Rewriting the City

[Cain]

I made my way through the darkened streets to the Open Bar, clutching at the roll of money in my pocket tightly.  I hated the City at this time of evening, just as the sun was setting.  The street lights shone their awful orange light over the odd, mind-defying angles and corners, illuminating the semi-darkness that was around me in a way that was far worse then had it been just pitch black.  Shapes stumbled around in the darkness as I gripped my roll of cash even harder.  It had been a tough job, but worth it.  The Presbyterian Church  had paid well for their security upgrade in their headquarters and anything that upset the Lord's Brigades was well worth doing.  It was strange, you'd think those two groups would get along, but the Presbyterians work among the City slums, plus their denunciations of the evils of capitalism, toned down lately of course, had made them enemies in very high places.

Ah, here I was.  I looked up to the narrow door of the Open Bar.  The taller buildings either side of the squat bar threw deeper shadows in the relative darkness, but here, a step away from the Bar, I could be more or less assured of safety.  I swung the door inwards, savouring the bright, cheery light within, a stark comparison to the architects nightmare that lay outside.

Dying for a scotch, I moved my way up to the bar itself.  It wasn't that busy this time of evening.  Most of the people who came here didn't work ,Äúnormal,Äù office hours anyway, me among them, so the busy times were often random and unpredictable.  Grabbing a stool and peeling a note from the roll, I said to Mangrove ,Äúsome Glenlivet thanks.  Actually, make it a double, with ice.,Äù  He came back swiftly with the drink, saying ,Äúits funny you should be in today.  LMNO was asking about where you were.,Äù
,ÄúOh?,Äù I replied, before taking a sip.  ,ÄúWhat was it about?,Äù
,ÄúHe said he may have a job for you, something that suited your particular skills, he said.,Äù
,ÄúOh dear, that never sounds good.  He's pretty competent on his own, I can't see why he'd need me for anything.,Äù
,ÄúWell, he has got this new client whose case is taking up a lot of his time...,Äù
,ÄúHmm, maybe I'll contact him and see whats happening.  Thanks for the tip-off.,Äù
,ÄúNo problem,Äù Mangrove replied as he went to serve another customer.

So, another job, I thought to myself as I sipped on the scotch.  That could be useful.  Ever since the ,Äúincident,Äù 9 months ago, I had been more or less without steady employment.  I mean, sure, it wasn't like there weren't jobs available.  But working in a factory 11 hours a day until I was 70 just didn't have the appeal, nor did drug running for the Matarese or the Cosa Nostra or whoever had control of the trade, for that matter.  

Finishing the drink, I grabbed my cell and made a call to LMNO's office.  One ring...two rings..3...just as my thumb started to move to the hang up button, someone answered.  ,ÄúHello?,Äù LMNO's voice came, crystal clear down the line.
,ÄúHi, its Cain here,,Äù I answered, ,ÄúI heard you had a job offer for me?,Äù
,ÄúYeah.  Well, kind of.  Its complicated.,Äù
,ÄúWe'll need to talk then.  You name a time you're free.,Äù
,ÄúWe'll, I can be at the bar in, say 10 minutes?  It'll have to be brief, as I've got a client to meet straight afterwards.
,ÄúThat'll be fine,Äù, I replied.  ,ÄúSee you in ten.,Äù The line went dead.

I enjoyed the rest of my drink, idly waiting.  It wasn't like I had any pressing engagements, plus the Open Bar was very welcoming which was a nice change in the City.  I had just finished the scotch and was about to go for another, when LMNO walked in and took a seat besides me.
,ÄúHi, good to see you're here.  You wanna know what this is about then?,Äù
,ÄúIts a good place to start,Äù I replied, turning on my stool to face him.
,ÄúOK, I'm going to have to be brief but I do have some additional information written down here.  Basically, do you remember my business partner, the Shadow?,Äù

[the other anonymous]

It's nice that we all have a collaberative illusiory universe we can escape to whenever The Man gets us down.

Speaking of which, I still need to finish that Hemmingway thing....

[LMNO]

Cain, you rock for starting this up again.

Just remember to watch out for the word filters.

[Bella]

:P  Cool.

[Cain]

Cain, you rock for starting this up again.

Just remember to watch out for the lexicographic alternatives.

Do we know which words are still filtered?  I know Fnord is, as well as Bella and Hugh, but any words other than names?

[Bella]

Not that I'm aware of - other than word filter.

[LMNO]

Yeah, my name.

LMNO
-is filtered.

[Cain]

Righto.  I suppose thats what the preview function is for.

[Cain]

,ÄúOf course, he's a pretty hard person to forget.,Äù  His ,Äúshadow,Äù as his nickname had been, was another private investigator, of sorts.  He had the kind of skills you normally didn't see in most people, such as knowing how to pick locks, move very quietly and how to scale walls and bypass security systems with relative ease.  He also had contacts everywhere, even in Government Inc.  Chances were he was ex-DHS or something similar, though if you were really that ,Äúex,Äù, chances were you wouldn't be walking around or breathing.  He wasn't exactly the sort of individual who you wouldn't turn your back on either.
,ÄúYeah, I know of him,Äù I replied.  ,ÄúWhy, what has happened?,Äù
,ÄúWell, its a rather long story.  I heard from someone who worked at one of the labs in the city about a new drug that is being worked on.  I'd come across its name before, in another of my cases, so I sent my Shadow to go find out what was going on.  It made sense, what with his contacts.  But a week or so later, I got this sent to me,Äù he finished as he grabbed a slightly tattered sheet of paper which was folded inside his jacket pocket.
I looked at the picture in front of me, showing a grainy image of the Shadow coming out of a laboratory, with the date and time stamped in the corner.  It was 10 days ago.  ,ÄúSo you think he's sold out or turned and gone into the business for himself then?,Äù
,ÄúBasically.  He's had plenty of time to come forth with whatever he has, even if its nothing, and still hasn't.  I tried to get a trace on who sent that, but unsurprisingly I was denied access to the post system.  Someone there will know where its from, it got tagged so they have the reference number.  I included that with the rest of the information.,Äù  With that he took a large envelope out of a pocket and handed it over.  ,ÄúThats everything I have.  Do you want the job or not?,Äù
Well, it certainly had my interest, but there was one more criteria to fulfill.  ,ÄúHow much can I expect to be paid?,Äù
,ÄúStandard rates.  I also know for a fact that the Shadow doesn't trust the banks and keeps his money as cash.  I'm sure that extra incentive has its value to you.,Äù
,ÄúDeal,Äù I replied.

My first thoughts were to try and bribe, cajole or otherwise threaten some workers at the Post Office to find out who sent the picture.  It would be nice to know who the unknown ally was and if they knew anything else.  But it wasn't simply a matter of walking in and saying it was sent to the wrong address, could I have the return address please?  They'd take it from me and process it, sending it back through the use of the reference number.  That had been a nice little addition on the latest round of anti-terrorist legislation.  Failing that, there were a few favours I could still call in.  It'd probably be wise to do that, quite soon.

My first port of call had been my flat, where I picked up a few items and made a couple of calls.  I didn't want to go to the Post Office until tomorrow, when I would be assured of large crowds.  If someone from Government Inc and its various research labs had sent that picture, there would be questions asked and a crowd would make escape easier.  I grabbed the old style Beretta pistol I kept in my safe and a couple of clips.  I had meant to get one of the new neuro-disruptors, but the cost of those things was abominable.  Plus they were apparently illegal or something, which probably explained the price.  Nah, it would have to bit good old fashioned bits of fast moving metal, if diplomacy or cash failed.  And since it was night time now, that possibility existed.

I made my way into the heartland of the City, the awful inner city that acted like a vortex for all the detritus of the surrounding area.  Beggars and prostitutes mixed freely with thugs and drug runners here, the entrance to the slums of the City.  Shacks were stacked precariously on top of each other, looking like they could crash down at any moment, taking large areas around with them.  It was one giant festering rat hole, more tunnels than walkways which people traveled along in search of the next dollar, sexual conquest or high.  In the small rooms the hastily constructed buildings here held, the widest ranges of narcotics, sex and valuable goods were sold.  This chaotic nature was of course reflected in the Psychotecture, bringing it to a nightmarish fruition.  I had found my destination.  Walking to the nearest bar, I opened the door, hesitated for a moment, then dove into the darkness.

[Cain]

The bar was even darker then I had remembered.  The only real light came from above the flickering neon tube behind the bar, which was little more then a slab of wood with some stools and drinks on top of it.  I moved past the crowded tables to reach it, cutting through the curls of smoke that hung in the air.
Elbowing my way past the regulars probably wasn't the best idea, but I was in a hurry and didn't give a damn about them.  Its not like anyone here would really want to kill me.  Unless I knocked over a pint or something, but thats practically understandable.  Anyway, I made it to the bar and managed to get the barmaid's attention.  Taking a $20 note out of my wallet, I ordered a drink, then asked if the boss-man was available.  She smiled briefly as I was given my drink and told me he'd be free in 5 minutes, in the first room on the left upstairs.

My time was up, I drained the last of my drink and ducked under the bar, heading for the stairs behind.  Upstairs was pretty dark, as befitted the establishment.  Rumour had it those shadows had hidden more than one assassin's knife or bullet, but I had no fear, as the boss was in, the meagre light coming from his office.  I walked in, noting he was hunched over a bunch of papers, calculating figures on a small hand held device.  Taking the seat opposite his desk, I spun it so the back faced him, then sat in it, arms crossed.

The silence continued for several seconds, his bald head hunched while I stared at an object several inches behind his left ear.  I broke first.  ,ÄúListen, I need The Hacker.,Äù
Without even looking at me, he replied ,Äúgo talk to Aini then Cain, I'm sure she'd be happy to help.  Please close the door on the way out.,Äù
,ÄúYou know, I'm pretty sure I just spoke then, I recall my lips moving and everything.  I didn't ask for Aini.  She's good, a maths whiz for certain, but I don't need her skills.  I want The Hacker.  I need someone who was good enough to get into the Government Inc quantum databases first time around.,Äù
,ÄúAlright then.,Äù He opened a drawer and removed a piece of paper, putting it at the edge of the desk.  ,ÄúI'll assume this is Discordian-related business, shall I?,Äù
I took the paper.  ,ÄúBut of course.  And thanks.,Äù
,ÄúIt'd better be.  I pay my dues to you people, but if I find any of you abusing it, I wont hesitate to have you dragged out back and your knees broken.  Don't forget that.  Now get lost, its hard enough trying to cook the books 3 ways without you trying to read it upside down as well.,Äù

The address was for a bar in an upscale part of town.  The East Quadrant, to be exact.  Nice sea views and uphill, both a plus for the landowners, bankers, record executives and other sorts of criminals.  It must be something genetic in any ruling class, to flee away from the plebs to uphill, easily defended areas.  Oh well.  I ducked under the bar, before shoving through the crowd again to get out.  Distracted, I was humming the tune in background and singing under my breath ,Äúback in the city again, I hope that you have been.  The kind of poison, that you really oughta know...oh feels so good, I wish I could get this message over to you, now...,Äù

I considered my options out on the street.  No taxi was going to come in here, so I could either walk out and hope to find one, or go home for the evening.  To hell with it, the night was still young and I had my legs.  Making sure I had the piece of paper secure in my pocket, I started the hopefully not long walk.  I didn't want to be exposed to the psychotecture for too long, insanity was an all too possible outcome.

20 minutes later, to my profound relief, I got my ride.  Another 20 minutes passed and I was now a block away from the bar I needed to be at.  I liked it around here.  The streets were clean and the houses were well spaced and pleasing to the eye, the ones that could be seen at all, beyond the vast spaces and high hedges employed.  This was an entertainment, not accommodation district, however.  Expensive sounding and looking bars, restaurants and cinemas were the order of the day.

Mine was in fact just several feet away now.  The cue was pretty small, as befitted the earliness of the night.  I prepared to walk in as two mountains of men moved in front of me.
One of them rumbled ,Äúwhat do you think you're doing...sir?,Äù with just the right amount of contempt.  I sighed.  I know I looked like a badly dishevilled detective, like a modern Columbo, but that was the sort of look I liked.  It made deciding what to wear in the mornings so much easier.  
,ÄúI'm trying to get in...but a pair of oafs are blocking me.,Äù  Before he could answer, I took two bills from my roll in my pocket and handed it to him before pushing past.  I didn't stop to check, just assume it worked and keep walking.

[Cain]

They called it social engineering.  The principles of it were simple enough.  People were easier to hack than machines, not to mention they often gave up vital information for far less work.  Even for just a glass of wine.

The Hacker played a smooth game as I kept to the bar, watching the holographic dancers projected into the cages above.  The technology wasn't great, certain angles distorted the views and they tended to flicker, but they were a crowd pleaser and an impressive, if expensive trick.  I turned again slightly to watch the man wining and showering a slightly frumpy, if pleasant looking woman.  He had been one of the best, one of the few who had managed to get into the Government's own databases.  

With the advent of Quantum computing, the amount your average PC could store had increased exponentially.  With the Government supercomputers hidden at places like Fort Meade, that had meant they were able to have near complete information on large amounts of the population.  Not just the normal biometric data and facts, but trends and evaluations based on consumer information, profiling tests (either for Government jobs or ,Äúsupplied,Äù by their own employers, psychiatrists etc), leading up to the sort of files that had only previously been seen on world leaders.  Every man woman and child had a virtual National Intelligence Estimate written on them.  However, the processors were unable to keep up, rendering the storage system mostly useless.  Mostly.

I decided to let him have his fun before speaking to him.  There was no way I was going to interfere in his game, not to mention this place was too well policed to allow for anything other than a nice chat.  Since the police service was practically privatized, the official city cops had just become another gang with its own colours and territory.  Except around here.  Money had bought in private security, because money had always had its privileges.  Hah, there was a word for the post-American century.  Privilege was just another word for private law, rule of the rich.  The ,Äúcops,Äù around here, if you weren't careful, would drag you off and break your fingers, then rob you for what you have.  You'd have it coming, a rough looking individual not from around here.  They'd turn you off the private properties they protected and who would care if they robbed you blind while they were at it?

The hours passed and the drinks flew.  I noticed The Hacker had moved up to buying gin for his ,Äúdate.,Äù  Hopefully he'd make an excuse and push off soon.  Ah, there we are.  The exaggerated yawn, the pat on the hand...he was up and moving and so was I.  Urgh, surveillance is such a bore, but at last there might be some action.

I tapped him on the shoulder as I walked passed, then moved in front of him as he turned to look.  Childish I know, but I had to take small pleasures where I could get them.  ,ÄúYes, I can help you?,Äù he asked pleasantly.
,ÄúI sure hope so.  However, I think we should have this conversation outside, if you don't mind.,Äù  I gestured with my hand to the door.  A brief nod, and he led on.

,ÄúOK, what you ask isn't impossible.  But it is somewhat risky.  Whats in it for me?,Äù  We were outside, the broad outlines of what I wanted to be done spoken, leaving only the prince negotiation to be settled.
,ÄúWhat do you want?,Äù
,ÄúWhat can you offer?,Äù
I thought a moment.  He was a hacker, money was about as much motivation to him as it was to a drunk driver.  Information would be what he wanted.  Something he could use, manipulate, experiment with.
,ÄúWell, since giving you a chance to see how government agencies react when a flag is breached isn't enough, how about this?,Äù  I lifted a roll of paper from in my pocket.  They involved the banking details of the Presbyterians, including headers, logos and numbers that any skilled programmer would find handy.  I had swiped a copy while working there.  I had hoped to use it as leverage with a con-artist who would find such things useful, but this seemed more important.
,ÄúDone and done again.  When do you want this to go down.,Äù
,ÄúTomorrow morning.,Äù

[Cain]

Pretending to do up a shoelace, I dropped the final set of bangers and covered them up with some rubbish. A quick flick with the lighter, and I had exactly 3 and a half minutes to get in. A distraction was always good and I knew I'd need it. The Government didn't actually give away information, they just took notes on who wanted to know what and added it to a file. Given this letter had come from what looked like Government property, a flag would be raised on anyone requesting information on such numbers as was assigned to the letter. Someone would stall me and before I knew it, ,Äúquestions,Äù would be asked. Well no-one took me that easily.

The Hacker had told me all he needed to know was the letter code, the branch and the rough time I was prepared to go in. Everything was going fine. Inside had about 10 people. Some were browsing for cards or changing cash, the rest were at the mostly empty tills, or whatever they were called. I walked straight up to one. Playing for time, I patted my pockets, pretending I couldn't remember what pocket the thing was in, then telling the eager and helpful worker exactly what had happened and why I wanted to trace it, lying that I had an exclusive private address and it could not be a human error and that my address had to be on their records, something to inquire about.

I think I had just timed it right,as because less than 20 seconds after she had entered the code onto the computer, the first of the fireworks went off. A staccato burst ripped through the industrious quiet of the office, as customers threw themselves down and guards drew their guns. Throwing myself down and forwards, I crept towards the door. Two guards were crouched their, weapons raised, the bursts coming distant then closer again. I decided to run for it. Standing up, I sprinted and made it to the door, when a large hand grabbed me and a sickening blow was struck against the side of my head.

My mouth felt dry as I came round. ,ÄúWa..wat'r,Äù I whispered. My limbs felt halfway between pain and numbness, having been held in unnatural positions for hours. I could also still feel the head splitting pain where the blow had knocked me out. A cup was put to my lips. I briefly thought it was stupid to drink something offered to me, but my throat was too far gone, and I drank eagerly. Then I looked up and saw the face of Captain Vasily. Captain Alexander Vasily, supposed head of Section 27 of the DHS for this state. The City, certainly. This was not good.

Vasily had what you might call a bad reputation, not to mention totally inappropriate training for a security officer. Despite his Russian name, he was an American, skilled in Spanish and supposedly a student of the School of the Americas, when the volunteers were sent to Columbia and into Venezuela. Definitely the wrong sort of training for the overglorified copper that he was. The School of Assassins, as it was also know, was not high on teaching civil liberties and correct procedure in arresting a suspect. They were more ,Äúa bullet in the head, and another one for anything still twitching,Äù school of enforcement, if any of the stories out of Caracas were true.

His thin, pale face stood before me. I knew it from the television interviews he had done, pledging to root out conspirators, radicals and terrorists wherever they may be. He was dressed in the drab black that all of Section 27 were rumoured to wear, which was not only good for lurking in, but also hiding bloodstains. Whatever room I was in, it looked like a bunker. One bulb, grey walls and a single table, a few feet away.

,ÄúSeen everything yet, Mr Cain? I assure you, there isn't much here.,Äù The voice was cold, slow, logical. He'd been watching me. The thoughts were coming too slowly, like treacle. I couldn't deal with him in this state. The knock I had taken must have done some serious damage up there.
,ÄúWell,Äù, he said, ,Äúthis is most unfortunate. You were caught at the scene of a serious crime, on federal property no less. You assaulted an employee of the Federal Government. Plus you were armed. As far as the courts and I am concerned, this is a simple case of terrorism. I hope you enjoy your new cell in Diego Garcia, you'll be in it for a very long time.,Äù
The information was coming too fast, there was too much to handle. But one thing stood out. ,ÄúGun?,Äù I asked. ,ÄúI wasn't armed.,Äù
He then walked over to the table, picked up something and came back. Holding it up, I could see it was a sleek looking pistol, with a silencer attached. Only one problem, it wasn't mine.
,ÄúThat doesn't belong to me and you know it. Mine is in my safe at my apartment, where I left it, you bastard,Äù I coughed out.
,ÄúStrange then, that your fingerprints are all over it.,Äù
,ÄúSo thats it then? A friendly chat, another secret trial and then I'm shipped off and out to the Indian Ocean? How long do I have to wait before the long holiday then?,Äù
,ÄúYou wont. Because in 10 minutes, if you're sensible, I'll be setting you free.,Äù

[Cain]

,ÄúWhat? Why?,Äù
,ÄúSomeone has been killed. I don't know how you've done it, but you have stumbled onto our own operation to catch this killer.,Äù
,ÄúWho is he?,Äù
,ÄúA thug, a hitman, an assassin for hire to the highest bidder. He is dangerous, skilled. I want you to help me bring him in.,Äù
,ÄúWho did he kill?,Äù
,ÄúThat, quite frankly, is none of your business. Suffice to say, his paymasters are among our many enemies, intent on creating disorder and destabilizing us. He must be caught, before he kills again. It is imperative.,Äù
,ÄúSo why bother me? You have a whole, deniable department within the Homeland Security to let you deal with this. I'm sure you have people who know how to ask the right sort of questions and deposit payments in order for information.,Äù
,ÄúBecause you are already involved. There are also other factors. Despite how dangerous the assassin is, I cannot...afford...to uncover my informants and endanger infiltrated agents in the hunt for him. Apparently, there are larger issues and concerns that need to be taken into account.,Äù He said the last part with particular venom, as if there were orders from above he resented. ,ÄúYou however, can act as a free agent, as it were. Your actions will be unknown and unlogged. You can use your own sources without oversight.,Äù He paused, as if to catch breath. ,ÄúOne more thing, Cain,Äù, he added, ,Äúyou must bring him in alive. I don't care much beyond that, but he has to be able to think and speak properly. We need to be able to put the needles in him and find out for certain who his clients are and how he contacts them.,Äù
,ÄúAlright,,Äù I replied, ,Äúhowever, I have conditions in return. Firstly, you will transfer money to an account in the Cayman Isles. I want that transfer to happen in minutes, 5 to be exact. I will make one call to confirm capture, one to confirm my account, so don't bother trying to trace me. If I don't get my money, the next telephone call you will receive will be to listen to the gunshot I use to blow your assassin's head off, the one you want alive so badly.,Äù
,ÄúYour condition is understood. How much money are we talking here?,Äù
,ÄúThree quarters of a million dollars. I'll give you the account number down the phone. Remember, thats cheap. Bin Laden still has $25 million on his head. I'm sure you have the authority to release such funds.,Äù
,ÄúIt...will be done. What is your other condition?,Äù
,ÄúWhen you let me out of here, give me that gun. I'm not leaving my fingerprints on anything in your possession, for you to use against me later. Besides, it looks quite a good weapon.,Äù

20 minutes later, I was let out of a black car onto a main street. After my chat with Vasily, I had been blindfolded, then bundled into a car. Whoever had been driving it had helped me out, untied my hands, then sped off before I had taken the blindfold off.

Something had also been shoved into my pocket, too. Picking it out, I opened a sealed envelope, which held a pass card inside, along with a handwritten note. An address, with a postscript beneath saying ,Äúone use card only.,Äù It certainly looked flimsy enough for just that, I thought as I ran a finger along the card strip. I put it back in my pocket, then rearranged the pistol in my waistband.

Whatever they had used on me in there had knocked me about badly. I didn't think it was amytals or anything like that, but I didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know what time it was. My mind's balance had been restored, but not my physical movements. I could feel bile rising in my stomach, making me feel ill, as I fought to keep standing. With some effort, I forced myself back upright and to walk onwards.

It took some time, but I was back. Whatever mental clarity I had regained after the drugs and talk with Vasily had left me again, after the mental torture of walking though the neon haze of the City at night. The weird graffiti of the cults of the Elder Gods, mixing and covering the more normal tags of the City gangs, all bathed in an unnatural yellow light. At the same time, the subhuman animals that roamed the streets on two legs, addicted to things that made meth seem like a responsible hobby and desperate for cash or sex. Or feeling at all. All while the jagged architecture tormented the average mind, its twisted shapes distorting distance and shape, making the eyes water and the brain fray.

Not bothering to change, I collapsed onto the old lounge I had in my apartment, just wanting to sleep. Rest was a weapon and I needed all the help I could get right now.

[Cain]

Intermission #1

The sickly orange glow from the street lights here was sparse, spread far out as they were.  Perhaps thats why no-one had noticed the man in dark grey moving from rooftop and alleyway towards his unknown destination.  His movements were catlike, sharp and precise, but with fluidity that suggested excellent control and strength.  

Making his way up a flight of fire escape steps, he paused just briefly.  Here he was close to a main road, but the time of night meant there was little noise.  Shrugging, he opened the door at the top and went in.  After closing the door, he inspected the room.  Apart from one battered wooden table, on which rested a black dufflebag, it was totally bare.  Moving into the next room, he carefully observed its layout.  Moving towards the window looking out onto the street, a cold smile appeared on his face.  He moved back into the back room and undid the bag.  He hefted out what essentially looked like a long metallic pipe, nearly a metre in length.  Putting it carefully down by his side, he reached into the side pocket and picked out another far smaller metallic item.  It was also shaped oddly, not long when compared to its width or height, but with the distinctive look of something deadly.

Carrying them into the other room, he waited.

15 minutes later, the sound of a car could be heard on the main street.  Coming through the night like some tortured creature of metal, the vehicle turned the corner and moved along the streets with some speed.  Its make was hard to tell in the gloom, but there was no mistaking it was an expensive machine.

Shifting his hand to his cell, the man punched a short sequence of keys, much shorter that would be used for a phone number.  As the car drove past the window, a number of things happened very quickly.

Firstly, the driver swerved and narrowly avoided crashing into a building on the side of the road.  This was because there has been a searing flash of light.  Although he didn't know it, a dustbin which had been placed there earlier and stocked with Semtex had been detonated remotely.  As his sight recovered and he turned the vehicle around, he never even noticed the flash of light from the street window as the assassin fired an RPG round into the vehicle, instantly killing the driver and his two passengers.

As he packed his material up and wiped to remove prints, he did one final thing.  By the window where the shot was fired, he laid down a black piece of material and stuck it to the floor with a highly intricate dagger, whose design had not been seen in the west for 700 years, never before in the Americas.  Working it into the floor, the cold grin came back and he left the building.

[Cain]

I woke up mid-afternoon, though I had slept badly all night and morning.  My back and head ached.  I didn't even want to think about my throat.  It felt like something had crawled into my mouth and died, possibly my tongue.

Making coffee, I switched on the TV and in a time honoured tradition, flicked it onto the nearest news channel.  Nothing, FCNN was reporting some rubbish about some tart off some TV contest.  Another bullshit feature.  I looked at the clock, clearing my eyes.  It was close to the hour, but if something drastic was happening, I would find out soon enough, anyway.  Trying to concentrate, I uncovered a pen and notepad from a pile of debris on my coffee table.  I had to start thinking...

Half an hour later, I made purchases in various stores.  Nylon rope, a lighter, a couple of hunting knives, a spool of 75 pound-test fishing line, a penlight and two other things.  The first was easy.

,ÄúHow many,Äù asked the man behind the counter.  His look put me in mind of the Comic store Guy from The Simpsons.  Overweight, sweating slightly and with an overall grubby demeanour.  I thought a moment, then answered ,Äú4 clips should do the trick.  Just some backup, you never know, with the gangs and cultists around the place, right?,Äù
,ÄúAbsolutely,Äù he replied, his head buried in a box behind the counter.  ,ÄúI heard some of the cultists got hold of a young gal, last week, college student or something.  Well, you can imagine the uproar.  With parents rich enough to get her that sort of education, the merc's were real keen to get ahold of them.  Too late sadly, found her with her cut throat, blood everywhere, the usual mess...Ah, here we are,Äù he proclaimed as he lifted a box with the clips up and onto the counter.  ,ÄúYour papers are in check, I guess?,Äù
,ÄúOf course,Äù I lied.  It didn't matter either way.  Gun control was next to nonexistent.  There was little point anyway.  The new ranges of portable ,Äúnonlethal,Äù weapons and nerve disruptors meant a mere gun was a toy.  Antiquated, in a way.  Still useful, but not the be all and end all of an argument.  
,ÄúAnything else I can do you for?,Äù he asked as I took a bill off my roll and handed it to him.
,ÄúActually, there was one thing I would like, if you can find it.  I'm willing to be generous.,Äù
,ÄúHold on a moment, just while I shut up shop for a moment.  Would you like to come into the back room...?,Äù

20 minutes later, I left with an phone number to call.  What I wanted was a tranquilizer pistol, just in case.  A useful item, often employed by vets, I could load a dart with the drug of my choice on the tip and fire it into an unsuspecting target.  Midazolam would be a good choice, my reading had suggested.  Very fast onset, but didn't last too long.  A little went a long way, too.  That would be something to negotiate with my supplier, however.

I walked out under the grey sky and thought about why I had been asked to go to the facility where the photograph was taken.  Its not like there would be anything that Section 27 couldn't handle for themselves...was there?

I knew that wasn't strictly true.  Where government and business meet, its a storm of corruption.  The employees of Government Inc may be asked to solve a crime, but the employees of the Corporation, in the Senate, would be told in no uncertain terms about where the limits in investigation lay.  You didn't mess with the Corporation.  They weren't likely to take infringement of their sovereignty lightly, whoever was doing it.  I remember seeing the tapes of 'the Accident', the ones which had been watching from a distance, of course.  The ones close up were mangled by an EMP blast from a crowd control weapon, so it was said.  Among those keeping the peace on that day had been the blacksuited soldiers of the ever increasing private military companies.  Ex-special and elite forces, mostly, armed with the best weapons money could buy.  And special forces are of course highly trained at crowd control, everyone knew that.

So I made the call and met the vet in a bar.  I slipped him what he wanted under the table and he got up and left, leaving his briefcase.  Putting my back to the wall, I flipped it open, checked quickly and snapped it shut again.  I was good to go.

It was getting dark as I walked silently, head bowed down, on the way to the address on the scrap of paper I had been given.  It wasn't far, 20 minutes or so now...