The Concrete Jungle | Page 2

opens Angleton looks up from the map spread
across the boardroom table. The room smells of stale coffee, cheap
cigarettes, and fear. "You're late," he says sharply.
"Late," I echo, dumping my emergency bag under the fire extinguisher
and leaning on the door. " 'Lo, Andy, Boris. Boss, I don't think the cop
was taking his time. Any faster and he'd be billing you for brown stain
removal from the upholstery." I yawn. "What's the picture?"
"Milton Keynes," says Andy.
"Are sending you there to investigate," explains Boris.
"With extreme prejudice," Angleton one-ups them.
"Milton Keynes?"
It must be something in my expression; Andy turns away hastily and
pours me a cup of Laundry coffee while Boris pretends it's none of his
business. Angleton just looks as if he's bitten something unpleasant,

which is par for the course.
"We have a problem," Angleton explains, gesturing at the map. "There
are too many concrete cows."
"Concrete cows." I pull out a chair and flop down into it heavily, then
rub my eyes. "This isn't a dream is it, by any chance? No? Shit."
Boris glowers at me: "Not a joke." He rolls his eyes toward Angleton.
"Boss?"
"It's no joke, Bob," says Angleton. His normally skeletal features are
even more drawn than usual, and there are dark hollows under his eyes.
He looks as if he's been up all night. Angleton glances at Andy: "Has
he been keeping his weapons certification up-to-date?"
"I practice three times a week," I butt in, before Andy can get started on
the intimate details of my personal file. "Why?"
"Go down to the armoury right now, with Andy. Andy, self-defense kit
for one, sign it out for him. Bob, don't shoot unless it's you or them."
Angleton shoves a stack of papers and a pen across the table at me.
"Sign the top and pass it back -- you now have GAME ANDES
REDSHIFT clearance. The files below are part of GAR -- you're to
keep them on your person at all times until you get back here, then
check them in via Morag's office; you'll answer to the auditors if they
go missing or get copied."
"Huh?"
I obviously still look confused because Angleton cracks an expression
so frightening that it must be a smile and adds, "Shut your mouth,
you're drooling on your collar. Now, go with Andy, check out your hot
kit, let Andy set you up with a chopper, and read those papers. When
you get to Milton Keynes, do what comes naturally. If you don't find
anything, come back and tell me and we'll take things from there."
"But what am I looking for?" I gulp down half my coffee in one go; it

tastes of ashes, stale cigarette ends, and tinned instant left over from the
Retreat from Moscow. "Dammit, what do you expect me to find?"
"I don't expect anything," says Angleton. "Just go."
"Come on," says Andy, opening the door, "you can leave the papers
here for now."
I follow him into the corridor, along to the darkened stairwell at the end,
and down four flights of stairs into the basement. "Just what the fuck is
this?" I demand, as Andy produces a key and unlocks the steel-barred
gate in front of the security tunnel.
"It's GAME ANDES REDSHIFT, kid," he says over his shoulder. I
follow him into the security zone and the gate clanks shut behind me.
Another key, another steel door -- this time the outer vestibule of the
armoury. "Listen, don't go too hard on Angleton, he knows what he's
doing. If you go in with preconceptions about what you'll find and it
turns out to be GAME ANDES REDSHIFT, you'll probably get
yourself killed. But I reckon there's only about a 10 percent chance it's
the real thing -- more likely it's a drunken student prank."
He uses another key, and a secret word that my ears refuse to hear, to
open the inner armoury door. I follow Andy inside. One wall is racked
with guns, another is walled with ammunition lockers, and the opposite
wall is racked with more esoteric items. It's this that he turns to.
"A prank," I echo, and yawn, against my better judgement. "Jesus, it's
half past four in the morning and you got me out of bed because of a
student prank?"
"Listen." Andy stops and glares at me, irritated. "Remember how you
came aboard? That was me getting out of bed at four in the morning
because of a student prank."
"Oh," is all I can say to him. Sorry springs to mind, but is probably
inadequate; as they later pointed out to me, applied computational
demonology and built-up areas don't mix very well. I thought I was just

generating weird new fractals; they knew I was dangerously