Theories of Flight

supposed that if she was going to kill him, now would be as good a time as any. She was so close to her colleagues she could shout for them.

But then again, with every concealed button pressed, he saw more and more of her suit come alive. She had an enhanced musculature; a medical kit that would numb pain, boost adrenaline, clot her blood; he knew about the hatnav, but not the night vision or the multiplicity of concealed weapons. It would keep her warm or cool, it would turn a blade, it would deliver fifty thousand volts through her fingertips.

He infiltrated her suit’s computer, hacking it through the diagnostics routine. He was now closer to her than her own skin, and he took what he needed. The aerial was up her spine, and the short-wave burst transmitter an insignificant patch over one kidney.

“Ready?”

“For what?”

“Sorry,” said Petrovitch, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

[There are hints of something coming across the Irish Sea. It is in unpowered mode, but every so often there is a course correction. I will attack as soon as it becomes possible.]

“Thank you. Let’s see what Daniels has to say for himself.”

Because he was using Tabletop’s callsign, the agent assumed it was her.

“What’s your mission status?” His voice was unrecognizable: digitized, spoken in a plain robotic monotone.

“Dobre vyecher, Captain Daniels. Kak pazhivayesh? ”

The airwaves hissed for long enough to start making him nervous.

Then they cleared for a single word. “You.”

“Come,” said Petrovitch, “let us reason together.”

33

He stood in the road, wondering what to say next. The two men inside Chain’s apartment knew all the moves. They would counter any argument he might make, and he would do the same to them.

“Okay, it’s like this: I’ve won and you’ve lost. Whatever happens from now on, I want you to remember that all your plans are in ruins; your cell is broken, your mission in tatters, your government hopelessly compromised. Whatever you came here to do, you failed.”

“We have your wife…”

“Yeah, yeah. I know that. I know pretty much everything, so why don’t we cut the govno and get down to business. If you would like to go home, I can probably arrange it. If you would like to go out in a blaze of futility, I can arrange that too. I know exactly where you are, I have more than enough backup to make good my threat, and there is no way you’re going to escape: the extraction team currently crossing the coast of what used to be Wales will never reach you.” Petrovitch paused. “Take as much time as you need. Think about it. You know how to reach me.”

“What have you done with Tabletop?”

“I’m using her codes. You can guess the rest,” he said ambiguously. “I’ll be waiting.”

“You… haven’t asked after your wife, Petrovitch.”

“No. No, I haven’t. Are you familiar with Schrodinger’s Cat?”

“No.”

“And another metaphor dies whimpering on the altar of ignorance.” He stopped transmitting and refocused on the street in front of him.

Tabletop rose on her heels and then her toes, rocking slightly. “What did he say?”

“I didn’t give him much of a chance to say anything. I gave him the bald facts and time to stew over them.”

“It won’t make a difference,” she said. “Maccabee knows that Rhythm wouldn’t let him surrender.”

“And if Daniels kills Andersson? What then?”

“He might, I suppose. But then you’d have to keep him, because you could never send him back to the U.S.” She stopped her rocking and rolled her head in a circle, stretching her neck muscles. “He’s not going to kill Rhythm.”

“Can I work on Andersson? Anything else I can say that might make him give up? They’re surrounded, outgunned, and the extraction’s going to be forced down before it gets anywhere near here. The only reason why they’re not dead is because my wife might be alive.”

Tabletop froze mid-exercise. “The extraction is by submarine.”

“Then what the huy is coming from the west?” He looked up into the darkening sky. “Ah, chyort. And I told Daniels. Excuse me for a minute.”

[Submarine.]

“Apparently. Is it possible that the Americans have a stealthed drone that could glide across the Atlantic, dropping it from say, twenty, thirty k up?”

[That information is highly classified. While I attempt to access the information, we will suppose that it is likely.]

“And what might such a drone be used for?”

[It would simply be a weapons platform, designed to be barely detectable before it became active over its target.]

“Given that we’re looking at air-to-ground missiles, what’s the worst we can expect?”

[Multiple supersonic cruise missiles each with a kiloton-range nuclear payload. From its last plotted position, such a missile would reach here in under seven minutes.]

“Could you stop one? Could you stop them all?”

[They will have factored in my ability to interfere with computer systems. Targets will be set before they are launched, and they will leave deploying the missiles as late as possible. I could disable the GPS satellites, but such weapons have ground-tracking radar and on-board maps. My success depends on them having already done something stupid.]

“Targets: the Oshicora Tower…”

[The CIA site in Epping Forest.]

“… Chain’s office…”

[Your domik, your laboratory.]

“… Chain’s house.” He stopped. “They’re taking out their own agents as well as us. Can you migrate from the quantum computer in time?”

[No.]

“Then concentrate on the missile aimed at you.”

[But your wife?]

“Exactly: my wife. Good luck.” He spun around and shouted as loud as he could. “Sonja, tell the Union president we have incoming American missiles, take Lucy and get the huy away. The tower is a target too. Everyone else, with me.”

He held the singularity device under one arm and pulled his automatic out. He threw it to Tabletop. “If those missiles are nuclear-tipped, this won’t count for anything.”

“How long?” She pulled the slider with practiced efficiency.

“Five minutes.”

They ran down the road, Petrovitch and Tabletop in the vanguard, Valentina leading the Oshicora guards. She stormed up the steps to the front door behind them, and put a couple of rounds through the door lock.

Petrovitch kicked out at what was left, and Tabletop was first through, scanning the shadows for threats.