‘Look, I don’t wanna be here. Nandru roped me into this without asking me,’ Polly replied, her hand flicking up to the Muse at her throat.
Only the presence of that device caused Tack any qualms, for even he did not have sufficient clearance to know its capabilities. It was recently developed military tech and, as such, an imponderable in this situation. However, he judged it to be tech whose purpose was merely informational, not some form of weaponry, its presence being only required by Jurgens as a secure comlink.
The Macrojet landed, blasting about it, like confetti, old crab carapaces whose owners had probably been washed inland during the over-flooding of the incompetently built sea wall that lay some miles to the east. Immediately the two either side of Polly piled out of the vehicle and ran to investigate the surrounding buildings and tangled vegetation, pulling guns from concealed holsters as they went. Tack glanced at Polly and gestured her with his thumb to the open door, before himself climbing out. He did not rush for cover—he had every confidence that the other two had the area covered sufficiently. The driver remained in the car.
‘Where to now?’ he asked Polly.
She held a finger up to the earring that he reckoned had to be an inducer. Tack understood the technology because he too wore a device that used electrostatic induction to vibrate the bones of his inner ear—in his case to relay instructions from his Director of Operations in Brussels. After a moment she pointed to a nearby ruin—all tumbled breeze blocks and heaped mud. When Tack made no move to head in that direction, she frowned and led the way.
Walking behind, Tack scanned his surroundings. The sunlight was bright, so he flicked up his polarized nictitating membranes, once again mirroring his eyes.
No one in the immediate area, Glock told him over comlink.
Traffic control hasn’t got anything within five kilometres, said Airan.
There is the tower, though, added Provish, the driver.
‘Stay alert and keep all detectors on,’ said Tack, getting a querying look from Polly. ‘This guy took out two in Prague with a door mine.’
As they reached the ruin, the whore froze and lost all interest in her surroundings. Looking past her, Tack saw that the item was there, resting on a large fragment of polystyrene, and it was on this that her attention was now riveted. Tack knew about this reaction, but had never felt it himself, perhaps because of his programming. He then noted the explosive charge fixed to the side of the item, and began to guess what Jurgens’s game was.
It calls to you… it calls to you all the time.
The nettles were dead and dry in the cavity walls, and the grass was brown and crunched underfoot. Glancing at her stolid and lethal companion, Polly stepped sideways into the shade cast by the low oaks. She was thirsty, and scared, not only because of her present situation but of the reaction she had immediately felt. For a moment she thought the thing was some chitinous object washed in by the over-flood, like the pink and white crab carapaces all around. It looked like a mutated crustacean from the sea, and some weird things had been turning up in seas greenhouse-cooked and radioactive. However, white plastique was jammed around its thorny outgrowths, and the miniscreen of a matt-black detonator connected to this explosive displayed a revolving spiral of red lights.
There it is, Nandru told her, and she was bemused by the avidity in his tone.
‘What do I do now?’ she asked out loud.
The heavy was staring at her but offered no reply.
Tell him the detonator is net-linked and programmable. I know he’s monitored and in constant com. His DO can run a diagnostic probe from wherever he is and that won’t cause a detonation. He’ll find a hard link from the numbered account.
Polly relayed Nandru’s words, while still staring at the object. It was seemingly all thorned glass and silver; a perilous thing to slip onto her forearm—as she desperately wanted to do. Groping in her hip bag for a smoke, she spotted Tack immediately pointing his seeker gun at her.
Interdiction initiated. Seeking…
Ignoring the dead voice of Muse 184, she slowed her movements but did not stop them, as she was aching for that smoke. With shaking hands she opened her tobacco pouch and rolled a cigarette. Lighting up, she turned directly towards Tack, deliberately away from the temptation of the strange object, and blew smoke towards him provocatively. His air was somewhat distracted, he was obviously listening to his comlink, but the barrel of his weapon never wavered from her face.
‘The hard link has been found and the diagnostic probe is in,’ said Tack. ‘What is the purpose of this?’
After listening to Nandru, Polly replied, ‘He tells me you’ll find that, when the specified sum is transferred to the numbered account, the detonator will shut down.’
‘And we are to believe this?’ asked Tack, his tone conveying respect at the neatness of the set-up.
‘He also tells me that at some point there has to be trust.’
Tack was silent again, for long-drawn-out moments. Polly could feel sweat trickling under her blouse. She did not convey what Nandru told her next.
As I thought, the fuckers are trying to break the hard link. No way in, dickheads… They’ll have to do it—they’re too desperate for the damned thing.
‘It is agreed,’ said Tack after a moment. ‘The transference of funds will be made. Inform Mr Jurgens that if the detonator does not shut down then, or if there are any other… mishaps, I will personally hunt him down and feed him into a trash compactor.’
I can hear you, fucker. And your hunting days are over.
Polly eyed the spiralling lights on the detonator’s screen and stepped back into the hot sunlight, preparing to bolt. Suddenly the lights went out and, realizing she just was not far enough away, Polly closed her eyes and cringed inwardly.
‘Transaction complete,’ said Tack.
Polly opened her eyes to see him stepping in towards the object and its clinging explosive, his weapon again concealed while he pulled on surgical gloves. He stooped, pulled off the detonator and cast it to one side. He then stripped away the plastique, balled it, and tossed it in another direction.
You know, Polly, if it hadn’t been for you, Marjae might still be alive. You can tell your friend there that I acquired him and his companions when they were walking over. The deal’s done and now it’s payback time.
The detonation came from behind and Polly turned in time to see the underside of the Macrojet as it turned in a conflagration. Two other hits swatted it along the ground as if it was fashioned of balsa and papier mâché, blowing it to pieces. Glancing back, she saw Tack raising his seeker gun and she ran for the trees.
Interdiction find.
The mosquito whining of seeker bullets was suddenly all around her—their winged shapes whipping through the air like June beetles. Coming out of brambles some way ahead of her, with leaves stuck to his long coat, she saw one of Tack’s companions levelling his gun at her. Then he doubled over, and the dull thud of a muffled detonation spread his insides across the dry grass.
Not target. Interdiction pause.
Behind her she could hear the killer, Tack, pursuing. She turned to her left as there came the low coughing of a nearby gun.
Interdiction find.
A seeker round whined past her and hit a sapling just ahead, blowing it in half. Another round whined overhead, made a strange whuckering sound, then spiralled into the earth directly in front of her and exploded. She leapt the smoking hole and just kept on running. The shots were missing her and she just did not understand why.
Provish was right. In the fucking tower! In the t—