'Doubt it.'

He recounted the conversation in the bar, almost word for word.

When he came to Carla's parting line, she grimaced.'Yeah.' Chris stared off into a corner of the room. 'Used to scare me sometimes, how she could get inside my head like that. Just read stuff out of me like I was a screen.'

Liz Linshaw's gaze twitched around. 'Excuse me?'

'I mean, the way she knew that '

330'That's what I am in your head? A moan-on-demand t.i.t-job? Well, thanks a f.u.c.king lot, Chris. "l'hank you very much.'

'Liz, I'm not. That's not what I meant. It's.' He groped after some explanation of what he meant, the way she seemed to form an integrated part of the smooth-lined hotel-suite reality he was living. 'Christ, you're beautiful, that's what I was trying to say, too beautiful to be real, it seems like. Okay? And that must have been what she picked up on in my head.

I mean, look, she was right about the t.i.t-job, wasn't she.'

Liz cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s at him. The anger on her face robbed it of s.e.xuality. 'You got a problem with these? Funny, because you didn't seem to earlier when your face was f.u.c.king buried between them. You know, Chris, this is me. I'm here for real, all of me. I'm not trying to sell myself to you as some piece of f.u.c.king merchandise.'

'No?' A little of his own anger was starting to seep back through the emptiness under his ribs. 'So why send me the edited highlights of your p.o.r.n career? Good old airbrushed girl-on-girl action? You wouldn't call that merchandising the goods?'

She stared at him. 'What the f.u.c.k are you talking about?'

'Oh, come on Liz. You're trying to tell me you didn't do p.o.r.n?'

'No, I did.' Something in her face had changed. 'Back when it was the best way I knew to make money. I just want to know how come you never told me you'd been jerking off to it.'

'Liz, you f.u.c.king sent it to me.'

'No, Chris. I didn't.'

'You're saying you didn't mail me a videoclip of you and some blonde bimbette on a, like, an exercise rack or something. You never sent that?'

She sighed and sank back against the headboard. Her gaze rolled out to the middle distance. She seemed to curl into herself. 'Donna's Dominion,' she muttered.

'Sorry?'

'Donna's Dominion. That's what it was called, that particular piece of cla.s.sy erotic art. I was Donna Dread, gym training world dominatrix.'

She smiled without much mirth. 'Pretty infantile stuff, huh?'

Chris gestured uncomfortably. He was pretty sure he was blushing.

Liz Linshaw nodded.

'Got you hard, though. Right?'

'Uh.' He looked away.

She sighed again. 'Look, don't worry about it. Stuffs made to get youhard. As a male, you'd be practically dysfunctional if it didn't. Youthful t.i.ts are supposed to turn you on, and there you've got four of them on screen, all rubbing up against each other, and all blown up to hyper-real proportions. You might as well get embarra.s.sed about four lines of uncut NAME powder keeping you awake all night. It's just another 331drug, Chris. Refined, maxed-up, bang-on-the-nail s.e.x-chelnistry trigger dust.' Another weary smile. 'So you liked me, huh?'

He cleared his throat. 'You, uh, were you really into, you know?'

'Girls?' She shrugged. 'Not really, no. I mean, get someone licking your c.l.i.t for you, that's not unpleasant, whatever s.e.x the person doing it is. Once you get used to the six or seven people watching you off camera, that is. And you'd be surprised how quickly you do get used to that. But no, I was never a try-out lesbian, not even a try-out hi. It's pure theatre, Chris. Just a job. Oh, yeah, and if you stick to girl-on-girl, your health insurance premiums go way down. Less risk, less general wear and tear on the works.'

'Why did you, I mean, how did you get into it?'

This time her smile seemed genuine. Her posture unwound. She shook her head, reached over the edge of the bed for her bag, and started going through it. 'Well I wasn't kidnapped into it by white slavers, if that's what you mean.'

She found a bent and crumpled ready-rolled spliff, a lighter. Sat back against the headboard again and lit up. She coughed and waved little eddies in the sudden cloud of smoke.

'You want some of this? No? Sure?' She pulled down a lungful of smoke, held it for a moment and let go. She looked critically at the embered end of the spliff. 'Thing is, you listen to some twisted evangelical f.u.c.k like Simeon Sands, you'd believe we are all s.e.x slaves by any other name, kidnapped, trapped by drugs, victims of our own unclean, incest-aroused l.u.s.t - I think guys like Sands like that one especially, you hear the way they trot it out. One hand on the pulpit, one hand below, eh.' She grinned crookedly. 'But it just ain't so, Chris. I mean, it isn't this other thing the industry wants to sell you either. You know, we're all dripping wet s.l.u.ts, just can't wait to get our orifices stuffed. Forget that. You want clinical and jaded, go watch a p.o.r.no shoot. It's work, Chris, pure and simple. More or less professional, depending on who you're working for, better or worse paid ditto. But no one ever put me under pressure to do stuff I wasn't happy with, and no one tried to stop me when I quit.'

'Do you think you were typical?'

Liz held down more smoke. Frowned, then let it up. Shook her head.

'Globally? No. I heard a lot of nasty stories coming out of Costa Rica and Thailand. Still do. But you don't need me to tell you about that, Chris. This is what you do for a living. Enterprise zones, political instability. Market forces, weak governmental structure, the poor get f.u.c.ked. Literally, in this case.'

'Oh, right.' The casual way she'd said it stung, made him snappish.

'So everyone you worked with was miling and happy were they?'332She plumed smoke, looked at him quizzically.

'No. Even in Copenhagen, you've got some f.u.c.ked-up girls working the trade. That blonde I was with in Dom, a's Dotal,zion? Renata something, I think she was Polish. She had some strange ideas, and those t.i.ts were just insane. She had to go to three different plastics guys before she found one who'd give her those iInplants and then she had on-and-off post-op trouble the whole time. So, yeah who knows? Maybe old Simeon was right in her case. Turned on to p.o.r.nographic filth because her father abused her as a child. But, to be honest, I think she just wasn't very bright. Yeah, Chris, there are going to be women doing p.o.r.n who were f.u.c.ked up by abuse when they were kids, it makes sense. But most of the ones I worked with were just like me - uninhibited, maybe overly exhibitionistic media wannabes, marking time while they looked for their big break. I went out to Copenhagen, looking for work with the pirate 'casters out of Christiania. I got into Danish p.o.r.n instead. It was easier, there was a lot more of it about than pirate work, and it was better paid. It was a couple of years, it felt weird and different and maybe taught me a few things about myself that I wouldn't know otherwise. And I saved a lot of money. End of stoW. kind. Happy ending, yeah.'

'But you need to smoke that stuff to talk about it.'

The quizzical look again. 'Chris, you need to get a grip. You're telling me you've really got some kind of moral problem with my career as a p.o.r.n doll a decade ago? For a man who works in international finance, you've got some f.u.c.king nerve.'

'I don't have a problem with it. And I didn't think you had a problem with what I do either.' Spite gleamed through. 'In fact, I thought it got you off.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'What?'

'Sure. You f.u.c.ked Mike Bryant, now you're f.u.c.king me. Spot the connection. Hey, I'm not complaining, Liz, but take a look at your own f.u.c.king motivations. This is textbook pa.s.senger-seat pa.s.sion. Let's be honest about it.'

She sat up abruptly, flicked ash off the spliff. 'Yeah, ttaat's a good idea, Chris. Let's be honest. If you had a problem with me, you could have left me well alone.'

'Lefty0u alone?' The injustice of it staggered him. It was like fighting with Carla, all over again. An opening well of curdled hurt. 'You came on pretty f.u.c.king strong to me, as I recall. At Troy's party. After the party, at Regime Chage. You called me for that one.'

'Oh, yeah, well maybe you shouldn't have sent me a copy of your wife's flight times to Norway, then. Because you know Chris, as invitationsgo, that was pretty f.u.c.king blatant.'

333Shock held him unstirring for a moment. She caught it, coiled back on the bed, face still tight with anger.

'What?'

'I. Liz, I didn't send you anything.'

'Right.'

'No, f.u.c.king listen to me.' He reached out for her with both hands.

She gestured him away. Stared out of the window. 'I didn't send you that stuff. I didn't even know Carla was going to Troms6 until about an hour before you called me. I. Someone's f.u.c.king with us, Liz.'

Her gaze tracked warily back to him. She didn't turn her head. Her whole body was closed to him again, limbs folded defensively.

'I'm not a drive-site groupie, Chris.'

'Okay.' He held up his hands, palms out. 'Okay, you're not a drive site groupie. Whatever you say. But I'm telling you, I never sent you those flight details. And you're telling me you didn't send me Donna's Dominion. So. Someone's f.u.c.king with us, right? It's got to be that.'

And he got her back. Limb by limb, line by line, the softening stole through her. The place in Carla he could no longer reach, the point of reconciliation abraded by years of impact along the same emotional front. She opened a little, turned to face him. Nodded.

A tiny shard of hope spiked him, unlooked for. A p.r.i.c.kle across the underside of each eye and a sudden surge in the empty s.p.a.ce he'd excavated in his own chest.

This time. He promised himself silently. This one, this time, this woman.

I will notf.u.c.k this one up.

But the hyena was still out there, still prowling in silhouette on the sunset horizon of his thoughts.

And would not shut up.

334FORTY-TWO.

He got to work early, running on residual anger that still had no clear focus. The datadown rolled out its gathered screed of messages. Top of the line, Irena Renko, subject: need loading fast. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the name in the last week. Something snapped. 'For f.u.c.k's sake.' He hit reply, and listened to the dial. 'Da?'

'Listen to me, you stupid f.u.c.king natasha. I do not need your wh.o.r.e's services, now or ever. Just leave me the f.u.c.k alone.'

There was a pause, during which he nearly hung up. Then the accented voice came back, icy with controlled rage.

'Just who f.u.c.king you think you are talking to? f.u.c.king suit cowboy, think you will talk to me like this. I am Captain Irena Renko, commander of free sub freighter Kurt Cobain talking to you.'

'I'm. Sorry?'

'You should f.u.c.king be sorry. f.u.c.k your mother! Four days I am here in Faslane, awaiting second loading. Four days! My crew drunk in Glasgow bars. What for you waste my time like this?'

'I. Wait. The Cobain?' Chris flailed across the desk and hit the datadown deck. Details fled up into a new window. 'You're loading for the NAME? Military hardware.'

'No,' purred the woman at the other end. 'I am not loading, because I'm waiting four f.u.c.king days for cargo. Port Authority know nothing. I call Lopez, he also knows nothing. Normally, Cobain, she sails and f.u.c.k you all if this happens. But Lopez tells me, call you. You are sympathetic, he says. Not like other suits. Perhaps I have wrong man.'

'No, no. Captain Renko, you have the right man. I, I apologise for my tone earlier. There's a lot going on at this end.'

'Well, at this end is nothing going on. No delivery, no data about delivery. And mooring charge is costing me '

'Never mind the mooring charge. I'll cover that, plus ten per cent for your inconvenience. Go get your crew, I'll get back to you.'.

He cut the connection and stared across the office. The marbled chess board gleamed back at him, pieces frozen in a pattern that hadn't changed in weeks. He called Mike.

'Yeah, Bryant.'.I 335Mike, listen, we've got a problem.'

'I'll say. I would have called you earlier, but I didn't see the Saab.

Didn't know you were in.'

'It's still at home. I haven't been back for it yet.' A chilly quiet back down the line. 'Mike, I just heard from our couriers to Barranco.'

'We haven't got time to worry about the NAME right now, Chris.

Didn't you catch the news this morning? f.u.c.k, last night even.'

'No, last night I.' I was kiss-and-make-up f.u.c.king your ex-mistress. 'I went to bed early. Headache. And I'm coming from the hotel in cabs at the moment, I don't get the radio either. What's going on?'

'Some f.u.c.king junior Langley aide just came down with a bad dose of conscience. He's promised covert reports from the last two years to ScandiNet and FreeVid Montreal.'

'Oh, f.u.c.k.'

'Yeah. What I said.'

'Cambodia?'

%Ve don't know yet. This gutless wonder at Langley worked archive, so could be the Phnom Penh stuff is too recent to show up. But we can't rely on that. There's no telling what he's going to give them.'

'Can't we just have the guy wiped?'

'Oh, what do you think Langley are trying to do right now? Chris, he worked for them. He was on the inside. You don't think he's going to have covered himself?. He's grabbed the discs and gone underground.'

'Okay, so get someone else, someone better than Langley. Special Air, or one of the Israeli contractors.'

'Same applies, Chris. First they've got to find the f.u.c.ker. And meanwhile ScandiNet and FreeVid are leaking this f.u.c.king stuff like vindaloo diarrhoea. We're going to have the UN charter people all over us by end of the week at the outside.''Well, look.' Chris frowned. Something didn't fit here. 'Calm down.

They don't have any power of access. All they can do is make a noise.

We fight them in the courts, the whole thing boils down to two years'

paperwork and legal wrangling. What are you getting so bent out of shape about?'

'It's bad for f.u.c.king business, alright. Leakage of any sort. Kind of publicity we don't need.'

'Yeah, well, speaking of bad for business, you'd better get onto your pal Sally Hunting. I've just had a Russian sub commander yelling at me because she's been waiting four days at Faslane for a NAME shipment that hasn't turned up.'

There was a beat of silence. 'What?'

'You heard. Barranco's Mao sticks have gone walkabout. No one at Faslane can find them.'

336'That can't be.' There was an odd strain in the other man's voice.

'Can be. Is. Look, I'm going to ring Lopez in Panama. See if he knows anything. You get onto Sally, then call me back.'

Lopez wasn't answering. Chris hung up and was about to try again when the datadown lit with an incoming video call from Philip Hamilton. He frowned again and picked up.

'Yeah?'