‘Shiling’s disgusting.’
‘It doesn’t seem to have been that bad.’
‘He forced me!’
‘To do what? Relieve him of two million? Flog building plans to the competition? Come on to him, to win his trust?’
Emma looked askance. ‘And what does he want?’
‘Nothing special. He wants you to marry him.’
‘Shit.’
‘Could be,’ Jericho said casually. ‘The Huangpu’s shit too. The quality of the water has declined dramatically. Mr Li is waiting for your call at the number you know, and he wants to hear a loud, audibly articulated Yes. What do you think, could you do that? What shall I tell him?’
‘Shit. Shit!’
‘That’s not what he wants to hear.’
By now Diane had passed on Emma’s location via the relevant server. She was in her apartment in Hong Kong. Far away, but not far enough. Nowhere would be far enough, unless she left the solar system.
‘He might buy you an apartment in Hong Kong,’ he added in a conciliatory tone.
Emma gave up.
‘Okay,’ she squeaked.
‘Mr Li is always available to speak to. I’d like to get a cheerful call from him in an hour at the most, otherwise I’ll consider myself forced to blow your cover.’ Jericho paused. ‘Don’t take it personally, Emma. This is how I make my living.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘We’re all whores.’
‘You said it.’
He logged out of Second Life. The viewing window of the specs brightened. At the market, the last punters were on their feet. Most of the stands had closed. Jericho keyed in the time.
Four in the morning.
‘Diane,’ he said into his phone.
‘Hi, Owen. You’re still awake?’
Jericho smiled. Sympathy from a computer had something going for it if it spoke with Diane’s voice. He looked around. Most of the couches were abandoned. Cleaning systems were operating here and there. Even junkies had a vague sense of the time.
‘Wake me at seven, Diane.’
‘Sure, Owen. Oh, Owen?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m just receiving a message for you.’
‘Can you read it out?’
‘Zhao Bide writes: Don’t want to wake you in case you’ve dozed off under the burden of responsibility. Pleasant dreams. When it’s all over, let’s go and raise a glass.’
Jericho smiled.
‘Write back and tell him – no, don’t write anything. I’m going to hit the hay.’
‘Can I do anything else for you?’
‘No thanks, Diane.’
‘See you later, Owen. Sleep well.’
See you later, Owen.
Later, Owen.
Owen—
Later and later and later, and she doesn’t come back. He lies on his bed and waits. On the bed in the dingy room that he hopes so ardently to be able to leave with her.
But Joanna doesn’t come back.
Instead, fat caterpillar-like creatures start creeping up the bed-covers – claws clutching the cotton fibres – the click of segmented legs – alarm-bells – groping feelers brushing the soles of his feet – alarm – alarm—
Wake up, Owen!
Wake up!
‘Owen?’
He started awake, his body one big heartbeat.
‘Owen?’
The early daylight stung his eyes.
‘What time?’ he murmured.
‘It’s only twenty-five past six,’ said Diane. ‘Sorry if I woke you prematurely. I have a Priority A call for you.’
Yoyo. the idea darted through his head.
No, the scanners were working independently of Diane, they could have woken him with an unnerving noise that was impossible to ignore. And he would have seen red. But among the people who were slowly repopulating the market, there wasn’t a single Guardian to be seen.
‘Put them through,’ he said bluntly.
‘What’s up? Are you still asleep?’
Tu’s square head grinned at him. Behind him, the Serengeti was springing to life. Or something like it: at any rate giraffes and elephants were walking around the landscape. A glowing orange sky hung over pastel-coloured mountains. Jericho pulled himself up. Individual snores rang out through Cyber Planet. Only a young woman sat cross-legged on her stool, with a coffee in her right hand. Plainly not a junkie. Jericho assumed she’d just popped in to see the breakfast news.
‘I’m in Quyu,’ he said, suppressing a yawn.
‘I just thought. Because of your receptionist. A pretty voice, but normally you pick up yourself.’
‘Diane is—’
‘You call your computer Diane?’ Tu asked, interested.
‘I’m short-staffed, Tian. You’ve got Naomi. There was a TV series a long time ago where an FBI agent was always conferring with his secretary, although you never got to see her in person—’
‘And her name was Diane?’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘Nice,’ said Tu. ‘What’s wrong with a real secretary?’
‘And where would she stay?’
‘If she was pretty, your bed. You’ve made it now, son. You live in a loft in Xintiandi. It’s time for you to arrive in your new life.’
‘Thanks. I’m there.’
‘You’re dealing with people who don’t quite get long-term incomers.’
‘Anything else, Reverend?’ Jericho swung himself off his couch, walked to the bar and chose a cappuccino. ‘Don’t you want to know how our search is going?’
‘You haven’t got anything.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘If you had anything, you’d have been rubbing my nose in it for ages.’
‘Your call is Priority A. Why’s that?’
‘So that I can boast about being your best member of staff.’ Tu giggled. ‘You wanted to know who what’s-his-name Wang phoned before he died.’
The coffee gurgled into the cardboard cup.
‘You mean—?’
‘Yes, I do. I’ll send you over his telephone traffic. All the conversations he’s had since 26 May. You can fall at my feet if you like.’
‘How did you manage that?’
‘Certainly not by rummaging through his remains. As luck would have it, I play golf with the CEOs of two service providers. The guy was registered with one of them. My acquaintance was kind enough to pass the data on to me, no questions asked.’
‘Christ, Tian!’ Jericho blew on his coffee. ‘Now you owe him all the favours in the world, right?’
‘Not at all,’ Tu said in a bored voice. ‘He owes me something.’
‘Good. Very good.’
‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Diane is constantly checking the net for suspicious texts, Zhao and I are keeping an eye on the markets. If no one appears in the course of the next few hours, I’ll have to consider extending the circle of investigators and showing photographs around. I’d rather avoid that if we can.’ Jericho paused. ‘How did your conversation with Chen Hongbing go?’
‘So-so. He’s worried.’
‘Isn’t he at least reassured that she’s at liberty?’
‘Hongbing has turned worrying into an art form. But he trusts you.’
Behind Tu, a big bird of prey flapped into the air. A giraffe came quite close.
‘Tell me, where are you?’
‘Where do you think?’ Tu grinned. ‘In my office, of course.’
‘And where are you pretending to be?’
‘In South Africa. Pretty, isn’t it? It’s from the autumn collection. We’re offering twelve environments. The software places your image in the background as soon as you make your call, and adapts you to the environment. Have you noticed that the sun’s shining on my bald head?’