Nylon Angel by Marianne de Pierres

Author:Marianne de Pierres [Pierres, Marianne de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Littlehampton
Published: 2010-04-18T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Eight hours later I watched Eighteen Circe Crescent, M’Grey Island, from my post in between the concrete pylons of a private jetty. A sleek powerboat was moored next to me, its canopy crackling with the blue light of security.

After the ’pede - complete with a ’cuffed Prim who was having an intense conversation with no one about the price of hair moulds - had unwittingly dropped me on one of its island berths, I’d spent the rest of the night smothering coughing attacks from the dust I’d swallowed by hiding in the ’pede’s air-flow system, and skulking between CC camera units searching for the right address.

I found the house just before dawn, when my fatigue was greatest and my less-than-terrific ability to plan totally dysfunctional. In fact I couldn’t think much past walking right on in, dumping the files I needed on to the disk, and getting out.

In the back of my mind it occurred to me that getting in here had been too damn easy, but denial is an insidious monster, so I skulked on down the driveway.

No one was around.

I broke into a side entrance. Basic deadbolts and a motion detector. Not a tough job, but messy because I was tired and in a hurry. No alarms. No dogs. No tek.

Inside, huge wall-sized portraits hung in the corridors, each of the same person, a face so famous that I recognised it immediately.

But I still didn’t add it up.

Nor did I twig to the covered furniture and stale air.

It wasn’t till I powered up the PC in the upstairs study and a muscular himbo crooned at me that it finally sunk in.

‘Hi Razz, darling,’ himbo said. ‘I’ve totally missed you. Where would you like to go?’

My fingers seized above the keyboard.

This was Razz Retribution’s frigging PC, in Razz Retribution’s frigging house.

I was the idiot who must be under observation by the sum total of Viva’s police and media. I scoured the ceiling and round the room for cameras and wondered when they’d stop rubbing their hands together and come out from behind their surveillance bugs to play. How often did a suspected perp turn up on the doorstep begging to be ’cuffed?

The coldest of furies gripped me. I was going to get out! And I was damn well getting what I came for!

Quickly I tagged my newly upgraded worm on to the operating system. The worm set about burrowing through the firewalls.

While I waited, I tried to focus on alternative escape routes. I sure as hell wouldn’t be leaving the way I came.

But how then?

The worm breached the firewall and started squealing.

My fingers flew along the ’board trying to ride it up over the huge security wave that loomed behind the firewall. Secondary vast ice of the like I’d never seen. It rose and rose and rose, smashing the worm downwards into a long, hard gully. It countered every command I could throw at it.

Sweat made my fingers slippery. I’d heard whispers of this sort of stuff . .

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