Free Molehunt by Paul Collins Page A

clearance to …’
    â€˜Calm down, Uncle. It was actually his third attempt.’
    â€˜My God, child, you must come in immediately. I’ll send a protection squad.’
    â€˜And then he’ll get his wish. Look, we don’t know who he is. He could be your best friend, Jake. He could be
any
body. You’re the only one I can trust. I’m not coming into RIM headquarters.’
    â€˜I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where you are?’
    She said nothing, just smiled, visualising his scowl.
    â€˜I can hear your cheeky smile a klick off, young lady. Okay. You always did like this cloak and dagger stuff. So where do we meet?’
    â€˜You know where Mother and Father kissed the first time?’
    â€˜How could I forget? I was there. As I recall, I strongly warned her against it, but she ignored me.’
    â€˜Lucky me.’
    â€˜What time?’
    â€˜Same time they kissed.’
    â€˜I suppose your mother told you all this?’
    â€˜Of course.’ Something caught in her throat. She missed her mother terribly; not a day went by that she didn’t think of her.
    Anneke hung up and got as far away from the public phone as she could. The mole would have picked up the call instantly, employing voice recognition filters faster than her uncle could, and would have her location already. But she knew that he would know that she knew, so he would probably do nothing.
    Which probably meant that in the weird and deadly universe of galactic spying, a public phone was the safest place for her to call from.
    Night fell suddenly on Lykis Integer. A salt-laden breeze drifted in off the ocean and that brought with it a faint smell of ozone. But Anneke’s work was not done for the day.
    She had spent the day setting up ‘eyes’, tiny devices the size of pinheads that could pick up a multitude of useful imagery wavelengths as well as sound, and relay it all to a unit the size of her hand. She had placed the eyes up and down the street, in back alleys, on rooftops, on the floors above the café where her parents met, and everywhere else that seemed useful. Her brain augmentations managed the software that filtered out significant activity and alerted her.
    The only weak link in this network was Uncle Viktus. He would be followed, but she knew he was too experienced not to be cautious. This comforted Anneke, but did not calm her fears.
    Viktus had not been a field agent for over thirty years, so he would be rusty. Worse, he might overrate his own abilities, not wanting to admit his operational days were past.
    Anneke wondered if she would ever get to be that old, and if she did, if she would be realistic about her survival skills. After nearly getting murdered every other day, it seemed she was unlikely to reach the expected age of 260.
    She took a booth at the rear of the café, near the back exit. From here she could watch the entrance and the street outside. Her surveillance eyes had been recording and analysing the various approaches to the café for most of the day, but had not detected anything significant. Her head began to thump with the early signs of a headache, because it was like continually viewing split-screen movie shots.
    â€˜You kids watch too much junk.’
    Anneke jumped. ‘Uncle Viktus, don’t
do
that! You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
    â€˜At your age? Nonsense.’ He sat down.
    She eyed him. He looked older than he had six months ago. Older or more haggard? Hard to tell. She frowned. ‘How’d you get past my eyes?’
    â€˜Ah, the conceit of the young,’ he said, signalling the auto-waiter for a kaf. ‘Let me see. You were thinking how poor old Uncle Viktus, drooling imbecile that he is, was bound to lead the mole directly to you. Am I right?’
    Anneke’s jaw tightened. ‘Uncle, I never –’
    â€˜Not that I was an imbecile. But I’m right about the rest, aren’t I? I