Jones 11

Closing down his music channel, Jones made final arrangements for the first mission. Reading the email from Whisper one final time he allowed himself a faint smile.

“Dear Mr. Joseph,

We normally take a dim view of junk mails but yours aroused a modicum of interest. We wish to review some of our low level security and invite you to tender for the contract. Please reply within three days.

Yours truly,

W.O. inc."

W.O. inc. was the current name used by Whisper’s commercial activities. It gave them an air of respectability and they kept it that way by changing brand names on a regular basis. Whisper’s business empire was one of Jones’s future targets, but just at the moment he had other fish to fry.

His arrangements so far made fairly impressive reading and he'd already sent Blake to Las Vegas having a look around. Armed with casual clothes and a rucksack, Blake had finally got to play Mr. Nice Guy and adopted the persona of a vague but pleasant tourist.

Before he went, Roosha gave him a Chameleoid injection and his hair turned ginger in two days. The speed and brightness of the change was a little violent but at least Blake was happy. She wasn’t so sure and she found the new moustache and stubble the biggest possible turn-off, closely followed by the fat injection round his middle.

Jones looked at the three new pilot certificates on the wall. The only really exciting moment in the training was Roosha accidentally ejecting her instructor, but no real harm was done except to her own pride. She suddenly became the world expert on jet design and if Jones had been told once that the joystick was a "dumb ass place to put an ejector button", he had been told a thousand times. Still, they'd all passed and that, at least, was out of the way.

All their ‘Neutron’ work clothes were ready with the rest of the bogus company's trappings such as the website and com numbers, as were their entrance permits to Las Vegas. Jones was beginning to wonder if it was all a bit too easy and whether they would be tracked down and woken up one morning with a Whisper gun to their heads. He turned his attention to his laptop screen saver. Roosha had done a good job on the logo and the company stationery looked pretty impressive as well. Julie had posed as a secretary from a real company and ordered the signage and holographic business cards from a commercial printer, as even high-end print-outs would have looked amateurish, to say the least.

Jones went to the mirror and looked at his hair. Roosha’s dosages had been a little more cautious this time, and he decided he quite liked the blonde, even if it was a little startling after having dark hair all his life. Roosha had darkened her own hair and skin considerably and gone for a Latin look and Julie’s hair was much blonder than its normal colour. Dresden’s choice was a typically uncompromising blue.

Their last job was to go to the vehicle repairers and pick up their jets. Being the only one with a road licence, Julie drove them all to a commercial airfield where an old hangar housed paint-spraying gear and a livery workshop. Two Bubblejets stood on the cracked tarmac, their orange and black livery gleaming next to the white corrugated iron huts.

The 'Neutron Security Services' livery had transferred well onto the side of the jet and Roosha looked at the zippered mouth logo with a certain amount of personal satisfaction and pride. Jones handed over his company credit card to the woman in the overalls. She looked at him and then at his card again. It all seemed in order, but he was so obviously very young. He dug the repay quote out of his pocket along with his pilot’s licence. The picture on his licence showed him in his orange and black company shirt along with 'Mr. Joseph: Freelance Security Analyst' and his 'company pay number'. They went into the office and she phoned the number on the card. She was answered by a woman, and Jones could hear Sarah’s self-assured voice from where he stood.

“Good morning," crackled the voice. "Neutron Security Services. How may I help you?"

“Good morning. I was wondering if you could describe a Mr. Joseph who works for you. He seems rather young to be flying."

“Certainly, madam. He is in fact sixteen. He just looks very young. He has blonde hair and is a little short for his age. His company number is-"

“Thank you. That will do.”

“Thank you, madam. I hope I have been of service. Goodbye."

Hah, thought Jones, as he listened to the calm, authoritative voice on the other end... Good old Sarah.

Passing his card through the reader, the woman shrugged and took him over to the jets. Julie and Dresden waved to Jones and Roosha as they boosted the jets’ thrusters and rose from the tarmac. Julie turned to Dresden as they drove out of the gate. She looked worried.

“Do you realise, Dresden, that in a few hours we’ll all be meeting up again at a commercial airfield and flying to Las Vegas. That’s kind of scary."

“Yeah, it is. In the meantime, how do you fancy a trip to Enzo's?"

“OK. You’re on!"

Sat round a table in the airport, the four tried to figure out who was going with whom.

In the end, Jones put himself with Roosha. He knew that he could handle her moods and both of them had a pretty good idea of how the other one ticked. Anyway, Julie had a calming influence on Dresden so that clinched it. He couldn’t face the thought of two born cynics in one jet and had already decided that Roosha and Dresden together was perhaps not a good idea.

The flight to Las Vegas was spent rehearsing the roles they were going to act out. Jones was to be Joseph, the hand-shaker, spokesperson and negotiator. Dresden was Dreckmann, the boffin. Roosha was Rosie the rough and ready manual worker and smart, bespectacled Julie was there for the paperwork. The journey only took a couple of hours and was made easier by being able to share the flying. Hovering above Vegas, they awaited instructions and Jones could hardly contain his glee when he heard a message over his headphones.

“Attention all aircraft. We are suffering slight delays because of a temporary malfunction of traffic signals."

“I know," grinned Jones, "I'm the one who did it!” A crazy idea occurred to him. Perhaps he could 'sort out' the air traffic signals long enough for them to land? Half an hour later, as they were sped through customs, Jones couldn’t believe it had worked. He had hacked into the satellite by comming instructions back to his computer in their underground base. Awesome.

He suddenly realised that, with his laptop, he had total power over the whole city and he found the responsibility terrifying. What if he shut down the power in a hospital by mistake? What if he caused an air crash? What if- No, it didn’t bear thinking about. Speaking into his com again, he then watched with satisfaction as the information boards tempered their own short-lived rejoicing with yet another apology for technical delays and cancellations of flights. Wow. Controlling Las Vegas was that easy.

The Technical Director of Las Vegas met them at the terminal door and whisked them into a windowless, armour-plated car. The car radio was on and auto-searching different stations. Jones heard his pirate music show for around half a minute before the Technical Director shook his head gravely, leant over and turned it off. So, thought Jones, Sarah was following instructions and standing in for him. By the sound of it, she was conducting a very lively phone-in.

“That," said the Technical Director, "is the kind of brain-washing filth we want eradicated. I tell you, it’s pitiful when you see what the young are turning into. They used to be ambitious, purposeful and ruthless in their determination. Now they stand around, listen to dross like that and smile inanely. It is polluting our way of life!"

“I can’t see that it’s such a problem to sort out," said Jones, nonchalantly. The Technical Director was agitated.

“You don’t understand, boy. Perhaps if your company had sent someone older-"

“No sir," said Jones solemnly. “With respect, sir, it’s you who perhaps may not understand: we are the best team around when it comes to security analysis and troubleshooting. Those letters of recommendation we showed you weren’t for the company, they were for us. This is Dreckmann, Rosie, Julie and me I’m talking about here, not Neutron. Have faith in us, sir." The Technical Director snorted, tapped on the driver’s glass partition and spoke into a microphone.

“Drop us here, Pilkington." He led them through an underground car park to a large door and stopped to address the group. “You don’t need to know where you are. Suffice it to say you are entering a highly classified area. Stick with me and there’s a good chance the security guards will not shoot you.” Julie smiled sweetly at the armed guards standing either side of the metal barrier but they didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Knowing military procedure backwards, she cast an expert’s eye over them. Not bad, she thought, but the woman’s ammunition was in completely the wrong place on her belt for loading a semi-automatic weapon efficiently and the man’s firearm was on a totally inappropriate setting for close-quarter interior combat. Standing to attention, the guards clicked their heels and stood aside as the Technical Director put his palm on the identification pad.

Once they had entered the first section of the admission tunnel, Jones let Dresden through to talk to the Technical Director. He was more recognisable than anyone and Jones admired Dresden because of the personal risks he was taking. Jones watched them nod to each other and saw the man’s back view relax a little as soon as he found that they were speaking the same language. Dresden’s role was to use all the correct jargon and blind the opposition with Science, to make them believe that the team knew what they were doing.

By the time they had reached the main computer, the Technical Director was eating out of Dresden’s hand. He shooed the guards to a distant part of the vault, cleared a space on a desk for Jones’s laptop and then stood back as the team set to work. Jones set up the equipment and turned to him.

“Perhaps you would like me to prove that we mean business, sir? How would you like your air traffic sorted out?"

“OK, young man. Impress me!" He watched Jones tap some keys and saw the Neutron logo fill the screen. Jones and Dresden had been given limited access to the Whisper computer, and this was pretty low-level security stuff. The Technical Director frowned: he was getting nervous at the thought of taking the next step and plumbing them into the mainframe. It wasn’t until he spoke to the airport half an hour later that he relaxed again.

“Congratulations, Mr. Joseph. All air routes are now open. I am, shall we say, moderately impressed." He looked over to the suited, bunned and spectacled Julie as she sat in her chair and recorded what had happened. “You may write that down, young lady!" She gave him a deliberately silly giggle and leant over her laptop again. He turned to Jones and Dresden.

“And now, gentlemen, that infernal radio station!"

Roosha’s job, apart from team Medic, was to be a contrast to Julie and she had put a lot of thought into looking suitably uncouth. Her orange and black overalls were only a day old but she had spent a good half an hour back at base rubbing them up against concrete, oily machinery and gravel. Half a dozen hyperspeed washes later, they were so faded and worn that they looked as if she had been wearing them for months. A grubbed-up baseball hat and an ancient pair of trainers completed the effect. Leaning against the main computer, she watched them all at work.

Jones watched Roosha give the Technical Director a surly look as he asked her if she wouldn’t mind leaning on something else. The poor man tried to strike up a conversation with her, but all he got was a bored "Huh?" and the unsavoury sight of gum being pushed around her mouth. Jones sidled up to him and whispered an apology.

“Sorry about Rosie, sir. She’s not exactly the brains of the outfit. She gets a bit embarrassed if she has to speak and that’s why she puts up her little barrier. She’s a good, loyal worker though and will come into her own if anything needs shifting." Jones tried to avoid Roosha’s eye as he turned round again but he couldn’t escape the uncomfortable feeling that her stare was drilling into the back of his head.

Roosha watched Jones as he tapped away at the keys on his computer and saw the Whisper mainframe respond to his deliberations and hesitations. She knew that he was bypassing the satellite and feeding any number of malfunctions directly into the hard drives. They were getting paid copious amounts of money to sort out a few problems and were, in the meantime, pouring disaster after disaster into the Whisper system. A radio icon suddenly flashed in the corner of the screen and she saw the words 'transmission intercepted' flash menacingly. She was impressed with Jones’s timing. He could have cut off the radio programme's transmission in a few seconds, but it wasn’t until he and Dresden had argued, nodded and frowned at each other for a good hour and a quarter that Jones announced their success.

“Perhaps, sir, you would like to try and find the channel on that radio over there.” The Technical Director pressed a remote control and toured the airwaves. Nothing but Whisper broadcasts. That pathetic little radio programme had gone. He smiled to himself. The Chief would be pleased with him. He was definitely warming to the Neutron team. He also found himself beginning to trust them. Perhaps he would call off some of the agents who had been stalking the kids from Neutron: after all, they hadn’t found anything to pin on them. Clean as a whistle. He turned to Julie and she smiled demurely and did her best to look bashful. He looked at her. Man, she was cute. If only she was a bit older... If only she wasn’t a goddamn cripple.

“Young lady... Please type in 'A successful morning’s work, Neutron team taken to lunch'.

They sat round a table in an elegant, wood-panelled room and listened as the Technical Director discussed further plans. He paused as the next dish was brought in and the salvers were uncovered. Looking at them all, he winced as he cast his eyes upon Roosha in her overalls as she lounged about in the gold and tapestry dining chair. Just why did she have to be present? She really offended his sensitivities and if he saw her eat the next course the way she had eaten her prawn butterflies, he would probably want to heave.

“I’m sorry I doubted you guys. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. We are very grateful." His com vibrated. "Excuse me, please." He got up and paced the dining room. Disappearing into his office, he reappeared with a harassed look on his face. Grimacing, he banged his com off and sat down again with a huff.

“You will never believe this, but they’ve struck again. It happened as we were putting the other problems right." Jones tried to look suitably shocked.

He went up to the Technical Director and gave him a reassuring smile. “I wouldn’t worry, sir. I can truly say, hand on heart, that we have a pretty good idea who is behind all this. Just leave it to us!"

It was two days later and they were eating breakfast. Jones helped himself to yet another piece of chocolate gateau. Having dropped some of the gooey brown cake on the crisp white linen table cloth, he felt that another piece was essential if he wasn’t to feel cheated. He took a swig from an antique French porcelain cup and waved it in the air like a conductor in front of an orchestra.

“So, what are they like then?” Jones was curious as they had been there for three days and hardly met anyone outside the Whisper Headquarters. The others looked puzzled.

“Who?” said Julie, carefully arranging a minute square of organic crispbread and half an apple on her plate.

“You know,” said Jones. “The general population. The people who go out, do their shopping, work in an office. The people for whom Whisper are vaguely somewhere in the background of their lives. The kind of Ordinary Joe who pays his taxes for law enforcement and protection, only to have his door smashed down at four in the morning because he misses a month’s installment. I reckon we should see what’s out there.” Roosha mumbled something through her Danish Pastry and prodded the air at a vase of flowers on the table.

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Jones, “walls have ears and the bugs in the dahlias are about to shop us to Whisper High command.” He stood up, wiped his mouth and slammed the delicate, gilded Sevres porcelain on the antique inlaid satinwood sideboard.

“I’m going out. Anyone joining me?” Roosha nodded.

“Yes, me. There is no way you’re going out in the Big Bad City by yourself. I know you. Just give me a couple of minutes to change out of this delectable outfit”. Now the fear of being there was wearing off, the days at Whisper HQ were beginning to get boring. The novelty of lounging around all day in scruffy overalls looking moronic was definitely wearing off for Roosha. She felt that her role had been overlooked in the general excitement and was feeling more and more like a spare part that had been brought along and just left in its box.

Minutes later, Roosha reappeared in a Whisper outfit. Jones grinned, shook his head and tapped his com.

“Hello. Is that the Technical Director’s office? Mr. Jones here from Neutron. I’m afraid that Rosie isn’t feeling too good: what she needs is a good dose of fresh air. I shall, of course, be supervising her.” Roosha gave a thumbs up and mouthed “Good one, Jones!” Jones smiled back and continued.

“To be quite honest, sir, she is beginning to get on the others’ nerves, so it would be good to get her out of the loop for a while.” Jones knew that the Technical Director was going to believe him. After all, Roosha had been getting up his nose from the word go. Roosha, Dresden and Julie smiled at each other. Giving a mock frown, Roosha gently nudged Jones’s shin with her boot.

The street looked reassuringly normal. It had little to distinguish it from home, but there was something that Jones couldn’t put his finger on.

“Of course!”

“Pardon?” said Roosha. She had been looking at the ball gowns in a shop window and wondering who in their right mind would want to wrap themselves up in shiny silk and go around looking like a half-opened Christmas present.

“Roosha, just look around. Everyone is so well behaved!”

“Is that so bad?”

“But it’s not so much about them respecting other people… more to do with being scared of Whisper.”

“Mm, yeah. See your point.” Roosha pointed at a group of convicts who were digging up the road across the street. Whisper didn’t need convicts to take up the road. A digger would have done it in half the time, but the sight of a digger doesn’t scare passers by into meek obedience or remind them that just one casual remark could end up with them spending their remaining days in a ditch with a shovel. Two guards kept order with an electronic ‘Shokstik’. The Shokstik had been deemed too inhumane by the World Convention of 2045 and Globally Outlawed that year. Not that Vegas cared. As far as Vegas was concerned, Vegas was THE Global Outlaw, so the World Convention could go stuff itself.

“Look over there, Jones. Perhaps you recognise that guy at the back?”

Jones peered at a pale man with a beard. He gasped when he spotted the Fire Service tattoo on the man’s chest. When he saw the Shokstik burns on the man’s body, Jones was sickened. He realized this was no time for gloating. Mesh was hunched over as if he had completely given up. As if life was over. He stopped digging only momentarily as a woman threw down her pickaxe and made a run for it. She was immediately brought down, screaming, and the smell of burning flesh tanged the air as she fell in the road. Roosha’s instinct was to run and help, but a warning shot hit the ground at her feet. Mesh lifted his exhausted, beaten body and saw Jones. Their eyes met.

Jones was stunned. He wandered into the road in a trance and didn’t see the truck pull out of its parking space and thunder towards him.

Mesh was broken. Like other convicts, he had often wondered how he would end his Living Hell. Throwing himself under a truck would be quick. A lot of convicts did it. There were even temporary signs to warn drivers of possible incidents.

Mesh could feel a Shokstik burn his back as he threw himself at Jones and pushed him out of the way of the truck. The truck tossed his broken body to the side of the road. Jones crawled to Mesh and cradled his head.

“Me-!”

“Sergeant… Mesh… to you… back to… quarters…. tidy…. bunk…”. Mesh grimaced a weak smile and winced as he drew his fist from his pocket. “One… one… seven… Dollar…” His head dropped back, his eyes staring at nothing. Jones prised his fingers apart and retrieved a scrap of paper. He felt Roosha’s arm on his shoulders.

Jones found it hard to concentrate that afternoon. As usual, Dresden was not as forgiving as the others.

“come on, Jones, get a grip! They’re getting impatient, as it is. What’s up?”

“Tell you later.” He stood up straight and looked at the Technical Director. “Sorry, I’m not feeling too good.”

“Well, now it’s your turn to be poorly, is it? See you tomorrow, I suppose! I must say, these two seem to be getting on quite happily without you two. I presume you are both going?” The Technical Director looked at Roosha as if she was a stain on the immaculate white carpet.

“Yes. Right. come on Rosie.”

“Jones. What are we doing here? What is this God-forsaken place? Why are we in some slum eating house the other side of town? Why can’t you use your com to find out… well… whatever it is you are finding out?”

“Because, Roosha, I don’t want to compromise us, or anybody else for that matter. Our coms are probably being tracked. That’s why we’re here on a public computer.”

Jones was on a mission. Finding out what ‘One one seven Dollar’ meant would have been easier without Roosha looking as if she needed to be constantly entertained.

“It’s there, Jones. On the screen right in front of you.” Her theatrical yawn was a study in boredom and, catching the eye of another girl across the café, she propped her head on her hand, raised her eyes to the ceiling and patted her open mouth. The other girl smiled and pointed to the boy next to her as he commed his friend, totally oblivious to her presence. Jones suddenly realized that Roosha was actually being very smart and deliberately making them look like a couple of bored teenagers trying to fill an uneventful afternoon.

Dollar Rise. A tower block. That had to be it.

“Come on!” said Jones. “Time to shift.” Roosha smiled at the girl and looked suitably long-suffering as she grabbed Jones’s hand on the way out. “Roosha… you’re holding my hand.”

“And?”

“Nothing. Good move, though… makes us look like an item.”

“Dream on, Jonesey!”

But Roosha’s attempt at a joke fell on deaf ears. She saw Jones stop and bow his head. He could keep up his front no longer. Wiping away his tears with her sleeve, she put her arm through his and squeezed him gently to her. Roosha looked at him and gave him a sad, sympathetic little smile. Poor guy. Steering him towards the taxi rank, she raised her free arm and hailed a cab.

Dollar Rise was in an even rougher part of town and entering the cold, grey building Jones felt queasy as he smelt his childhood once more. Broken toys and rubbish lay in muddy puddles on the dirty concrete floor. The lift had been long abandoned, but as Flat One Hundred and Seventeen was only on the next level, they were soon pressing the grimy button of the intercom.

“Yes? What do you want?” Jones knew the situation was tricky and he didn’t want to give too much away. There was nothing to suggest that the whole thing wasn’t an elaborate trap.

“Mesh”. An innocent word enough, but very potent if this was the right place.

A face appeared on the door video screen. It was an attractive middle-aged woman with long brown hair. She was holding a tissue to her nose and her eyes were red. It appeared that this was the right place.

“Come in. Trenter here has just given me some very bad news”. Jones was cautious.

“I’m sorry. Was it about a friend?”

“Yes. About Robert. Sorry, but I’m not feeling very sociable right now.” Roosha was the first to notice the picture of Mesh on the wall multiscreen. So, they had come to the right place. She also recognised the Space Fire Station. My, that seemed so long ago, so far away. The face was right and the background was right, but the uniform was that of a Whisper Guard. It wasn’t unusual for people to doctor the backgrounds of holiday destinations, but to change the side one was on was quite radical.

That’s, um, Robert, is it?” Said Jones. “A loyal Whisper employee, I see?”

“Oh, yes!” Trudy’s tone was bitter. “I hardly ever saw him. That’s him on the Whisper Fire Station. He was a guard there. He loved his job... Until someone framed him. He gave Whisper his life. Literally.” Her face turned sour and hard. “Yes. Whisper.” She turned on Jones and Roosha angrily. “Go on, then. Turn me in. I don’t give a damn anymore.” She turned to the screen and shouted at the Whisper advert for its music channel. “Did you hear that? I HATE YOU!” Trenter smiled, shook his head vigourously and turned to Jones and Roosha.

“Please excuse my sister. She has a lot to feel angry about. She doesn’t mean it”. Trudy turned on her heels and hissed down at her brother.

“Oh yes, I do!” Jones thought that this would be a good time to give Trudy the piece of paper. “What’s this?”

“Er, Robert gave it to me. When he was dying.” Trudy looked at her brother. Trenter nodded. Now she hissed at Jones.

“So… He died for you?” She went over to the door, opened it and stood there with her arms folded, waiting. “Get out. Both of you!” Walking through the door, Jones watched as she opened the scruffy note, a user name and a collection of numbers and letters. Below that was a longer code of more numbers and letters. For what seemed like a long time, Trudy looked up at the ceiling, everything quiet apart from her sighing and the ‘tap tap’ of the paper on her hand. It was Jones who broke the tense silence.

“I think I know what that is.”

“Yes,” said Trudy. “So do I”. Wiping her eyes, she beckoned Jones and Roosha back in.

“Just drop us here, please.” Jones paid the cabbie and the four of them made the last four hundred metres to the café by foot. They needed to talk out of earshot. Trudy saw Jones looking cautiously at her brother.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s solid. Aren’t you, Bro?” Trudy gave him a playful punch and ruffled his hair. He smiled at her with a familiarity that Jones and Roosha both envied. After all, they were good friends but they weren’t family. They looked at each other. Or perhaps they were, now, sort of? Trudy stopped and looked around.

“This is madness! I don’t know you. What am I doing here with you? How long before you turn me in to Whisper?” Jones looked into her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Trudy. We just have to trust each other. If you knew how much I have had to trust total strangers in the last few months-“

“Oh, I do, laddie, I do.” She smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek with a frayed, worn sleeve. “Anyway, we can’t have poor Robert shelling his peas in vain…. let’s get in there, log on and do some serious damage!”

Jones read the codes and Roosha tapped them into the computer. Although they were all hacking into Whisper, they worked in two pairs at opposite ends of the café. Trudy reckoned they would arouse less suspicion that way. It wasn’t until they had reached the twilight gloom of a taxi rank that they met up. Trudy reached in her bag and handed round cans of cola.

“A little ritual that Robert and I used to have.” She paused and looked down at the ground. “So…. what was he like as Sergeant Mesh? Soft? Fair? A bully?” She peered in the darkened shelter at their faces. Jones and Roosha looked at each other. Trudy sniffed and took a swig.

“Yeah, figures. True to type. Treated everyone like dirt except me. Cause he loved me.” Trudy allowed herself a faint smile through the tears. “That and the fact I scared him witless.” She scanned Roosha’s incredulous face. “It’s true, I tell you.”

“Hey, respect!” Cooed Roosha in admiration. “He even scared me.” After the gentle babble of laughter, Trudy suddenly became serious again.

“You know he never wanted to hurt you, don’t you, Jones? He had orders to kill you but the thought of taking someone’s life horrified him. He tried everything he could to make you want to leave. If he didn’t kill you, Whisper were going to kill me instead. Silly Robert… always getting into something above his league. So naïve. A couple of months ago, someone planted a stolen document on him and got him arrested. He was searched and, well, you saw where he ended up.”

“OK,” said Roosha, “but you’re still alive, and so is Jones.”

“For now, Sweetcakes, for now.” Trudy sighed. “He was naïve but not so dumb when it came to computers.” She scanned their faces. “Yeah, that surprises most people. Anyway, he was determined to stitch up Whisper so he copied down some vital bits of information.”

Trudy turned to Jones. “You sure you got what you wanted? A bit of a wasted trip for you, I’m afraid. You’d have done it on your own, you and your geeky friend.”

“Actually, no. That last password, the name of his Teddy Bear, that might have had me stumped for quite a while. I’m not sure that ‘Mister Fluffybutt’ would have been among my first attempts.” Jones raised his can. “Ladies and Gentleman, here’s to Robert!”

“To Robert!”

Blake raised himself on one elbow and took a chilled pina colada from the waiter. No doubt about it, the Las Vegas Herculean had certainly been one of his more comfortable hide-outs. He had spent one and a half days by the pool now and was to remain there until he received fresh instructions, definitely making the best of it as he knew his time would come. Feeling his com vibrate, he had a horrible feeling that it just had.

“Oh, hi, Jones. Let me get out of general earshot." He looked round and walked from the edge of the pool towards a lawn. “So you want me to drop the bag in the desert? Any particular spot? Sure. Just leave it here in the third changing room along. The lock’s already set to respond to your data." Half an hour later, Blake looked up from his sun lounger and saw Jones put his hand up to the door and go in. In half a minute he had reappeared, this time without the black bag. Jones looked over in Blake’s general direction but was careful not to show that he knew him. Calling a cab, Blake picked up the black bag, put some more clothes on and made his way out of the hotel.

The ride out to the desert consisted of Blake looking dodgy and talking nervously to the driver.

“Hey, cabby, you don’t think anyone saw us, do you? I reckon that guy by the taxi rank was looking at us. It’s really important no one spotted us. Do you know what I did today? Messed up the air traffic control. Brought the airport to a standstill. That’s what I did. And I’m going to do it some more. Ha ha ha ha!" The taxi driver looked at Blake in his mirror and saw a nervous, unhinged maniac who was on the verge of doing something really stupid. A minute or so later he saw a gun as well. Blake was afraid he had been over-acting, but the horrified look on the man’s face told him he was doing OK. Having a final rant, he made the cabby slow down. Blake jumped out of the hovercar and ran into the undergrowth.

The driver was left with the black bag on his back seat. Panicking, he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He finally settled on abandoning his vehicle and running behind a large rock from where he commed Whisper Protection. Seeing an armoured vehicle turn up, he waved, pointed frantically at his hover car and shouted.

“The bag! He left that black bag!" The captain of the Protection detachment joined him behind the rock and removed his helmet.

“Excuse me, sir, could you describe him?"

“Yeah, he was big and he had ginger hair and a moustache. He kept saying that he was going to mess up the air traffic some more." The captain took the bag from one of his troopers and shook the cab driver’s hand.

“Thank you, sir. If I’m not mistaken, I think you have just rumbled something really big. The bag contains a computer and may be exactly what we are looking for."

Jones’s com buzzed and he heard the Technical Director’s voice.

“Mr. Joseph? We have something here that may interest you. Can you come straight away? I think we have found what has been causing us all the hassle."

“Of course, sir. We’ll be right over!" Switching it off, he punched the air. “Hey, guys, they’ve bitten. They’ve found the laptop."

Jones looked at the laptop on the desk in the Technical Director’s office. Turning it on, he shook his head slowly. Tapping keys he reached a list of files. The Technical Director gasped.

“But we’ve had this for six hours now and got nowhere!"

“So no one has actually managed to get into it yet, sir? To be quite honest, I’m not that surprised. Don’t be too impressed by my meagre efforts; remember, I’ve come across this kind of thing hundreds of times before. It seems there are several layers of coding and passwords. It could take a week to get into the list of files, let alone understand them. What do you think, Dreckmann?"

“What I think is that our theory about someone messing about with the satellite might have just been blown to pieces." Dresden pointed at a red flashing LED. "Look, here’s a sender. I reckon the rogue data we;re looking for was sent from this very bag !” Jones nodded.

“Mm... Could be!" He turned to the Technical Director. “Sir, if we’re to crack this, it’s vital we have that man caught!"

Later that day, Jones sat in his room and took stock. Twitching the curtain he looked up at the evening sky. The real transmitter in space was much safer now that attention had been drawn away from it: Whisper had no suspicion that the satellite had nothing to do with their troubles and that was all thanks to Blake and the phoney computer. Returning to his desk, Jones scanned the ‘What’s On in Vegas" pages on his laptop. What they all needed was a little diversion. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw a picture of a silver-suited performer on a glitzy stage. This could prove a very interesting night out. He phoned the box office. They still had tickets. Knocking on Julie’s door he found all three of them chatting on her bed.

“Come on, you lot: we’re going out!"

“But Jones, we’re absolutely-"

“We’ve got four tickets and half an hour to get there. I’m sure Neutron can stand you all a pizza." In three minutes they were in the lift, arguing whether it was better to have their own or order four different kinds and split them.

It was fairly easy getting there as Julie had managed to persuade the Technical Director that things would go much quicker if they had their own car. They had already made several trips to the jets parked up at the airport and they liked the secrecy that the vehicle gave them. The downside was that Julie once got lost and the others spent a worrying hour and a half trying to contact her on her com. That was the last time that anyone was allowed out alone.

Julie never reckoned there were many perks to being chair-bound, but one of them was getting good seats in the theatre. They got to the glittering pink and gold entrance and found themselves immediately whisked past the queues by security and put near the front in the middle. Looking back, she realised that some of the members of the audience were being frisked on the way in. “Of course, we’re hardly a security risk," she whispered to Roosha. “We’ve got a cripple in the group! It’s nice to know I have my uses." Roosha met her eyes.

“Uh uh… No, honey, you’re Julie.” Roosha squeezed her hand. “Does it get you down a lot?" Julie did give an answer but it got drowned out by rapturous applause. Roosha would have to speak to her about it later.

Looking past the head in front, Roosha saw the curtains part. This was the act that wasn’t on the poster outside, the support act. A figure in a silver jump-suit had a ponytail which he was swishing about very theatrically as he cartwheeled across the stage. Looking over to Jones, Roosha could see him watching her reaction. Surely it wasn’t? Jones nodded slowly. The youth spun on his head and kicked a pile of silver bricks into the air. Whipping round, he smashed three of them in half before they had a chance to hit the ground. The crowd was clamouring for more. They seemed to know his act and called out for favourites. After more feats involving smashing various objects and splitting a plank of wood held in the teeth of his assistant, the curtains closed to shouts of "More, more!"

Dresden thought it was OK, but couldn’t understand why Roosha was so awe-struck: she probably had something about long-haired Eastern Zone boys. More cryptic was the way that Julie gave her a knowing look. Perhaps she fancied the guy in the silver suit, too.

Jones and Roosha had little trouble getting to the support act’s dressing room. Hearing "Enter!" they went in the small, gloomy room where they saw a dressing gown moving in front of a mirror. A circling hand was removing makeup.

“Is that you, Chen?" The figure didn’t turn round but kept wiping.

“I saw you in the audience, Jones…and you, Roosha. I heard about Julie a while back. Poor, poor little girl!” He turned round to face them and smirked. Then he looked Jones straight in the eye. “And then there is the small matter of the truck. Close, wasn’t it?” Jones looked at the rings and tattoos. Cracking his knuckles, Chen displayed two 'W' shaped scars. “I have nothing to say to either of you, apart from scram. Because of a minuscule vestige of loyalty which still lingers somewhere, I shall give you ten minutes. If you are still in the theatre after that, I call the guards."

He turned round and resumed his make-up removal. His assistant came out of the shadows and, removing his dressing gown from his shoulders, began to massage his naked back. Chen turned slightly and nodded, indicating the beautiful girl whose hands pushed and stroked his flesh.

“There’s nothing you can offer me Jones that I can’t get here. I make that, ooh, about nine minutes left now." Roosha could see that Jones was devastated and that he felt betrayed, cheated. She touched his sleeve.

“Come on, Jones. Let’s split."

Getting back to the auditorium they beckoned urgently to the others and made their way to the exit. Sitting in the car, Jones stared at the shops and the casinos, the prostitutes and the dealers. Until now he had watched it all with a detached disdain. Suddenly, the city was a hateful thief, the snatcher of his friend. Vegas was laughing at him, telling him that he couldn’t have what he wanted after all. Vegas would pay. Whisper would pay.

Back in his room, Jones called Dresden.

“What can you possibly want now, Jones? I was shattered before even I went out." Listening to Jones’s plan he shook his head. “It can’t be done, Jones. There are levels that even we can’t get to.”

“But we can. The final piece of the jigsaw was handed to me today on a plate. Look on this and weep, Dres!” Jones took out the dirty little scrap of paper from his pocket and typed the codes into his laptop. The computer peeled back layer after layer of security.

‘Outer Atrium: Access’

‘Penultimate Atrium: Access’

‘Local atrium: Acess’

‘Inner Atriuim: Access’

‘Target Atrium: Access Denied’

“Eh?” Jones frowned at the screen. “It worked this afternoon.” He banged his forehead. “Oh you stupid twat, Jones! Hang on, Dresden… Just one more password.” Punching in ‘Mr Fluffybutt’ he banged ‘enter’. Dresden gawped open-mouthed as he read:

‘Target Atrium: Access:’

‘Whisper Inner Sanctum: Access’.

“Flipping heck, Jones!’

The Technical Director of Las Vegas looked out of his office window and then at the ornate clock on the silk brocade wall. It was nine in the morning and Jones and his cronies were half an hour late. The Director had tried to send a message to them because things were getting desperate: there had been a glitch in the system and none of the Whisper staff had got their wages. An organisation that ran on scant loyalty and threats wasn’t worth a bean if the workers couldn’t be paid on time: it was all that made them stick around. The only thing that kept them from slitting your throat was the fact that you could pay them better than the next person could. The phone rang. This had better be them. Stella was on the other end, outraged.

“Look, Mr. Technology, get your act together. I tried to pay for something this morning and I had some little peasant telling me that I haven’t any money in my account. I’VE GOT BILLIONS! How dare he? I took his name and number. He’ll be sacked by lunchtime. Just sort this mess out!" Looking at the street below, the Technical Director saw an altercation between three men and a vending machine in a wall. They were hitting it in frustration. He sat down, shaking. Hardly daring to do so, he turned on his multiscreen and watched the news. People were clamouring outside banks, demanding to know what was going on. He suddenly felt sick in his stomach. Surely those kids wouldn’t have? He went out of the office and shouted at his receptionist.

“Where are those brats? Haven’t they arrived yet?” He saw Stella in the hallway and grabbed her. "Get your plane! We’ve got to catch those kids!" Grabbing the receptionist, he screamed into her face. “JUST FIND THEM!"

“We have, sir. They’re on their way to the airport."

Julie had never driven above one hundred and twenty kilometres an hour before, let alone in a car chase across a busy city. Jones looked at his watch and switched on the car radio. Roosha couldn’t believe it.

“Jones! This is no time for a little light musical entertainment!” Jones looked at his watch and counted down.

“Five… four… three… two… one…” Jones smiled at the foreign language announcement. “YES! Good old Patrick. Do you remember we gave him all that satellite gear? That’s come all the way from the rainforest, that announcement. Every Amazonian slave in Vegas will have been listening out for it.” Moments later, hundreds of servants came out into the street and blocked the road with furniture, cooking utensils, bedding and trolleys. I just hope they leave a big enough gap.” Julie muttered under her breath as she squeezed the little car between piles of mattresses. Looking in the mirror she saw the Whisper vehicle plough into the great mounds and stop.

“Bit of a squeeze, there Jones. Have we got many more of those?”

“’Fraid so!”

Even with the barriers, there were still three Whisper Protection cars behind them and they were getting closer. Roosha shouted above the screech of tyres at Jones and Dresden to hurry up and that if they didn’t hack into the Whisper command Centre pretty soon they were all done for.

The airport came into view. Swerving at the last minute, Julie watched two of the heavy Whisper cars drive through the plate glass of the front of the building, sirens wailing as they bulldozed a path through to the other side and skidded around inside the reception area. Booking clerks and airport staff abandoned desks and trolleys as furniture and luggage were sent flying.

Julie slammed her hand on the horn and entered the building. Skidding round the coach bays, she sped across carpet and marble floors and swerved around the massive concrete pillars. In the back of the car, Roosha was holding the laptop down as Jones and Dresden punched in a final command. Blimey, thought Jones, this had better work. He read the screen. Why wasn’t it working? Roosha raised her eyes heavenward and shouted at him to press 'Enter'. Really, Jones could be so dumb sometimes. A message came up on the screen.

“ALL SHOUT PROTECTION TO RETURN TO HEADQUARTERS. URGENT." Jones watched the Whisper armoured vehicles as they obeyed his latest command. They extricated themselves from the rubble around the toilets and sped right past Julie’s car, ignoring the prey they had just been breaking their necks to hunt down. Driving out to the tarmac, Julie saw the jets were in sight, but so too was a man in a suit and a woman in an orange silk de Cheung flying outfit. Her chromium-plated jet stood in front of theirs, cutting off their exit. She had a look of great triumph on her face.

“So,” grinned Stella, “It is you lot. My little spies have been very reliable, haven’t they? I’ll just call the guard and we’ll have you dealt with!" She shook her com and tried again. There was no response from the Protection. She shook it again. "IT'S ME, YOU DUMBCLUCKS!" Throwing it on the tarmac she ground it into pieces with her black patent leather heel. "Give me yours, dumbo!" trying her sidekick’s and getting nowhere she threw it at him and shouted for airport guards. Jones stepped up to her.

“There’s no one around, Stella." Roosha could see that Jones was enjoying this. He continued, looking Stella straight in the eye. “Everyone’s too busy looking after their own skins. There’s no money left in Las Vegas because we’ve got it all. We haven’t just frozen your accounts, we’ve emptied them. Anything that had the slightest sniff of Whisper about it has automatically gone into a Central Holding Fund. We control the Central Holding Fund. You are talking to the richest people in the world."

Jones sauntered towards his Bubblejet and turned to meet her horrified gaze.” Well, only on paper until we find out who the money really belongs to. When it all goes back to its rightful owners, how much will you have? Probably as little as us. Look behind you, Stella. The streets are heaving with rioters, looters. If I were you, I’d get in that cleaners' cupboard over there and put some overalls on. If they catch you dressed in that they’ll tear you to pieces."

Jones nodded to Roosha and she jemmied open the door of the sleek Chromium-plated jet with a crowbar. Throwing in a Packer, she ran back and screwed up her eyes. When they all looked again, the cockpit of Stella’s pride and joy was split in two and belching black smoke.

Starting up the thrusters on their aircraft, the four rose above the tarmac and were soon in the air. No jets came along side them and asked for their ID, no jets flew near and threatened them. In fact, no jets were flying at all apart from theirs and the skies were eerily empty.

Dropping down into the desert, they looked for a red wind turbine next to an abandoned white fuel station. Blake had to describe the location as he had managed to lose the sat nav around his neck. For a crack secret agent, his directions weren’t exactly brilliant and he had been about two kilometres out in his calculations. They eventually found him being shouted at by a woman. A boy sat in a cart. The woman saw Dresden and let out a further stream of abuse.

“Look Little Rock, ‘ere’s the boy who naffed off to go gallivanting with his friends.’Ere's the boy who’d rather be messing around in planes rather than serving his community. I s'pose you want some of the pickings now, don’t ya?" Dresden tried to look suitably puzzled. The woman pointed at him, tauntingly.

“See, got your head so far up your rear end you don’t know what I’m talking about. Still, suit yourself. I’m talking about Vegas. It’s fallen apart, there’s looting in the streets and the lunatics have taken over the asylum. We’re just off there to see what we can get. Whisper’s in pieces, and it’s no thanks to layabouts like you. Go on, push off and play with your fancy friends!" The boy pulled a face at them and flicked the reins on the horse’s back.

Dresden reached in his pocket and pulled out a gun. Pointing it at the boy he told him to stop the horse. Suddenly smiling, he tossed it to the woman.

“Here, please take it. It’s solid platinum. It used to be Stella’s. Keep it safe till you can sell it on the open market. Platinum’s valuable stuff: that gun'll be much more use as a lump of precious metal."

“But...” She was confused. "But the looting’s only just starting." She watched as first a gold Whisper goblet and then a Whisper watch fell on the ground by the cart. It all slowly dawned on her. “It was you, wasn’t it? You turned Vegas upside down!" She stared at the gang as they nodded. Smiling, she threw back her head and laughed. Jumping down she hugged them all, pausing as she stopped in front of Roosha.

“I’m sorry, dear. Please forgive us for what we did. We’ve got a lot of sorting out to do. You get a few teething troubles if you’re building a civilisation from scratch." Roosha embraced her and smiled into her eyes. The woman looked awkward as she spoke again. “Good luck going back and say 'hello' to civilisation for us."

Fumbling round the back of her matted hair, the woman undid a clip and fastened a silver and turquoise necklace round Roosha's neck. Roosha felt tears dampen her eyes as the necklace settled on her skin. She could hardly speak.

“Thank you. Thank you… very… much."

Jones glanced at Roosha occasionally as he read the screen in front of him. She was still stroking the necklace as she sat at the controls of the bubble jet. Looking out of the side window, he noticed three hands wave frantically from the sister ship. After a while, his mind drifted and pondered one of the mighty imponderables of life. Was it better to have their own pizzas or share a selection? Speaking into his com, he smiled. Things were indeed looking up: Enzo's phone-in delivery service was in range, open and waiting for orders.

The End