Strangled Silence (33 page)

'That won't be so simple,'
-
replied. 'Amina Mir and Chi Sandwith
just got their hands on one of our drones.'

There was a frosty silence on the other end of
the phone.

'How the hell did that happen?'

'
She shot the bloody thing down
. Don't ask me
how! The point is, we can't shut up shop until we've
got the thing back or destroyed it. I presume there's
nothing on it that can lead back to your company?'

'No, not directly. But . . . No, no, there isn't.'

He didn't sound sure enough for
-
's taste. There was another long pause on
the line.

'Look, we don't have any options on this,'
said at last. 'I want scorched earth. Leave
nothing behind that can implicate us. In two weeks,
I want all of this to be a memory.'

'Easier said than done. We don't want them to
be able to follow a long line of dead people back
to our door. What about
? She
won't be happy about shutting down her precious
programme.'

'
? I think she's outlived her
usefulness and I don't trust her motives. If there's
any doubt about her, get rid of her too.'

-
sniffed, allowing himself
a bleak smile.

'That one will be a pleasure.'

Amina had come home after Tariq had gone to bed
and she was awake and out before he got up. He
didn't know why she had taken the gun, but
it didn't take a rocket scientist to work it out. She
had taken that funeral card threat seriously. Tariq
was worried about her. Whatever she was mixed up
in, she was way out of her depth. He wished their
parents had taken her more seriously – just as he
wished they'd listened when he tried to tell them
about the
MindFeed
program in school. He was still
taking part, but he was feeling increasingly nervous
about it.

They were doing Physics using a beat-'em-up
game today. Speed, acceleration, momentum, mass,
gravity, energy, they all had a bearing on how you
tackled your opponent. You picked your fights
according to how well your specs compared with
your opponent's and played your strengths against
their weaknesses. As the students lined up for roll
call, Tariq held his phone up, pretending to turn it
off, and used the camera to snap some pictures of
Noble.

Once on the computer, he downloaded the
images. The customizing feature of this game, like
the shoot-'em-up, allowed you to paste a new face
onto your opponent's head. Noble's fit perfectly.
Tariq proceeded to thrash the bugger's image with
well-placed blows.

The class passed quickly and it left him in a
good mood. Destroying your tormentor over and
over again was quite therapeutic. For most of the
rest of the day, Tariq felt better about school. The
other lads ignored him at lunchtime, preferring to
spend their break smoking out the back and flirting
with the 'bad girls'. It made him think of Dani
again and how he could make her laugh, but that
seemed to be as close as he'd ever get.

Tariq had always been of the opinion that bully
victims – and he hated using that term to describe
himself, it was so pathetic – brought a lot of trouble
on themselves. He probably shouldn't take himself
so seriously; he should relax, laugh a bit more at
their jibes and even crack a few jokes at his own
expense. This whole thing of relishing being the
outsider had backfired on him. Being different was
all very well, but he seemed to have gone too far.
He hadn't been out with a girl in over a
year
.

As he walked out of his last class of the day, he
was already considering a change in hairstyle. He
could join a couple of the school clubs too – it
would be nice to play some tennis again, maybe
even take up a martial art. His father was always on
at him to channel his aggression into something
useful.

Tariq noticed the smell in the corridor as he
went to leave his heavier books in his locker before
going home. Other kids were looking around too,
sniffing the air with puzzled expressions. Wrinkling
his nose, he walked along the bank of grey metal
doors until he reached his; marked like his school
bag with the names of death-metal bands. The
odour was stronger here – crawling up his nostrils
in feathery wisps of irritation. His eyes were fixed
on the three slits perforating the top half of
the door. With his keys out, he hesitated before
opening it. He already knew what he was going to
find.

With jerky movements, he jammed the key in
the lock and turned it, yanking the door open.
Inside, spread out on his jacket as if dropped from a
height, was bagel-sized curl of dog shit. Some of it
had been smeared up the walls of the locker and
over his books and the stack of software disks. He
gently closed the locker, walking away from it until
a wave of dizziness came over him. Feeling
nauseous, he knelt down and pressed his brow
against the cool metal of a locker door. Rage grew
like a ball of needles in his mind, his breath coming
in short gasps through his teeth. They were never
going to leave him alone.

They were never going to leave him alone.

His nails dragged down the drab, painted metal.

They were never going to leave him alone.