It was nearly 7pm when Josh's phone chirped and Petra's image grinned at him. He had been in a dark, quiet mood for hours, staring at the barges on the Thames, seeing the man he had killed, smelling the stench, not comforted by the memory of naked teenagers turned into nanoviral factories, and the knowledge that he would kill again in such a situation.
"Hey, lover. I wanted to give you an invitation."
"Petra. What kind of invitation?"
Earlier, he had gone to the hostel at Zenith Place, checking out the only piece of information Khan had given him. No one had recognised the pictures of Jayce or Richard. But one of the volunteers mentioned that there were other volunteers and other clients – meaning drop-in homeless people – so that if he came back later, he might get better results. What he ought to do was return now, and check again, not stand around chatting to Petra.
"The short-notice kind of invite that says, come round to my place tonight, for late supper, dinner, whatever."
"Your place?"
"With zero evil intentions on my part, tight-buns. Yukiko will be there, and she gets jealous. Bring your girlfriend, make it a foursome."
"She isn't my… Well."
Petra was a careful planner. If she were going to invite him over for dinner – which had never happened before – it would have been two weeks in advance, with detailed interrogation about allergies and preferences. But if he were to pick a list of places likely to be hardened against eavesdropping, her flat would be in the top ten.
"So you're coming, then?"
"I guess so. Can't speak for Suzanne, though."
"Come anyway. Bring her if she's free."
"I'll do my best. See you later."
"Later."
One of the barges sounded electronic chimes, for no reason he could see. He watched it move across the darkening water, against a backdrop of golden-orange radiance and the ornate silhouette of Parliament. Then he called Suzanne.
"Oh, hi, Josh. I was expecting another call. Good to see you."
"Sorry, is this a bad time?"
"I've a client coming – this is my late night at Elliptical House. Evening appointments, once a week."
"I didn't realise."
"So, if you want to talk in person, be here at eight, when my seven o'clock leaves."
"Petra's invited us to her place. For supper. And her, uh, partner will be there. Yukiko."
"You want to go?"
"I think we should."
An eavesdropper might think they were a couple, the way they were talking. He had emphasised should as a way of suggesting they had things to talk about, but only offline. He thought Suzanne understood.
"So you want to come here, and we can go together?"
"Sure."
"See you in a bit, then."
"Yeah. See you."
He sighed when her image winked out.
A night-time receptionist at Elliptical House made him sign in, just to wait downstairs. He hoped that Suzanne was equally security conscious. If she started to say anything untoward, he would have to stop her. As the lift door dinged open, he felt his breathing stop, and perhaps his mouth drifted open, because her presence was as amazing as he had remembered.
Her kiss on his cheek was acetylene fire, or maybe sheet lightning.
"Josh. Hey. So we're off to visit Petra. That'll be nice."
"Well, I'm hungry and she promised us supper."
"Bad Josh." To the receptionist: "Night, Bill. Regards to Shannon."
"I'll pass it on. Night, Suzanne."
Josh smiled at the guy, because if he was on a firstname basis with Suzanne, he must be all right. So how do I know that? But he just did, that was all. As they exited, he took hold of Suzanne's hand, her skin so electric, and she allowed it to happen without flinching, just like a pro, making no mention of the hard object in his palm. When their hands disengaged it was quite natural, and she waited until they stopped at the kerb on Victoria Street before pushing at her hair, a covering gesture as she inserted the earbead he had passed her.
With the traffic noise, it was easier to form the words in his throat like humming, not opening his mouth: "If you have a throat mic, the bead will tune in to it, without your phone. Otherwise, you'll just have to listen."
They reached the entrance to the Tube, and began to descend, the mag-escalator scraping, though it was supposed to be silent. Suzanne looped her throat cord in place, started to attach her phone, then shook her head as though changing her mind. A disconnected throat mic, though it had a tiny processor, would normally be useless without a phone; but the earbead would already be hooking in by infrared, acting as transceiver, its signal firmware-encrypted.
"Josh?" Her neck muscles moved. "How's this?"
"Good. Petra said there was a watch on query attempts, for anyone searching for Richard Broomhall."
"Yes, I remember."
"Petra's never invited me to her place. She worded the invite as if it were natural, you know? Like she's always doing it."
"She's being watched?"
They were on the platform now, and a train was whooshing in.
"Nice timing," Josh said aloud, then subvocalised: "Her or us. It takes official sanction for Broomhall to be on a watch list."
There was a vacant seat and she took it, while Josh turned to stand by the door. As the train slid into the tunnel and the windows went black, he stared, hoping to look lost in thought.
"OK," subvocalised Suzanne. "What about the Brezhinski family?"
Josh blinked. The injured boy Marek, and his parents in Swindon. He had forgotten. "You called them?"
"We talked, and I think I can help them. Where do you want me to do it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Isn't this part of the search for Richard?"
She didn't know about Sophie. "Um, not really. I just thought you could help."
"Then it doesn't matter whether they come to London or I travel to Swindon."
"No. Except-"
He shut down his mind. Except I have to go see Maria, and the only reason she wants to see me is to make it official, because she's leaving me for good. I'm sure that's it.
In her seat, Suzanne twitched her head, grew still. Had she heard? The problem with subvocalising was that sometimes you transmitted too much. He clucked his tongue, deactivating the mike. Balls. When he looked again, Suzanne was staring at the advert screens, with the bored expression of any other traveller.
She knows.
Or maybe he was wrong, because she was impossible to read and totally intriguing; and how could he be thinking like this? Petra's supper invitation was a signal to be careful, and his attention needed to be out in the world, not wrapped up in his own head. Among the other passengers, no one betrayed the signs of trained watchers: the use of geometry and reflection, or a toodeliberate attempt to ignore him.
One missing boy. That's all we're after.
But the real world was more complicated and nastier than simple missions. And it always threw surprises, his being Sophie, and the end of the future he had always imagined.
• • •
Petra grinned at them, ushering them inside her flat. Josh checked the short hallway – droplet-lensed cameras, spyballs, beaded the interior – and stopped at the edge of the lounge. It was far bigger than expected, with a sunken square in the middle, and black leather couches running along the edges. The floor was polished wood. And as part of the effect, the other occupant was beautiful, dressed in trousers and threequarter-sleeve shirt.
"I'm Yukiko." Her voice was beautifully pitched. "Come in."
"Josh. And this is Suzanne."
"Great to meet you both. And we've got something to show you." Yukiko gestured at the blank screens on three walls. "But Petra's too squeamish, so she's going to check on the food."
"Uh, right." Petra smiled. "What she said. And the place is hardened, so we can say what we like."
"Hardened?" asked Suzanne.