"Cheers. If we start floating, I'll send up flares. How's the training course going?"
"Really good. I was hoping you'd chat with a couple of the newer guys, give Vikram a heads-up on some of the security modules."
"Uh… well, so long as you weren't thinking of tonight."
"Vikram's crapping himself on quantum triple entanglement, tell you the truth."
"Don't tell me, he's teaching it tomorrow. Afternoon or morning?"
"Morning."
"Jesus."
"So what time do we expect you?"
"Exactly when I get there."
"Fair enough. Out."
"Yeah."
He drove on.
"So who's Tony?" asked Suzanne. "Besides an old friend, clearly."
"Tone runs the outfit that gives me most of my work." He glanced back at Richard. "Not this kind. Corporate training."
"So where are they based?"
"Right now, the basha's in Docklands."
"Basher?"
"Basha. Base of operations. Military jargon, but it's just a corporate flat. Short-term hire, kind of thing."
"You're kidding."
"It's close to the investment bank where the programme-"
"I mean, you're kidding about driving to Docklands tonight, through this. It's going to take long enough to reach Kilburn. Assuming you are taking Richard and me home."
Up ahead, a classic internal combustion car, owned by someone rich, was stranded in water. Josh's car lacked the low exhaust that made old vehicles vulnerable; but the water looked deep, so he stopped and backed up anyway. Then he hooked a right, taking a detour.
"Your place first, then I am going to see Tony, because that message wasn't what it sounded like."
"Ah." Suzanne's tone was knowing. "I wondered why you tensed up. That's why I was curious about Tony."
"His phone and mine should be secure, but perhaps he was standing someplace where his voice could be heard. The thing is, he talked about Vikram as though he was one of the newbies, needing advice. But Vik wrote the book on quantum crypto, knows it better than me."
"What's the Barbican?" asked Richard from the back seat.
"A big jumble of buildings," said Josh. "There's a waterway, theatres, and really expensive apartment towers, all in one kind of estate. You've never walked through it?"
Richard shook his head.
"So that's where they film Knife Edge?"
Suzanne's eyebrows were raised, and she was smiling. Josh could understand that.
Phobia cure: job done.
She was amazing.
"Only the finals," he said over his shoulder. "They seal the place off and make it look like a bad urban landscape. There are running fights, some between rival teams, pairing off the fighters. Some are fighters that left the show in earlier rounds, brought back after online voting from the audience. If they've healed up, that is."
He thought about that, still driving.
"Can I take this out?" Suzanne reached for the phone. "Josh?"
"Sure."
"All right." She extracted the handset from the dashboard, and handed it over the seat-back to Richard. "Look it up, if you like. The Barbican."
"Oh, thanks."
Josh continued to mull over the logistics. As a nexus point, it would be ideal. That was why security would be massive.
"Are you OK?" asked Suzanne.
"Thinking things over."
But he kept most of his attention outside, as the car surfed across a dip, then ascended to wet but unflooded tarmac.
"It used to be owned by the City of London," said Richard. "Now the Barbican Centre is owned by… by Tyndall Industries."
Josh felt his mouth move.
Tyndall. Who'd have guessed?
"Says here," Richard went on, "that the architecture style is something called Brutalist – honestly, that's what it says – and it stands on the old ward of Cripplegate."
He sniggered, not a pretty sound.
"Good name for a knife-fight venue," said Josh.
"Yeah. Cripplegate was destroyed by German bombs during World War II, so they had a whole district to rebuild."
Complex systems change fast.
Josh glanced at Suzanne, then winked.
Including fourteen year-old boys.
Richard continued to give them commentary, saying more in a few minutes than in the previous twentyfour hours.
Here, the road was clear, allowing Josh to increase speed.
Nearly two hours after he dropped off Suzanne and Richard, Josh pulled up by the Docklands apartments. Then he called Suzanne to tell her he had arrived safely, an odd pattern to have slipped into so fast. Outside, sheet lightning whitened the sky, followed by darkness and floating purple after-images.
Tony opened the front door before he could ring.
"Hey, my friend. Right on time."
"I didn't give you a time."
"So you're not late."
There was a long hallway with bedrooms on either side. At the far end, the lounge looked empty. From one of the bedrooms, as they passed the door, soft music floated, something classical.
"Vikram?" asked Josh.
"Uh-huh. And Sheena's in that room, prepping for tomorrow."
"I'm glad someone's doing what you pay them for."
"Yeah, well, wait till you see who's in here." Tony tapped on another door. "Hey, Matt. How're you doing?"
"Good."
The man who opened up was hugely muscular and square-jawed. It took Josh a second to place him.
"You're Haresh's oppo from Epsilon Force," said Josh. "I saw you in the Bunch of Grapes."
"Right, I remember."
They shook hands. Matt held back on the tension, careful not to splinter the bones of a lesser mortal.
Tony said: "A Sabre Squadron is shipping out. Nigeria, strictly covert. Matt was supposed to go with them."
"Depending how you regard supposed. I'm here for training and observation."
"I know how that goes," said Josh.
It was practically a spec ops tradition, visiting soldiers joining host country operations their own governments could never sanction.
"But if I go missing now," said Matt, "then the guys back home will assume that's where I've gone. Darkest Africa, out of contact, because I'm not officially deploying."
Josh looked at Tony.
"What's going on, my friend?"
It was Matt who said: "Things back home… It's getting bad. In a total breakdown kinda way."
"What does that mean?"
"President Brand," said Tony, "has taken the first regulatory steps to dissolve the triumvirate. The enemy for the coming Apocalypse isn't in Africa or Asia, it's the creeping darkness in his own continent."
"Oh, shit." Josh normally kept track of things, but this was new.
"Meaning other Americans," said Matt. "He's going to secede. Possibly he's going to declare war on CalOrWashington. Maybe the eastern seaboard, too."
"Holy fuck."
"There's talk of senior officers being shot inside the Pentagon. But exactly who, and by who, and what for, no one's saying. It's the kind of mess maintaining a unified army was supposed to prevent."
"You're talking civil war."
"Yeah, well, we only had the one so far, which makes us even with you Brits. You know us, always like to go one better."
"Actually, we had two," said Tony. "If you count the War of the Roses."
None of this explained why he wanted Josh here.
"So what are your plans, Matt?" asked Josh.
"Well, this is a message for my cousin Carol." Matt tossed over a memory flake. "If you could deliver it for me, that'd be great."
"Your cousin?"
"She's a friend of Dr Duchesne," said Tony. "Also, she's the reason that Broomhall got in contact with Geordie, which is how you got the job."
"And you" – Josh nodded to Matt – "are the reason that your cousin knew about Geordie Biggs and his amazing operatives for hire. Is that it?"
"That's about the size of it."
"So why the secret message?"
"Well, I've lodged a time-delayed resignation from the Army." Matt frowned at the ceiling, and the lights flickered, while the window's magnetic locks clicked open, then shut. "But I'm aiming to skip the surgical removal, if you know what I mean."