At that moment Sven formed a very human hand and bent over to pull the plug on the charging cable from the wall. That was the answer. Night and rain — he had to take the chance. He scribbled a quick note and handed it to the MI.

Put on human disguise.

The phone rang. He hesitated. Two rings, three. He had better answer it.

“Yes.”

“Brian, could I talk to you—”

Anger surged up, burning like acid; he coughed and fought for composure, failed.

“Go to hell!”

“I’m so sorry you feel this way. In the morning we can talk…”

Her voice cut off as he slammed the receiver back into the cradle. While they had been talking Sven had pulled on the clothes, tied its shoes, was now slipping into the raincoat. With the store dummy’s head settled into position, the hat pulled low, there was suddenly another human being in the room. Brian struggled to contain his anger, faced it, let it drain away. Then looked at Sven again and shaped a circle of approval with his index finger and thumb and reached for the phone. While he waited for them to answer he wrote another note.

Open the door an inch. Silently!

“Hello, reception? Room 222 here. Listen, I’m retiring and I would like you to hold all calls until morning. Take any messages. Right. Thank you. Good night.”

He walked around the room humming to himself as he found his raincoat. Yawned loudly, ran water in the sink then flushed the toilet. Stamped his feet on the floor, then sat down on the bed, which squeaked providentially. Turned off the light and tiptoed to the door. Sven opened it a bit more and one eyestalk appeared from below the scarf, slipped out through the opening and scanned the hallway. There was obviously no one there, for the MI opened the door and led the way out, closing it silently behind them.

“The service lift,” Brian said. “And keep your coat collar turned up.”

It was late and luck was on their side. The kitchen was dark, the staff gone home. The outside door let them out into a rain-drenched alley.

“Might I assume that you have formulated a plan?” Sven said.

“Find a bar with a phone and we are on our way.”

They passed Paddy Murphy’s where he had been before, went on through the rain to the welcoming lights of Maddigan’s. Brian pointed to the dark entrance to the closed fishmonger next door. “You wait in there. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

The barman looked up from the Sporting Times when Brian pushed open the door. The courting couple in the rear booth were too occupied with each other to notice nun.

“Jayzus but it’s wet out there. A glass of Paddy if you please.”

“It’ll keep the dust down. Ice?”

“No — just a drop of the red. Can I telephone for a taxi?”

“Back by the jakes. Number on the wall above it. That’ll be two pound eighty.”

Brian downed the last of his drink when he heard the sound of a hooter outside. Waved to the barman and left. Sven appeared beside him, climbed into the cab after him.

“Going far?” the driver asked. “I need to fill the tank if you are.”

Brian slammed the door shut before he answered. “Limerick train station.”

“There’s an all-night petrol station on the way. Really suppose we ought to call it a gas station, same as the Yanks do. No petrol there at all. And hydrogen is a gas, that’s what I hear, so it’s off to the gas station we are.”

Brian wiped the condensation off the rear window and looked out. There were no other cars in sight that he could see. They just might get away with it. An image of Shelly appeared before him and he easily pushed it away. She was not even worth thinking about, not ever again.

41

December 21, 2024

The rain had turned to a fine mist by the time they reached Limerick station. Brian emerged from the cab first to pay the fare, blocking the driver’s view of Sven slipping out to stand in the shadows. The station was empty, the kiosk closed, a single light over the ticket Window.

“And there are the phones!” Brian said. “I sincerely hope that this time you will give me the right number.”

“I will enter it if you wish me to.”

“No thanks. Just tell me what it is — then find a dark comer to stand in.”

Brian punched in the series of digits. Listened to electronic rustling. Was this really a phone number — or would mat Swiss computer tell him to get lost again?

Some of the tension drained away when he heard the ringing tones. Four, five times — then someone picked the phone up.

“Jawohl.” A man’s voice.

“Excuse me, but is this a St. Moritz number 55-8723?” There was only silence — but whoever was there was still listening, did not hang up. “Hello, are you there? I’m afraid that I don’t speak German.”

“Would you tell me who you are? Or perhaps I already know. Your first name would not be Brian by any chance.”

“Yes it is. How did you know — who is this?”

“Come to St. Moritz. Phone me again after you arrive.” There was a click and the line went dead.

“That is very good news indeed,” Sven said when Brian went over to the MI.

“Eavesdropping?”

“Simply as a protective measure. As far as I could determine I was the only one that was doing it. Will we now go to St. Moritz?”

“Not this very minute. We’ll need some kind of a plan before we start rushing about.”

“Might I suggest that we consider a diversion first? I have accessed the timetable data base and there is a train for Dublin that leaves here in less than an hour. It might be wise for you to purchase two tickets, then make a query at the ticket window just before it leaves. Anyone who searches for us will find the cabdriver easily enough, which will cause them to follow us to this station. A subterfuge like this might.

“Might muddy the trail. You are a born, or constructed, conspirator, old son. And after we get the tickets and the train pulls out — then what? Go to a hotel?”

“That is one possibility, but I am developing others. Might I suggest that after purchasing the tickets you wait in a public house until it is time for the train.”

“All this is going to turn me into an alcoholic. And while I am in the boozer you will be doing exactly what?”

“Developing other possibilities.”

Sven joined Brian forty-five minutes later when he emerged from the pub.

“I made a pint of Smithwicks last the hour,” Brian said. “After this I swear off drink forever. And how have your possibilities developed?”

“Excellently. I will be waiting one hundred meters east of the station. Join me there after your discussion with the ticket vendor.”

Before Brian could query him the MI was gone. There was a short queue at the window and he joined it. Asked about connecting trains to Belfast from Dublin, made sure that he was remembered by having the man consult the schedules on his terminal. Then he walked down the platform past the waiting train, then strolled back. He was sure that no one saw him slipping out of the station in the darkness. He walked through the rain past the row of cars parked at the curb, to the appointed spot.

Only Sven wasn’t there, the shop entrance damp, dark and empty. Had he gone far enough? Perhaps the next shop; empty as well.

“Over here,” Sven said through the open window of the nearest car. “The door is unlocked.” In shocked silence Brian climbed into the front seat. Sven started the engine, turned on the headlights and pulled smoothly out into the road. The MI had removed its head and extended its eyes, clutched the steering wheel in its multibranched grip.

“I didn’t know you could drive,” Brian said, realizing the inanity of his words even as he spoke them.

“I observed the driving operation in the taxi. While I was waiting for you I retrieved a driving simulator program that had been bundled with other files. I then programmed it into a powerful virtual reality. I ran this at teraflop speed enabling me in a few minutes to accumulate the equivalent of many years of driving experience.”