practically non-existent lighting in the room, she couldn’t see the camera clearly.
Taking a breath, she continued turning the knob, very slowly. Finally she felt the attachment lightly butt up against the bottom of the camera. Carefully Gina pulled a cable at the bottom of the pole, which caused the gripper to gently tighten on either side of the camera like a benevolent hand. Very patiently, her biceps already aching from the awkward angle and strain of deliberate slowness, she gradually, painstakingly inched the camera away from its current target. If any of the security company personnel happened to glance at the feed from this particular camera, they probably wouldn’t notice the snail’s-pace movement or the fact that the angle had changed—was still changing—incrementally. Considering the number of cameras that were being monitored in the building, she had to hope the odds were with her, and against the feed from this particular camera being inspected too closely at this particular time..
Finally, when she was satisfied that the camera had been moved far enough for her purposes, Gina retracted the grippers and gratefully lowered the pole, propping it up against the wall next to her. Her biceps were quivering in relief from the strain, but her hands remained steady. Reaching into her ‘magic bag’ yet again, Gina retrieved another object and set the bag down next to the pole.
She mentally crossed her fingers that she hadn’t miscalculated the range of the room’s other security cameras. Then she took a deep breath and stepped forward into the middle of the exhibit hall.
The Woodland Bowl was displayed in a rectangular free-standing pedestal exhibit case, one of a handful of such cases in the center of the room. As Gina reached it, she assumed that the lack of sirens or blaring alarms was a good thing, so she focused on the job at hand.
During her time ‘volunteering’ at the museum, Gina had had plenty of time to study the structure of the display stands, especially this one containing the bowl. Surprisingly, the clear acrylic case on top was secured to the base by means of simple hex-socket screws, so an Allen wrench was the only tool Gina needed for this part of the job.
After unfastening the screws, she gingerly lifted the case straight up so as not to damage the bowl beneath. Then, with the case in one hand, she gently picked up the bowl with the other and set it down on the floor. A moment later she carefully replaced the clear acrylic cover and re-fastened the screws.
Gina let out a relieved breath and closed her eyes for a second or two. Then she retrieved the bowl from the floor and retraced her steps to where she’d left her pack and the telescoping stick.
She painstakingly wrapped the bowl in a towel and placed it in her bag. Next, Gina again picked up the extended pole with the gripper attachment. She reached up until the pad once again came into contact with the camera. As before, she used the gripper to gently take hold of the camera and slowly, patiently, incrementally eased the camera back into its original position. Of course, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get it exactly where it had been, but it should at least be close enough to pass a cursory inspection.
Once she was satisfied with the camera’s repositioning and angle, Gina collapsed her telescoping rod and replaced it, along with the gripper attachment, into her bag, being careful not to bump it into the Woodland Bowl.
This time she allowed herself a big sigh. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but the hard part was done. Now came the tedious part.
Gina edged her way slowly, step-by-step, along the wall to the entrance of the exhibit room, mirroring the way she’d come into the room a while earlier. Just because she’d been successful so far and hadn’t set off any alarms didn’t mean she could afford to drop her guard now. So she continued as she’d begun: steadily and laboriously.
Finally—she reached the entry and stepped out into the hall, out of range of the cameras inside. Another sigh of relief. The bulk of her job was done; all that was left was hanging around until the museum opened.
Gina made her way to the darkened break-room, where she set her pack on the floor and collapsed into a chair, resting her head on her arms. Next to her on the table was a large, plastic mixing bowl which, instead of cake batter or brownie mix, was filled with a huge assortment of individually-wrapped hard candies. With the help of the light from her phone, she fished around until she found one that was green-apple flavored, which she unwrapped and popped into her mouth.
As she savored the tartness, Gina used her phone again, this time to send Nick a text. “So far, so good. Now just waiting.”
