Саймон Морден - Equations of Life

“And that’s it,” said Pif. “Someone pulls her to the ground, out of camera, and the last thing you see is a guy with a gun, pointing it straight at the screen.”

Petrovitch wriggled his finger in his ear. “Can you do something for me? Save those two files onto a card and put it somewhere safe. Wipe the rest of the incoming mail. Then sit tight.”

“Is it going to be okay?”

“No. No, it’s not. But what that means is anyone’s guess. I’ll call you.”

He hung up, then dialed the Oshicora Tower.

“ Moshi moshi ,” said the operator.

“Good morning,” said Petrovitch, “my name’s Samuil Petrovitch; you might remember me from such incidents as ‘hunted like a dog through the streets’ and ‘kissed by the boss’s daughter.’ I’d very much like to speak to Oshicora-san—he assured me that he’d take my call if I had an emergency, and if this isn’t one, I don’t know what is.”

He could feel the fear like a cold wind. It was true. His heart gave a little trip, and he shuddered.

“I am afraid,” said the female voice, “Mister Oshicora is unavailable at the moment.”

“I am afraid,” countered Petrovitch, “that you’re lying through your teeth. Find me someone in authority. Now, please, or I’ll cut the connection.”

Seamlessly, another voice spoke up. They were listening already. They were waiting for him.

“ Moshi moshi, Petrovitch-san.”

“Hijo-san? Is that you?” Petrovitch put his finger over the cancel key. Press it too early and he wouldn’t learn what he needed. Too late and they might work out where he was.

“ Hai, Petrovitch-san. What service can I do for you?”

“You can tell me if you’ve murdered Oshicora, shot your way into Sonja’s room, and crudely attempted to keep me off the net, and like that was ever going to work. A simple yes or no will do.”

Hijo laughed. It started as a chuckle and ended in a full-throated roar.

Petrovitch’s finger rested lightly on the keyboard. “Listen to me,” he said, “I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of all this nonsense, of the whole shot-at, stabbed, bugged, threatened, hacked business. I don’t particularly care what you do in your peesku- shaped tower. It doesn’t bother me which psychopath is in control of whose private army. I’m not even—though it shames me to say so—going to lose much sleep over what happens to Sonja Oshicora. I’ve already decided to disappear: I won’t trouble you again. You need to call off your cyber attacks, though. You’re actually hurting people who aren’t me.”

“ Sumimasen, Petrovitch-san,” said Hijo. “You are a loose thread. We have to be tidy.”

Petrovitch put his glasses back on his face and pushed them up with an extended finger. “Yeah. I’m offering you an honorable draw; you do your thing, I’ll do mine. No tidying required.”

“I must speak plainly,” said Hijo. “It has been decided you must die. It is regretful, but necessary.”

The injustice of it flushed his cheeks and filled his belly with fire. He was full to the brim with fury. Something snapped inside, and he suddenly found himself saying: “I am the one who decides when I’m going to die, you little shit. You want this done the hard way? Fine. I will take you down. I will cause you so much grief and pain that you’ll wish you’d never been born. And you can tell Sonja this: I’m coming. One way or another, I’ll save her. Have you got that?”

Hijo started to laugh again. “You? You?” He couldn’t manage anything else, he’d become so incapable of speech.

“I’m glad you find it funny,” said Petrovitch. “ Zhopu porvu margala vikoliu .” He stabbed down with his finger. Hijo had gone from the inside of the domik. But not from inside his head.

He dialed again.

“Chain,” said Chain.

“It’s Petrovitch. I’ve something to show you. Meet me outside the south entrance to Regent’s Park in half an hour.”

“Very nice to hear from you again, Petrovitch. As much as I like you, I can’t drop everything just because you call.”

“It’s about the Oshicoras.”

“Half an hour, you say?”

“Yeah. Thought that might get your interest. I’m not walking, so bring your car. And body armor and a kalash . Better still, bring two sets. We’re going to need them.”

“We? What is this, Petrovitch? You planning on starting a war?”

“For a dubiina, you catch on quick. Be on time.”

An old, stooped woman, head wrapped in a blanket, knocked on the side of Chain’s car. Chain raised his eyebrows and waved her away. Her tapping became more insistent.

“It’s me, you blind old kozel . Open up.” Petrovitch moved the blanket aside far enough to reveal his ice-blue eyes.

Chain sighed and sprung the locks. Petrovitch heaved the car door open and slipped inside, bundling the blanket into the backseat. He pulled the door shut again, and looked around.

“Guns?”

“I have one. I’m the police, remember: we don’t go handing out weapons to members of the public.”

“Funny how they seem to get hold of them anyway.” He reached behind him and pulled out a pistol from his waistband. It was tiny; Petrovitch could conceal it in the palm of his hand.

“I’m disappointed,” said Chain. He turned the engine over and waited for it to catch.

“Yeah. My yelda ’s much bigger.” He made the gun disappear again. “How about the armor?”

“That I can let you have. You will have to sign for it, though, and according to the form, account for any damage it might suffer while in your care.” Chain cocked an ear at the rattle coming from under the bonnet, then decided it was no worse than usual. He pulled out into the traffic without warning.

When the sound of horns had died down, Petrovitch put his feet up on the dash and leaned back against the headrest. “Nice car.”

“You’d better not be wasting my time. I will charge you if you are.”

“Yeah. Course you will. Don’t worry, it’ll be worth it.”

“So: are you going to tell me where we’re going, or should I just drive around for a while?”

“My lab. You know the way.” Petrovitch took his glasses off and held them up to the early morning light. They weren’t quite as filthy as Chain’s car. “While we’re on that subject: if you ever, ever try and plant one of your stupid little bugs on me again, I’ll cut you like I’m butchering a svinya and turn your guts into sausage. You got that?”

Chain tutted. “Wrong side of the bed, was it?”

“Any bed would have been nice. The only reason I’m talking to you is because I can use you. The moment that becomes unnecessary is the moment I dump you like govno .”

“Your turn of phrase is as poetic as ever.” The car jerked to a halt. The lights strung across the road were green, but they were going nowhere. “What the hell is the matter with the traffic now?”

Chain reached forward and fetched his satnav a couple of hefty blows with his hand. The screen flickered but refused to indicate an alternative route.

“You could always put on your blue light,” said Petrovitch.

“Ha. Ha. It’s been like this since midnight. Random, local gridlock, coming and going. Disappearing in one area only to appear in another.”

Petrovitch scratched his ear. “Has it got worse in the last thirty minutes or so?”

Chain looked across at his passenger. “Why would it?”

“Possibly because there’s a massive bot-net trying to take down the Oshicora servers. If that was the case, there’d be a lot of extra load flowing around the Metrozone. It might interfere with the traffic management. Just saying.” Petrovitch stared studiously out of the window.