Theories of Flight

In the bottom of the boat was a single metal case, stencilled in white. Petrovitch stepped back abruptly. He looked downriver toward the Chelsea Bridge, and up to nearby Battersea. While there was nothing to be seen under the former, the latter also had a flotilla of rigid-hulled boats clustering around its supports.

The EDF were rigging demolition charges.

He felt his mouth go dry and his heart spin up. He now lived in a city that could be cut in two at the press of a button, and he had no idea how that had happened. He’d been so busy with the aftermath of Harry Chain’s death, he’d failed to notice the Inzone falling in on itself like a balloon with a pin-prick puncture.

He could turn around and go straight back home. He could go on to the university: keep calm and carry on, and pretend there wasn’t an enemy at the gates. He hesitated, which bothered him more than the decision he was hesitating over. He should—he used to, at least—make good choices, quickly. Or even bad choices and live with the consequences.

“Pizdets,” he hissed. He jammed his hands into what was left of his pockets and stamped his way to the checkpoint.

14

He slung his coat on Pif’s empty chair and decided he needed to make some calls. He dug the rat out of the coat’s pocket and propped it up on his desk while he refilled the kettle and rinsed out the least crusty of his mugs.

A fresh brew in front of him, he ignored the several hundred messages queued up for him and called Daniels.

“Doctor Petrovitch. What can I do for you?”

Daniels was sitting in his office—no sense of urgency, no frantic shredding or packing of documents in boxes—with the light slanting in through the vertical blinds behind him.

“You’re an intelligence officer, right?”

Daniels frowned. “Yes.”

“So I assume you know why the EDF are mining all the bridges across the Thames.”

“That’s classified information.” His voice remained neutral, urbane.

“What? The reason why, or that they’re doing it at all?” Petrovitch dragged his coffee closer so he could inhale the fumes. “Look. I find myself in the unusual position of having responsibilities other than keeping my organs inside my skin. If there’s a plan to cut the city in two and abandon everything north of the river to the Outies, I need to know.”

Daniels steepled his fingers. “Doctor Petrovitch, I won’t try and deny it…”

“Good,” interrupted Petrovitch, “because otherwise I’d call you all sorts of names, some of which you might understand.”

“Doctor, it’s simply a precaution. The EDF are just in a supporting role to MEA.”

“That’ll explain the five main battle tanks with French markings which passed me on the Fulham Road. Yobany stos, Daniels, I have eyes. Just tell me—how bad does it have to get before those bridges go?”

“I’m really not at liberty to discuss operational matters with you.”

Petrovitch tried again. “The Outies had twenty years to prepare for this, but even I don’t think a bunch of ill-equipped, uneducated ebanashka, no matter how well led and organized, can take on both MEA and the EDF. So what do you know that the general population doesn’t?”

Daniels clenched his fists on the rat’s little screen. “Doctor Petrovitch. You can press me for an answer as hard as you like, I cannot give you classified information.”

“So what do I tell my research students?”

“I’m sorry?”

“My research students,” said Petrovitch. “Do I tell them to go back home, or do I ask them to stay? What can they possibly base their decisions on but hearsay and rumor? Do you want to start a panic?”

Daniels ground his teeth, then with supreme effort, regained his composure. “There will be no panic. The bridges are assets that have been secured. MEA will regain control of all the Metrozone with logistical assistance from the EDF. The cordon will be closed again.”

Petrovitch gave him a slow hand clap. “Well done, Daniels. You managed to parrot that without looking at the script once. But you don’t believe it any more than I do.”

“It’s the official line,” growled Daniels.

“It’s govno. And you’re a govnosos for going along with it. While I’m on, did you find any other keys, anything else on Chain?”

It took the militia officer a moment to realize the subject had changed. “No. Why?”

“Because the keys you gave me didn’t work. Chain was borderline paranoid, and I’m figuring there have to be more keys than the two you gave me. I was going to go back tomorrow with a locksmith and try and get into his flat, but finding a locksmith willing to go that close to the front line isn’t proving easy. That’s assuming that, by tomorrow, the Outies haven’t taken Finsbury Park.” Petrovitch watched and listened very carefully as to what happened next.

“There was nothing else. You couldn’t gain access at all?”

“The mechanical lock worked fine, but the electronic lock didn’t turn. It doesn’t matter—we’ve all got more important things to think about now, yeah?”

Daniels rubbed his chin between thumb and index finger. “I don’t know what to say… I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Really? It’s hardly your fault, is it?” Petrovitch looked up over the screen, as if someone else was wanting his attention. “I’ve got stuff to do. Pretty certain you have, too. Good luck, Captain.”

He tapped the screen and Daniels vanished. Immediately, he dialed again.

“Valentina. Busy?”

She was driving. He could see the edge of the steering wheel and her hand wrapped around it. Her face was pinched and tight.

“We were fortunate that Marchenkho did not kill us both,” she said, glancing down at her phone on the dash.

“Yeah. That’s us. The fortunate ones. Are you anywhere near Chain’s flat?”

“Hmm. Fifteen, twenty minutes away. I keep out of Marchenkho’s way, is safer.”

“I need you to get there and watch the door. Tell me who comes in and out. And don’t get seen. Please don’t get seen.”

She leaned forward and touched her satnav screen. “Who am I expecting?”

“I don’t know. But it did occur to me yesterday that if Chain hadn’t set up the sentry gun, someone else might have.”

“You think CIA?”

“Yeah. If I’m right, you won’t have long to wait. Video them only, though: don’t think about taking them on.” Petrovitch pushed his glasses up his face. “Valentina? You don’t have to do this. You can say no.”

“But that would be boring. Will call you when I know something.”

More calling.

“Sam?”

“Sonja. Everything all right?”

“Yes, I think so.” She was in the park at the top of the Oshicora Tower. There was green behind her, and it was so bright it burned. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “What do you need?”

She asked as if she had the power to grant wishes.

“Apart from Charlotte Sorenson kept off my back like you promised?”

“She found you?”

“She tried to choke me to death, then kick me through a wall. But she’s not my chief concern. I think the CIA