Free Penumbra by Eric Brown Page A

with Bhakor, he would take his box at the National Indian Opera Company and lose himself in the sublimity of Puccini. It would be his reward for making the world a safer place.
     
    At six thirty he took the elevator down to the suite of rooms he used when he had to work a double shift. He showered and changed, wearing as always on these occasions the black suit he had bought on Madrigal fifteen years ago. It was tailored from sabline, the most expensive and exclusive suiting material in the entire Expansion, and looked as stylish now as it had on the day of its purchase. He had worn it at his confrontation with Quineau, all those years ago, and on every special occasion since.
     
    He unlocked the wall-safe and collected the equipment he would be needing tonight, then left the tower and climbed into his Mercedes two-seater. He drove along the northern sector of the great Calcutta ring road with care and consideration for his fellow road users. That day’s monsoon downpour had been and gone, leaving the roads slick and shimmering. The sun was going down over the distant bay and the lights of the city were coming on. The great ad-screens moved across the dusk sky like aerial cinemas.
     
    Just after seven he braked in the car-park of the Hindustan Plaza and met the manager and head of security in the foyer. They were courteous to the point of servility; it was not every day that Ezekiel Klien consented to advise a hotel on the maintenance of its security systems.
     
    ‘Has the equipment been delivered?’ he asked as he rode the elevator up to the third-floor conference room.
     
    The manager nodded. ‘It’s set up and ready,’ he said. ‘I can’t begin to tell you how delighted I am that you agreed—’
     
    Klien turned him out. He might refuse commissions from world governments to advise them on security matters, but if an offer came along which he might turn to his own advantage, then he would graciously agree to lecture, even going so far as to donate his usual fee to charity.
     
    The security and communications company Inter-Tech had offered him fabulous sums to promote their latest range of computer communication devices. Klien had initially turned down their offer, and then had seen a way he might benefit from the deal.
     
    The hotel’s security team had followed his instructions to the letter. In a small room next to the conference room, accessible by a door which could be locked, a com-screen had been set up. The other was in the conference room itself.
     
    Klien watched the room fill up with about thirty men and women from various companies in the city, along with the hotel’s own security staff. He smiled to himself. As well as supplying himself with a foolproof alibi tonight, he could be assured that the security team was otherwise engaged.
     
    He was introduced by the manager and stood as applause filled the room.
     
    ‘Thank you . . . please ... As you know, I don’t usually accept invitations to endorse company products, but Inter-Tech’s latest range is in my opinion something very special . . . and I’d heard it rumoured that the hotel has one of the finest cellars in the sub-continent. To your good health.’
     
    He raised his glass and sipped as polite laughter greeted his quip.
     
    ‘Tonight I’d like to talk about the Inter-Tech Arrow 200 com-screen.’
     
    For the next thirty minutes he sang the praises of the Arrow 200’s design features and technical specifications, the screen’s reliability and range, peppering the advertisement with anecdotes and personal accounts of his experience with other screens over the years. The audience listened with genuine interest.
     
    At one point he glanced at his watch. It was just after eight. Ali Bhakor would be waiting for him on the fourth floor, room 180. It was time he was moving.
     
    ‘But enough of the talk,’ he said now. ‘I think it’s time for me actually to show the Arrow 200 in action. If you’ll bear with me for one