Gridlinked by Neal Asher Page B

also be connected. A turbine-powered catamaran was driven into the old lading docks and caused extreme damage. I only mention this because of the rumour that it contained a headless woman.'
    'That may have some relevance,' Cormac conceded, immediately shutting down on an emotion he did not want to identify. 'Pelter was always one for melodramatic gestures. Combine something like a Viking funeral with a Separatist blow against the industry the Polity condescends to allow… Is that all?'
    'I have no more information to pass on to you at present.'
    'Will you pass on anymore?'
    'If instructed.'
    'Who instructed you this time?'
    'Horace Blegg… Now, if you go to Gate C, your departure time will be in ten minutes.'
    'Thank you.'
    'Good luck, Ian Cormac.'
    Cormac was about to ask if he needed it, when the privacy field suddenly shut off. He turned away and headed for Gate C. As he walked, he pulled up his sleeve and punched in the deactivation sequence on his shuriken holster. Within minutes of leaving the Mino-stra containment sphere, he would be able to reactivate it. The main reason for the proscription was to prevent a person carrying an active weapon within the sphere itself. All weapons on the proscribed list were of the types capable of being used to damage a runcible; an occurrence that could easily lead to another Samarkand.
    First Constable Abram spoke quietly and calmly into his mike as he watched the house through his favoured pair of antique binoculars. It was a small place by the standards of the area: one of those Tundra chalet replicas that had been all the rage half a century back. The roof was red-tiled over a construction of synthetic wood painted a quaint pale blue, which appeared silver in the light of Cereb, and there was a rocking chair on the veranda. Appearances could be deceptive: this did not seem the residence of an arch-criminal. He lowered the viewer and sighed. He would have preferred to bathe the place in searchlights, but blade beetles were rattling in the trees behind him and they would be attracted to the light. Already four of his men had been sent back for cell-welding after that fiasco at the Pelter residence. The men he had with him now had intensifier augs, so didn't need much in the way of light to operate. But things could still be missed.
    'Now, I will ask again, because it is of a great deal of interest to me, are you all in position?'
    Abram was noted for his relentless sarcasm. Many of his constables found it more frightening to be summoned into his presence than pulled before some of the other more explosive officers. He knew this, but just could not help himself, sometimes wondering if it was a sickness. He nodded to himself as four positive replies came back to him over the radio.
    'Now I strongly suggest that when I say the word "Go" - that wasn't it by the way, it will be a moment yet - that you break down a few doors and arrest Alan Tenel for his numerous crimes. Now… Go?'
    Abram raised his binoculars again and increased the magnification. Those who had braved his sarcasm to ask him why he used such an old instrument always got the same reply: 'Image intensifiers are the product of characterless technology. I will use them only when necessary.' It was perhaps half the truth. He knew it was probably more to do with establishing a kind of individualism: a common pastime in the vast sprawl of humanity.
    He watched two of his officers moving onto the veranda. From the back of the house came the sound of breaking glass. There was a flash that momentarily blacked the binoculars' lenses. When the blackness faded, the officers were gone from view, but he could still hear them.
    'Alan Tenel, get up and move away from the bed. Hands out in front of you.'
    'What?… Who the hell do you think you are?'
    'I won't ask a second time.'
    'This is private property. How dare you!'
    'Tenel, you're a Separatist shit and you're under arrest. You can walk out of here fully dressed or I can drag you