Adam pulled a face as the hatch opened and the smell hit him. Jenny was reaching down to the filthy S&Ibot they’d cloned from the LA Galactic utility service company. She took the little plastic case from its electromuscle limb and hurriedly shut the hatch.
Once she was out, Bjou shut the manhole cover and started to seal it against casual inspection. Jenny handed the case to Adam, who opened it and slipped the memory crystal into his handheld array.
“Checks out,” he said as the program menu scrolled down the unit’s screen. Jenny let out a happy sigh.
Adam put a call straight through to Kieran. “Give Stig the go code for discontinue and break.”
The CST security division office was filling up. As well as the backup team from Paris, there was now a detective lieutenant from the LAPD who was acting as liaison. In the two hours since leaving LA Galactic, all the target had done was drive into LA and stop on Walgrove Avenue, then start walking. He’d slowly made his way toward the shoreline, walking up and down the streets, and was currently on Washington Boulevard, close to the Del Rey Marina.
Tarlo got the city RI to access several public cameras in the area. Their images were coming up on screens in the office. Paula wouldn’t let them focus on the target in case the Guardians were monitoring the dataflow, so they continued their slow sweeps, occasionally catching him as he walked past.
“Heading for the marina,” Tarlo said. “Do you think he’s got a boat waiting?”
“Who knows,” she said. “But get a list of everything moored there from the harbormaster.”
“I’m on that,” Renne said.
Paula’s e-butler told her that Senator Burnelli was placing an encrypted call to her. She went to the back of the office and authorized the link.
“Paula, how are you?”
One of the street cameras caught the target walking into the Del Rey Marina. Two of the box team had gone in ahead of him. “Busy,” she said. The LAPD liaison was ordering the tactical armaments squad to a new position.
“I won’t take up too much of your time, but I rather thought you’d want to hear this. I’ve got good news and not so good.”
“Tell me the good,” she said.
“I took it kind of personal that my request about Far Away had been blocked, so I confronted Doi directly. Nice to know I still have some clout. A century of public service hasn’t been entirely wasted. As of next week, all cargo being shipped to Far Away will be examined at Boongate. No exceptions. She’s going to order Columbia to form a specialist division to take care of it.”
“Thank you very much, Senator.” A camera above one of the wharfs showed the target walking along the wooden planks to the end, looking at the beautiful, expensive boats moored on either side. She frowned. “Have we got a pursuit boat available?” she asked the liaison officer.
“I can find you one.”
“Please do.” She flipped the link to the Senator back on. “What was the other news?”
“I’m not sure how you’re going to take this,” Thompson said. “I was kind of surprised myself. I’ve been asking questions in a few dark places since we talked last. The people lobbying the executive against examining cargo for Far Away work for Nigel Sheldon.”
“Repeat, please.”
“Nigel Sheldon has been blocking your request.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent, Paula.”
“I need to see you.”
“I agree. As soon as possible. I think we might want to bring my father in on this as well.”
The target reached the end of the wharf, hopped over the chain railing, and dropped into the water.
“Holy shit,” Tarlo cried. “Did you see that?”
“Has the tactical armaments squad got divers?” Renne asked the liaison officer.
He was staring incredulously at the screen. “I… I’ll check.”
“Tarlo,” Paula ordered, “focus all available cameras on the water in the marina.”
“No problem.”
“Deploy the tactical armaments squad right now,” she said. “No boat is to leave that marina. I want every available policeman in Venice down there. Each boat is to be checked individually. Get me a helicopter above the marina now, have them scan the water. And I want a coast guard boat or something with sonar at the mouth of the marina, now!”
The office was suddenly busy, with everyone issuing instructions.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Paula told the Senator. “Things just got a little hectic around here.”
Kazimir stayed out in the house’s little back garden as the sun fell below the horizon. Lights came on all along the canal where the other houses backed onto the water. Half a kilometer away, bright old-fashioned streetlamps illuminated the little bridge with its white railings. The city’s nocturnal noises crept over him, carried by the warm still air. He was very aware of the sirens. So far none of them were close. The timer in his virtual vision kept adding up the minutes and hours since Stig had jumped into the water. Too many. Way too many.
At eleven o’clock the helicopters were still hovering above the marina. Sitting in his seat on the porch, Kazimir could just look through the gap between the low houses opposite to see their powerful searchlights sweeping back and forth, illuminating the rigging of the moored boats. The tension of the wait was screwing his guts up. Waiting on a Charlemagne for the command to charge was a child’s game compared to this.
“Kaz?”
It was a faint, pained voice. Kazimir lurched over the few meters from his seat to the edge of the water. Stig’s face was looking up at him.
“You made it!” Kazimir gasped.
“Just about. I’m not sure I can get out, Kaz.”
Kazimir splashed into the water and grabbed hold of his old tutor. Stig had virtually no strength left, so Kazimir hauled him out in a fireman’s lift and staggered into the house.
Stig lay on the couch while Kazimir locked up the windows and doors, activating the security system. When he’d pulled the drapes shut, he finally switched on the lights.
“I fucking hate swimming,” Stig moaned. A gill mask was hanging from its strap around his neck, its small red low-power warning light gleaming softly.
“Me, too,” Kazimir said. “But I remember who taught me.” He wrapped a blanket around Stig’s trembling shoulders, then started to undo his soaking, mud-smeared trousers.
Stig looked down and grunted a laugh. “Very gay. Let’s hope Myo’s team doesn’t come crashing through the window right this minute.”
“You want a drink?”
“God, no. No fluid. Not now, not ever again. I must have swallowed half of the canal network. I thought Earth had strict antipollution laws. Didn’t goddamn taste like it. I swear I was swimming through raw shit out there.”
Kazimir got the trousers off, and put another blanket around Stig’s legs. He was looking like someone who’d been rescued from the north pole. “Didn’t you have flippers?”
“Only to start with. I lost them along with everything else—” He laughed weakly. “Including the shirt off my back. Let this be a lesson to you, Kaz; doesn’t matter how good your gadgets and fallback plans are, real life doesn’t cooperate. Now for Christ’s sake tell me Adam retrieved the programs I brought back.”
“He got them.” Kazimir drew a breath ready to say: But, then thought better of it.
His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.
“What?” Stig asked.
“The news shows announced it this evening: from now on there’s going to be an inspection of all cargo shipped to Far Away. Elvin and Johansson haven’t said anything, but it looks like we’re screwed.”
The station security people had cleared a big semicircular space around the left luggage lockers in the Carralvo terminal. Curious passengers on their way to catch trains lingered to see what the fuss was about. Eventually they were rewarded by the appearance of Paula Myo. There was a scattering of applause, someone even whistled appreciatively. She ignored them, watching impassively as the forensics team went to work on the locker. Tarlo and Renee stood behind her, fending off questions from the reporters who’d appeared, and the attentions of the CST security officer. They knew how much their boss valued an uninterrupted examination of any crime scene.