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"
Got
any
cigarettes
?
"
I
was
seated
in
the
cold
sand
,
smoking
with
a
kind
of
mechanical
intensity
,
when
something
moved
on
the
extreme
right
of
the
bay
.
I
straightened
up
and
narrowed
my
eyes
,
then
laid
a
hand
on
Ortega
’
s
arm
.
The
motion
resolved
itself
into
a
plume
of
sand
or
water
,
ripped
into
the
air
by
a
fast
-
moving
surface
vehicle
that
was
tearing
round
the
curve
of
the
beach
towards
us
.
"
Told
you
she
’
d
come
.
"
"
Or
someone
would
,
"
I
muttered
,
getting
to
my
feet
and
reaching
for
the
Nemex
which
was
,
of
course
,
not
there
.
Not
many
virtual
forums
allowed
firearms
in
their
constructs
.
Instead
,
I
brushed
sand
from
my
clothes
and
moved
down
the
beach
,
still
trying
to
rid
myself
of
the
brooding
feeling
that
I
was
wasting
my
time
here
.
The
vehicle
was
close
enough
now
to
be
visible
,
a
dark
dot
at
the
front
of
the
pluming
wake
.
I
could
hear
its
engine
,
a
shrill
whine
over
the
melancholy
carping
of
the
gulls
.
I
turned
to
Ortega
,
who
was
watching
the
approaching
craft
impassively
at
my
side
.
"
Bit
excessive
for
a
phone
call
,
isn
’
t
it
?
"
I
said
nastily
.
Ortega
shrugged
and
spun
her
cigarette
away
into
the
sand
.
"
Money
doesn
’
t
automatically
mean
taste
,
"
she
said
.
The
speeding
dot
became
a
stubby
,
finned
one
-
man
ground
jet
,
painted
iridescent
pink
.
It
was
ploughing
along
through
the
shallow
surf
at
the
water
’
s
edge
,
flinging
water
and
wet
sand
indiscriminately
behind
it
,
but
a
few
hundred
metres
away
the
pilot
must
have
seen
us
because
the
little
craft
veered
out
across
the
deeper
water
and
cut
a
spray
tail
twice
its
own
height
towards
us
.
"
Pink
?
"
Ortega
shrugged
again
.
