I flicked irritably between three hundred and sixty channels of mind-numbing shit. Surely Adam never watched the majority of these god awful shows? I switched off the TV and began to pace up and down the living room. I didn't like having nothing to do. I didn't like staying in someone else's home. I especially didn't like knowing that soon three highly excitable, highly delusional, highly idealistic terrorists would be literally after my blood and all I had was two poxy handguns. Okay, that was unfair, they were both quite good as handguns go but I've never been that keen on them. They're more for show or idle threats than anything else. If you actually have to kill somebody a handgun is one of the worst way of doing it, one of the slowest ways – that's not good for them or you. Whenever I really have to kill somebody I prefer a more compassionate method; with a grenade or a quick burst from a Kalashnikov or H&K they don't know what's hit them because their heart stops beating in about half a second – there simply isn't time for even that days breakfast to flash before them never mind a whole life. Death is a dish always best served quickly.
I don't keep a running tally of everyone I've killed but it's not that many in context. It depends which context though I suppose.
Anyway, I was becoming dangerously bored when the phone rang.
“Have you checked this phone for bugs?” asked Adam.
“Yes, I've been over the whole flat twice I'm so fucking bored.”
“Okay, we're going to safe house Omega. Pack some clothes for me and anything you can find for yourself, I'll be there in ten minutes.”
“What's happening?”
“We're going on a quick holiday with the kids.”
I paused. That was our personal code for America.
“When?”
“Tonight, probably. We've lost all trace of the Firewire sticks, no signals at all.”
“Fucking hell!”
“Exactly. I'll see you soon.”
I put the phone down.
What could possibly have happened? Had Arthur been captured? It must be serious if we were being jetted over there at such short notice.
I went into the bedroom and took down two suitcases from where they were neatly stored on top of the wardrobe.
Knowing his habits so well it was easy for me to predict what he would want to take with him. I did my best to pack his case as neatly as possible, though if something was seriously wrong with Arthur that may just be enough to distract Adam from worrying about me creasing his trousers.
I chucked in some t-shirts and shorts for myself, hoping that Arthur hadn't wandered off to one of the colder parts of America. Mind you, if he'd been totally disconnected he could be anywhere in the world, poor bastard. And if he'd been captured, well, that didn't bear thinking about.
Two hours later we arrived at the safe house.
"So," I asked Adam once we'd had something to eat, "what's he doing in America?"
"Nothing he should be. He's supposed to be on holiday, relaxing at home. His wife has no idea where he's been."
"Oh shit, that is very bad news." I pondered the implications. "So either he's sold out to someone - I can't believe that for a second - or somebody has got to him or it's some kind of technical fault."
"Yes, those are the only options," sighed Adam.
"I haven't seen him for over a year, how's he been?"
"Fine, no problems. His last brain scan revealed a considerable new amount of healed tissue around the injury and there have been no technical malfunctions of any kind for more than three years now."
"So where does that leave us?"
"Nowhere we at all want to be," said Adam, starting to pace again.
"It's not possible for..."
My phone rang and interrupted me.
"Okay, thanks."
"Flight?" asked Adam.
"We're leaving in ten minutes."
Captain Caveman to the rescue.
A spoonful of sugar.
Always fuck the green cross code.
Minus ten and counting.
Forty seven equals parsnip equivalence.
Sorry, but we cannot return any of your paintings.
Hyppocampal bypass implant.
I only want to help you, Rowland.
What's all that? Are these memories?
Right, I'm just going to sit here and think nothing until they go away.