Epsilon Force soldiers were filled with implants. On returning to civilian life, they were supposed to leave their little extras behind, courtesy of a military hospital.
"I'll be all right if I can get to my folks back home," added Matt. "But I've got a tiny problem flying like a regular passenger."
The implants again. This was why Ghost Force didn't use them, preferring to operate covertly, often posing as civilians.
"We've got friends flying out from Norfolk in the morning. Private flight." Tony raised his eyebrows. "Since you're dragging your heels or whatever, we kinda hoped you'd help out as a chauffeur for Matt."
"What do you mean, dragging my heels?"
"Hey, just kidding. I mean, since you haven't found the boy-"
"How do you know I haven't?"
"Jesus, his old man is reported to be losing the plot." Tony pulled out his phone and turned it around. "See? Rumours of nervous breakdown, senior employees leaving his home looking worried. All sorts of shit, while his companies look about to go under."
It was the nearest that business journalists got to the soap opera dramatics of their showbiz counterparts. Was it concern for a distressed Josh Cumberland that had Tony checking those stories, or was it something else?
"You got any shares in those companies, Tone?"
"Er… No. Why?"
"Cause if you did, I'd recommend you hang onto them."
Matt suddenly laughed.
"Now I feel better. You guys are the sneakiest hard cases I've ever met, you know?"
"Thanks very much," said Josh. "It's cause we're shy."
Gone midnight, Josh pulled out into the quiet roads, only the hiss of tyres sounding. The storm had passed; the air was cool and exhilarating. For a while, he drove with his window down. In the passenger seat, Matt Klugmann sat like some animatronic figure used to advertise a muscle movie, huge even when relaxed.
Regretting the loss of storm-fresh air, Josh raised the window, so he could talk surveillance-free. "If I swing past a building complex, you think you could do an infiltration scan? Broad sweep, whatever you can manage."
"Paying my fare, is that it?"
"Actually, no." Josh turned left. "I'm taking you to Norfolk because I said I would."
"Fair enough."
"Although if you do me the favour, I'll give your cousin Carol your love, as well as the memory flake."
"Jeez, it's your loving she'll be after, good buddy. You wait till you meet her."
"Bit of a man-eater, is she?"
"The way a starving great white shark is a bit peckish."
"I'll go in armed."
Windscreen and window were lined with refractive laminae, while the chassis resonated with anti-sound generated onboard to cancel out conversation inside. It was one of the reasons that Tony had wanted Josh for the job, because the car was not just surveillance proof – it slid past watchers in a way that seemed innocuous, rather than the result of illegal mods.
Deep in the City now, Josh turned along London Wall.
"There's a whole estate." He pointed. "Those tower blocks, and inside there's a jumble of what-you-callem, promenades, and a long pond that's like a canal."
"Huh." Matt's eyelids fluttered. "That's heavy duty. Slow down."
Josh decelerated as if afraid of deep water, though the extended puddles were shallow enough. Beside him, Matt's eyes began to shimmer.
Nice.
He had heard of these: contact lenses acting as displays, eyes-only information at its purest.
"All right." Matt blinked the glow from his eyes. "I've seen what I need to."
Josh pointed the car north.
"So they're broadcasting a live event in a few days, right?" Matt continued. "Because there's a permanent, wired-in security system, multi-tiered and hardshielded. Plus, they're setting up a top-of-the-line webcast studio for the production."
"A Knifefight Challenge event," said Josh.
"Which is also the season finale of Knife Edge, right? The two teams leave the fighters' house for the last time. Man, I've been loving that show."
"Oh."
"Shame I won't be around for that. But I don't suppose it matters. It'll be morning where I am, when the evening festivities start here. I can still watch."
"I'm hoping it'll be a good one."
"Uh-huh. So who lives in those tower blocks? I mean, we're talking luxurious, like some exclusive deal in Manhattan, right?"
"The ones who are fans" – Josh glanced up at a tower, then returned his attention to the road – "get to watch from their living rooms and throw big parties. Others fasten their shutters or disappear for a few days. All of them are rich already, and they all get paid a tidy bundle for having their homes turned into a movie set."
"Nice deal. So are we talking signals or bodies, Mr Cumberland?"
"Say what?"
"Your insertion op. Are you infiltrating their software, or sneaking actual physical people inside their perimeter? Maybe with actual physical weapons for hurting other folk? That's the question, my man."
Josh hooked his lower lip behind his front teeth.
Then: "Could I possibly have both?"
"I like your style." Matt chuckled. "You sure you're not American?"
It was twenty minutes before dawn. At the edge of a wet, fresh-smelling field, Josh leaned against his unlit car, watching a black, jagged shape climb into an indigo sky, its mutable wings twisting as it arced through an improbable angle. Then its trajectory levelled off as it whispered into darkness, and was gone.
"Good luck, my friend."
He thought of the fractured ruin that had been an idealistic country and a symbol of freedom to the world, of self-destructive illusions that became self-fulfilling under a mass belief in Armageddon, a consensual chaotic hallucination perhaps no different from the final days of Mayan greatness or the ending of Rome, a frightening signal that civilisation is and always has been a fragile beauty, a delicate construction.
Then he climbed inside the car, tilted the seat back, and closed his eyes. Sleep was waiting for him: cold, uncomforting, but necessary.
[TWENTY-SIX]
They met at 5 pm in the British Museum, Suzanne arriving to find Carol in the Stone Age section, before a worn stone carving of a voluptuous, large-bellied woman.
"The original sex goddess," Carol said. "My role model."
"You think she was addicted to chocolate, too?"
"Allow me my one and only vice, why don't you."
They walked on, stopping at the ancient tablet that contained the world's oldest written story, the tale of Gilgamesh. They paused again at the Rosetta Stone.
"Incredible. When you think how we went from tree-hugging apes to this" – Carol pressed her fingertips against the glass, then waved at the high airy surroundings – "and on to all this. It makes you want to… eat cake and drink coffee, quite frankly. Where's the cafe again?"
"Downstairs," said Suzanne. "Same as the last time we were here."
"Well, let's go."
At the cafe entrance, they came to a halt amid a press of Parisian schoolchildren, their voices tumbling Suzanne back to childhood – but not enough to prevent her from pressing the memory flake into Carol's hand, and winking. Amid the hubbub, pretending to blow her nose, she murmured: "From Cousin Matt."
Carol nodded, before noticing one of the French teachers accompanying the party. She gave him her broadest, sexiest smile. The teacher tilted his head toward his charges, and shrugged an eloquent apology: Je suis desole.
Her answering shrug said: Your loss, pal. Then the sea of kids parted, allowing Suzanne and Carol to walk through.
Once installed at a table with coffee and snacks, they relaxed. Suzanne broke off a tiny piece of her pain au chocolat, while Carol attacked a large slice of carrot cake.