[ Think you’ve got turned round, Jack. The exit’s over there.]
[ I know exactly where I’m going.]
[Come on now, Jackie boy, a joke’s a joke.]
Jack shouldered his way through some particularly energetic dancers. One of them shouted at him, but the words were inaudible.
[ You really mean it, don’t you? You’re a lunatic, Jack. You’ll get yourself beaten up. At best.]
[ Just like when some of the prison’s biggest thugs came looking for me after your dodgy card games. It won’t be any worse than that.]
[ But I didn’t know I’d be taking over then!]
They were off the dance floor and into the corridor. Fist sulked in silence as Jack climbed the stairs. Halfway up, there was a landing.
[ Think about Andrea!] wailed Fist. [ If you get caught, they’ll go after her too.]
[ We kept our relationship secret. There’s nothing to connect us. She’s perfectly safe, whatever happens.]
A disinfectant reek stung Jack’s nose. There were two doors marked with little barcodes, one shaped like a man, another like a woman. A third door had a little combination keypad by its handle.
[Physical security! There’s nothing I can do about that. We can stop playing at burglars and leave.]
[ Read one of the staff. Get me the combination.]
[ They might pick me up. That could be dangerous.]
[ They definitely will do if I go down and tell them what we’re up to here. Which I will do if you don’t start helping me now. Do it, Fist, or I’ll get the shit kicked out of us both.]
Fist swore and closed his eyes. His body shook slightly. Jack imagined his consciousness skipping from bouncer to bar staff to DJ, brushing against their virtual selves, looking for cracks to seep into.
Fist’s eyes flicked back open.
[ I’m only helping you to get in so we can get out as quickly as possible.]
[ Yes.]
[ I really don’t think you should be doing this.]
[ There’s only one person up there. And we’ll avoid him. Now what’s the number?]
[2754.]
[ That was nice and easy, wasn’t it?]
[ Fuck off.]
They stepped through the door and into luxury.
[Got a signal?] said Jack.
[Getting stronger.]
[Go to work.]
The corridor was padded with pale, thick carpets. Soft uplights illuminated pastel walls, studded with glyphs. Jack wondered about the onweave art that the glyphs represented. When Jack first started investigating Akhmatov’s business affairs, he’d watched interviews with a few young Station artists. Akhmatov had a habit of arriving at their studios unannounced and paying substantial amounts for one or two pieces of their best work. None of them had been either able or willing to give much information away about their patron. Akhmatov’s interest made sure that these stylish young people patronised his more exclusive events, lending them an air of cutting edge excitement that made them some of the most popular nights in Docklands. They’d even attracted a regular Homelands clientele.
No doubt these glyphs pleasured onweave viewers with sounds and visuals from the servers of today’s bright young things. No doubt Akhmatov’s art patronage still helped keep his venues at the cutting edge of fashion. And of course, such patronage would please East. As maker and breaker of Station fashion, her interest and indulgence were essential to the success of Akhmatov’s business. Jack wondered briefly if she was the Pantheon member whose influence he’d made out in the Panther Czar’s accounts. She’d certainly always been close to Grey.
Soon he’d know for sure.
[ Now we’re talking,] said Fist, pulling Jack out of his reverie.
[ You’re in?]
Fist tittered, irritation all but forgotten in the joy of action.
[Part of the way. Got the basics.]
[So who’s that up ahead?]
[ It is Akhmatov. Looks like he’s asleep.]
[Must have had a hard day’s night.]
For a moment, Jack remembered the best parts of his time with Fist – the sense of vastly more efficient systems grafted on to his own mind, working both with and beyond it to achieve the impossible.
[Getting any info on him?] he asked.
[Some basics. He’s discreet, but not discreet enough. The meat’ll be deeper in. I need to get up close to one of his servers. Second door on the left.]
Fist bounced ahead of Jack as they walked up the corridor. The door was decorated with a particularly complex, tiger-shaped glyph. It was unlocked. Jack tiptoed through, then carefully shut it behind him. All was pitch-black.
[ Right,] said Fist.
And then the lights came on.
Akhmatov was sat behind a large stone desk. He was dressed in a smart white suit. His pale face hovered beneath grey-black hair. There was a tightly trimmed moustache at its centre, sitting above precise, fussy lips. His eyes were masked by round black lenses. He was lighting a cigarette. There were men dressed in black, two to his left, one to his right, and one behind. All four had the same face. There was a leather armchair in front of the desk. The rest of the room was empty.
‘I always thought, Jack,’ said Akhmatov, exhaling smoke, ‘that you had a little more style than this. But then, you have been away from us for rather a long time. And your little man is so easy to fool.’
[Shit,] said Fist. [ This fucking cage.]
Chapter 11
‘All these years,’ said Akhmatov. ‘And we finally meet.’
[ Fist,] Jack whispered, [what happened?]
[ He spoofed me. I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A FUCKING STUPID IDEA!]
‘Your little man is less effective than he boasts,’ said Akhmatov. He contemplated the tip of his cigarette for a moment. ‘I’ve force-opened some of your weave channels. The cageware should stop me from doing that, but it seems that somebody’s cut a little hole from inside. Naughty naughty!’
[ He’s overloaded my weaveports,] said Fist. [ The cage is reading it as a potential hack, so I can’t manifest. I’m all locked down, you’re on your own. Run! Don’t let him hurt you!]
[ Bouncers’d be on us straightaway.]
Akhmatov gestured, the cigarette trailing smoke in the air. ‘But where are my manners? You should sit.’
An attendant appeared at Jack’s side and waved him towards the armchair. There was no other choice. Jack let himself subside into it. The faded leather was soft and welcoming. It sighed as Jack sat back, exhaling a fusty reek of cigars and privilege.
‘It’s really just plastic,’ smiled Akhmatov. ‘Rather well programmed, isn’t it?’ The dark glasses gave him the look of an insect.
‘What do you want, Akhmatov?’ said Jack, barely keeping his voice steady.
‘Your return has caused, let us say, quite the stir. In circles that I move in, at least. In fact, I was warned not to receive you. To shut you out, to let your licence run out, to let you die and your puppet take the strings.’ Akhmatov’s smile became a chuckle. ‘Of course I’ve always resented being told what to do. I think you might sympathise with that?’ He leant forward in his chair and inspected Jack. ‘No, I really don’t see it. Jack, there are entities that scare even me. You’ve slept with Grey, you know what I mean. And some of them’ – Akhmatov raised his hand and pointed at him – ‘are mortally afraid of you, and of the little cuckoo in your nest.’ He sat back. ‘No, I don’t understand it either.’
Jack realised that Akhmatov was looking at him expectantly. But there was nothing to say. He shrugged, hoping to at least display some bravado. ‘I really wouldn’t know,’ he said.
‘Still the same old ingénue. I watched you, Jack, watched you trying to draw your strings around me, back in the old days. You were very sharp. Of course I was aware of every move you took.’
Jack was at once shocked by Akhmatov’s revelation and surprised to hear real respect in his voice. Memories of the investigation shimmered through him. ‘Perhaps that’s what they’re scared of,’ he replied. ‘I would have had you, Pierre. A month more, maybe two. And your backer too.’