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- Ричард Морган
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The
limousine
banked
abruptly
to
one
side
,
losing
altitude
.
I
sat
back
a
little
amidst
the
carnage
and
cleaned
more
blood
off
my
face
with
one
sleeve
.
"
That
’
s
good
,
"
I
said
more
calmly
.
"
Now
set
me
down
near
Mission
Street
.
And
if
you
’
re
thinking
about
signalling
for
help
,
think
about
this
.
If
there
’
s
a
firefight
,
you
die
first
.
Got
it
?
You
die
first
.
I
’
m
talking
about
real
death
.
I
’
ll
make
sure
I
burn
out
your
stack
if
it
’
s
the
last
thing
I
do
before
they
take
me
down
.
"
His
face
looked
back
at
me
on
the
screen
,
pale
.
Scared
,
but
not
scared
enough
.
Or
maybe
scared
of
someone
else
.
Anyone
who
bar
-
codes
their
employees
isn
’
t
likely
to
be
the
forgiving
type
,
and
the
reflex
of
longheld
obedience
through
hierarchy
is
usually
enough
to
overcome
fear
of
a
combat
death
.
That
’
s
how
you
fight
wars
,
after
all
—
with
soldiers
who
are
more
afraid
of
stepping
out
of
line
than
they
are
of
dying
on
the
battlefield
.
I
used
to
be
like
that
myself
.
"
How
about
this
?
"
I
offered
rapidly
.
"
You
violate
traffic
protocol
putting
us
down
.
The
Sia
turn
up
,
bust
you
and
hold
you
.
You
say
nothing
.
I
’
m
gone
and
they
’
ve
got
nothing
on
you
outside
of
a
traffic
misdemeanour
.
Your
story
is
you
’
re
just
the
driver
,
your
passengers
had
a
little
disagreement
in
the
back
seat
and
then
I
hijacked
you
to
the
ground
.
Meanwhile
,
whoever
you
work
for
bails
you
out
rapido
and
you
pick
up
a
bonus
for
not
cracking
in
virtual
holding
.
"
I
watched
the
screen
.
His
expression
wavered
,
and
he
swallowed
hard
.
Enough
carrot
,
time
for
the
stick
.
I
locked
the
blowback
circuit
on
again
,
lifted
the
blaster
so
he
could
see
it
and
fitted
it
to
the
nape
of
Trepp
’
s
neck
.
"
I
’
d
say
you
’
re
getting
a
bargain
.
"
At
point
-
blank
range
,
the
blaster
beam
vaporised
spine
,
stack
and
everything
around
it
.
I
turned
back
to
the
screen
.
"
Your
call
.
"
