Night Moves

from the Pakistanis you might want to look at.'

He took the flatscreen. 'How goes the airline snafu?'

'Better. Most of the affected computers have been restored. You still wouldn't want to be flying into Rio tonight unless your pilot was very good indeed, but the situation is improved. They lost a freight jet at Auckland International, three men killed, but so far, no other crashes involving loss of life.'

He nodded.

The MI-6 agent looked around. 'Nice room. Ms. Fiorella about?'

'No, she's at a martial arts class.'

'Ah. Remind me not to get on her bad side. Well, I should be going, I don't want to interrupt you in your work. We're very happy to have you aboard, sir.'

'Call me Alex, please. All this commander and sir stuff is for the office.'

'Right. Then you must call me Angela.'

She glanced at her watch.

'Got a hot date?'

She blinked. 'What? Oh, oh, no. I was just wondering if I had time to grab a bite to eat before I'm off to my sister's. I'm supposed to baby-sit with my niece this evening. She's eight.'

Michaels smiled again. 'About my daughter's age.'

'I didn't realize you were married.'

'Divorced, actually.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't be. It was a relief. Except for Susan — that's my daughter — everybody is better off.'

'I understand. I was married briefly myself. Awful experience, there toward the end. No children, fortunately, though I do enjoy them. Lucky for me, my sister's done all the work. Being Auntie Angie who gets to bring presents and spoil the child is ever so much more fun. How's the food here in the hotel, is it passable?'

'They make good roast beef and Rueben sandwiches in the pub,' he said. He looked at the two flatscreens with the secret information. 'I could use a break myself. Mind if I join you?'

'Not at all, please do.'

She smiled and, for a second, Michaels felt a stab of discomfort. Toni was gone, and here he was about to dine with the beautiful Ms. Cooper.

Well, it wasn't as if he was about to dine on her. They were just having a sandwich, that was all. A man had to eat, didn't he?

Right. Sure.

He collected the second flatscreen. He wouldn't feel good about leaving them in the room, even though both were password protected. Given some of the villains Net Force had gone up against, that didn't seem very much protection.

Angela walked to the door, opened it, and smiled at him again. It seemed a warm smile to him.

Just a sandwich, that was all. He had Toni, a woman he loved, and that was all he needed, thank you very much.

Chapter 12

Tuesday, April 5th

London, England

Peel stopped into a sandwich shop on Oxford Street, a place open at odd hours, so that you could eat lunch at midnight, if that was your pleasure. After army field rations, anything on relatively fresh bread stood well in comparison, and he was fond of the egg salad they made here.

He took his sandwich, a packet of crisps, and a can of cola to one of the small, circular tables by the window. As he ate, he watched the passersby, mostly civilians scurrying about on their business. The birds were nice, and high platform shoes were apparently in vogue again. Some of the teenage girls who clopped past the sandwich shop wore shoes with soles a good six inches thick. Amazing what people would do to themselves in the name of fashion.

Peel liked sex well enough, though he didn't feel much like spending time with the women afterward. Or before, actually. There were always girls of the evening about where soldiers spent off-duty time, and if one took the proper precautions against disease, one could enjoy as much female contact as one could afford. With his current job, he could afford as much as he could stand, which translated into sessions of an hour or so once or twice a week. Different bird each time, from assorted out-call services, so as not to establish a pattern that an enemy might track. A man who thought too much with his small head might well lose the larger head.

As he started on the second half of his sandwich, entertaining some vaguely erotic thoughts, he got an ugly surprise. Peter Bascomb-Coombs appeared next to him. The man smiled and said, 'You don't mind if I have a seat, do you, Major?'

Without waiting for an answer, the scientist slid onto one of the high-backed chrome and plastic stools. He waved at the sandwich. 'Any good?'

Well, here was a nasty coincidence. How had Bascomb-Coombs come to be here? He'd not been to this place as long as he had been under surveillance, some weeks now. Well, all right, Peel could brush it off as happenstance—

As if reading his mind, the man said, 'No, I didn't just happen by, old chap. I came to see you.'

'Really? About what?' Peel managed. He put the remainder of his sandwich down, his appetite suddenly gone. He wiped at his lips with a napkin. His sense of danger was piqued. How could the man have known he was here?

'About mutual benefit,' Bascomb-Coombs said.

'I'm afraid I don't follow you.'

'Come, come, Peel. Were you really taken in by my absent-minded scientist act? I suspect not. Just as I have been aware of your surveillance of my person since the beginning.'

'Professor, I'm afraid I don't know what you are—' 'Let's dispense with the fencing, shall we? How much?'

'Excuse me?' Peel stalled, trying to make sense of this suddenly too-knowing apparition. This was definitely a bad show.

'To have you on my team, Major. You and I both know that Goswell is off his trolley with his mad scheme to bring back the glory days of the Empire. He really imagines that setting the third- world wogs at each other's throats and stirring up the Americans and Chinese and Russians will somehow cause Britain to rule the waves again. Surely you cannot believe this?'

Peel was not stupid. The foundations of his job had just shifted, an unforeseen and formidable earthquake had rattled them, and things were, of a moment, changed. He was a pragmatist; best to see where this was leading. He said, 'No, of course not.'

Bascomb-Coombs smiled widely. 'I thought you were smarter than that. You see, his lordship has me in this neat little pigeonhole, the idiot savant, the boy genius who forgets to do up his fly when he leaves the loo, and he needs to go on believing that. Right now, he controls my project, though I will remedy that soon enough. Sooner or later, your watch team might have gotten in my way, so I decided that it would be best to deal directly with you. Your men are loyal, are they not?'

'They are,' Peel said.

'Good, good. So the only question is, what will it take for you to continue to tell Goswell what a half-wit I am when I am away from my computer? I shan't require the deception much longer, but the timing is critical just now.'

Peel was a military officer; he had seen action. There were times when you had the luxury to sit and meditate, to plan your attacks and defenses, and there were times when you quickly aimed and fired your weapon and thought about it afterward. He made his decision on the spot: 'A piece of your action,' he said.