Free September by Gabrielle Lord

said Boges, brushing my hands away. He dug into the bag and lifted out the air rifle, long and sleek, and placed it on the table. It looked straighter and more polished than when I’d last seen it. Next to it he placed a small box.
    ‘You’re looking particularly pleased with yourself,’ said Winter, pausing in her chewing. ‘What’s in the box?’
    ‘Custom-designed spyware.’ He proudly pushed the box in my direction. ‘Take a look.’
    ‘Let me see,’ said Winter, pushing in beside me.
    I opened it and stared at the contents.
    ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘This is incredible!’
    Gently, I lifted it out. Boges had turned the tiny metallic bug into an insect—a small, dark moth, complete with delta-shaped wings, a tiny head and feelers.
    ‘I used my uncle’s old fly-fishing materials to make it,’ he explained. ‘See this tiny button here?’ he said, turning the bug upside down to show me. ‘You push it with something small, like the tip of a pencil, to activate it. From that moment on, we’ll have roughly twelve hours to listen in to Oriana’s conversations—that’s if you shoot it into position properly.’
    ‘No pressure,’ I said, laughing nervously. ‘This is unreal, Boges. I mean, it’s so unreal that it looks so real! ’
    Winter gently took it from my fingers and turned it around looking at it carefully. ‘It’s beautiful, and it’s perfect that it’s a moth. They only have a short life, too, you know. You’re amazing,’ she said to Boges.
    I think Winter’s words had made my friend blush.
    ‘I changed my mind about the dart and used this little suction cup instead,’ said Boges, showing us a small, rubbery hemisphere at the front of the ‘moth’. I’ve experimented and found that it will hold on to almost any flat surface.’ He picked up the air rifle and squinted down the barrel. ‘I did some practice shooting using the moth modification— mothification , I’ve been calling it—on ordinary air rifle pellets. I’ve tried to adjust it, but it’s still firing to the right a little. You’ll need to correct that when you’re aiming. But other than that, it’s pretty good over short distances.’
    ‘How short?’
    ‘Ten metres or so.’
    ‘I think that should be OK,’ I said slowly, trying to estimate the distance between the window, the tree, and the far wall of Oriana’s home office.
    ‘We’ll need to find an observation post,’ said Boges, ‘where I can set up the receiver. It’ll have to be somewhere fairly close to our target.’
    ‘Can you hold onto it until we’re ready to go?’
    ‘Of course. And you only have one shot at it, remember?’
    ‘How could I forget?’ I said, cringing. Nailing my one shot was vital.

    I was striding across the road near the disused railway yards with a warm parcel of fish and chips for Repro when I heard the whoomp, whoomp, whoomp of a helicopter in the sky. I squinted up and my heart sank. It was the police.
    Had they seen me?
    From not too far away I heard a siren begin to wail.
    I bolted over to the three old rusty filing cabinets.
    ‘Repro, it’s me,’ I hissed, rapping on the middle door. ‘Quick! Let me in!’
    Behind me the sirens screamed louder; the helicopter hovered closer.
    Nothing happened.
    I tried again. ‘Come on, Repro, don’t hold out on me! I think they’re on to me!’
    I waited for a response but he didn’t answer. I couldn’t hear any grumbling or muttering.
    I knocked harder again. ‘Repro, let me in! Please!’
    Still nothing. I was beginning to wonder if he was even in there when I heard something that sounded like the scrape of a chair on the floor. The sound of the siren was now ear piercing.
    ‘I can hear you,’ I shouted, becoming uneasier by the minute. ‘I know you’re in there!’
    A police car, lights flashing, sped past and continued on its way. I sagged with relief. I looked up to check on the helicopter—it was now a distant glint over the darkening city. This time, it wasn’t me