Ray Sullivan SciFi Zone: Project: Evil - The Second Double Cross Meeting part 1

Brian looked at Bund’s replacement car.

‘So, Skoda’s are your company cars after all, aren’t they?’ he asked. Bund blushed; he’d always had neat cars until the budget crisis. It was this and reneging on public sector pension agreements, or limiting MPs salary increases and making their expenses more in line with real life; a tough choice for the Government. Bund realised that crippling the Public Sector was probably the only way to go, but he did miss his fancy cars. He wasn’t beyond putting a brave face on it though.

‘Don’t be fooled,’ he said, looking at the second hand ex-rep car that Kew had procured for him, ‘it’s been modified,’ he crowed.

‘Lowered suspension?’ asked Brian, looking at the tired car; the first eighty thousand miles at the hand of sales reps hadn’t been too kind to it. Bund shuffled awkwardly.

‘No, I think the struts are shagged, Kew’s got some on order,’ he said, adding, ‘but I can spray oil all over the road to make any pursuing vehicle skid,’ he announced proudly. Brian was impressed.

‘To order?’ he asked.

‘Well, no, and as soon as the new head gasket arrives and is fitted I’ll lose that capability as well, but it’s still pretty cool,’ enthused Bund, warming to his theme. ‘Get in,’ he insisted. Brian reluctantly opened the passenger door and sat in the front while Bund nestled behind the fake snakeskin covered steering wheel. Bund flipped a lid on the gear stick to reveal a button.

‘See that?’ he asked, pushing his thumb onto the button as Brian gripped the sides of the seat tightly. Bund just smiled as the seat warmed up. ‘Works on the back seats too, absolutely fantastic for my rheumatism,’ he said. ‘And what about this?’ he said, flicking a switch, resulting in a rifle aiming sight popping up on the bonnet.

‘You mean, it’s fitted with...’ said Brian, feeling a surge of excitement marred by the fact that they were parked behind his own car. Explaining an expenses claim to have twenty millimetre round damage repaired might take some doing. But then again, at O’Feld’s, perhaps not.

‘The perfect disguise,’ said Bund, glowing. ‘Now anyone passing by will swear blind it’s a Mercedes, giving me the opportunity to slope off undetected.’

‘But don’t you have anything like an ejector seat?’ asked Brian, disappointedly. Bund grinned.

‘Of course, could you wind that handle?’ he asked, pointing to a handle hanging from the roof.

‘Is that for the sunroof?’ asked Brian, starting to turn, watching the roof lining slide slowly open before the metal portion moved.

‘You don’t want to be splattered against the lining, do you?’ asked Bund, changing his glasses to his readers so that he could read the legends on the various buttons on the dash. ‘You may want to hold tight, I haven’t tried this yet,’ he said, pushing a button. Brian winced as the roar started. He leaned forward and pushed the button that Bund had pushed.

‘Stereo’s pretty loud too,’ he noted. ‘Look, could you just give me the information I need to steal the Armadillo gonads?’ he asked, with just a hint of frustration.

‘Concerned your lot will see you fraternising with the enemy, eh?’ asked Bund. Brian shook his head.

‘I’m on a thirty minute parking meter,’ he said, nodding at his car. ‘So are you, and I reckon you were here ten minutes before me’ he added as Bund passed him a brown envelope, checking his watch in a panic, tapping the watch face and nearly blowing his fingers off in the process.

‘Everything you need is in there,’ he said, tapping his nose with a blackened finger, smoke still rising from it. Brian squeezed the envelope and peered inside, then back at Bund’s nose.

‘Do you mean, like, literally up your nose?’ he asked, handing Bund his dental appointment letter back, wondering if Bund was still steeped in Cold War technology, such as nasally implanted micro-fiche files. Bund looked confused until he read the form he’d meant to send back to claim his NHS rebate on his new dentures.

‘Shit, I’ve sent the dentist top secret details about where the Government is leaving fifty thousand Armadillo gonads,’ he grumbled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll email you the details,’ he said. Brian hesitated before getting out of the car.

‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ he said. Bund nodded sagely.

‘Your ICT department still struggling to sort out the firewall?’ he asked, adding, ‘I can’t say I’ve any faith in ours, either. Perhaps I’ll drop it off at your reception,’ he suggested. Brian must have looked shocked, as Bund continued, ‘is that inappropriate?’ he asked. Brian shook his head.

It’s a waste of time; the receptionists shred all communications as they come in and delete emails upon receipt. Anyone popping in for directions is committed to a lifetime of slavery and the last time anyone phoned up, they committed suicide while still on hold.’

‘That sounds a tad dramatic,’ suggested Bund, only vaguely interested in someone else’s bad day.

‘The caller was from the Samaritans, trying to raise funds,’ pointed out Brian, adding ‘so I need you to get me those instructions some other way,’ he said.

‘We could try a dead letter drop,’ suggested Bund.

‘Like in the Le Carre books?’ asked Brian, interested. He’d read every novel Le Carre had written and had failed to understand a single word of any of them. Pretty much like everybody else, he guessed.

‘I expect so,’ said Bund, with less obvious enthusiasm. ‘Look, it was a useful method in the days when we couldn’t rely on the postal service,’ he said. Brian racked his brains – he was in his mid thirties and he couldn’t remember a time when the postal service could be relied upon.

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