a giant flipchart on which sher written the detailed plans for the operation. As the crowd gathered around her, Viv approached James, Kyle and Tom. Her changed into a smart suit, matched to an expensive-looking tie.
Did you and Jo make up and decide to get married??Tom grinned.
Looks the business, doesn't it??Viv said. Tre just had my screen test. I'll presenting the show.?
That show??Kyle asked.
Jo clapped her hands together before Viv could answer. She looked sweaty, like sher been hefting stuff about, and as always the gun bulged at her waist.
Can I have everyonet attention please,?she said sternly.
James counted eleven people besides Kyle and himself as the room went quiet.
MK,?Jo said. Thank you all for coming. I'll sorry that the journey was an undignified one for so many of you, but absolute secrecy is required for this operation to succeed. I'll sure none of you need reminding that while you're here, you're strongly advised not to divulge your surnames or any unnecessary personal details to people you don't already know.
The launch of the AFA a few days back proved a spectacular success. The latest news is that Clyde Wainwright is still in a critical condition and unlikely to resume his job as the Chairman of Malarek UK. But the general public are still not paying attention to our message. Animal rescues aren't even local news these days and even the most spectacular property destruction gets scant attention.
Te live in a society that cares little about religion and even less for the politicians and businessmen that lead it. But theret one group of people in which the public still has an extraordinary degree of interest: celebrities.
Tn less than twelve hours, we're going to have a celebrity guest in the cage at the opposite end of this room and our very own TV show going out live on the Internet.?
Jo looked pleased with herself as she paused to build up the suspense. Mor twenty-four hours, this room is going to be hosting the most sensational media event ever staged by liberationists.?
Jo leaned forward and dramatically ripped the front sheet off the flip chart, revealing an A3-sized mug shot of a man instantly recognised by everyone in the room.
Comrades,?Jo grinned. T give you our special guest, celebrity restaurateur and TV chef, Nick Cobb.?
31. STUDIO
Nick Cobb stood at a mirror in his dressing-room. The windowless space had a pastel pink sofa straight out of 1985 and shiny black marks trodden into the ragged carpet. Cobb could remember when all this stuff was new and ?depressingly ?the mirror seemed to indicate that her aged no better than the furniture.
Her come a long way since those first television appearances at Tyneside Studios, standing in for the resident chef on a long forgotten magazine show. He now owned eight restaurants, had eleven bestselling cookery books under his belt, hosted the longest running cookery show on United States television and owned a major stake in The Gourmet Network satellite channel.
Cobb strolled across to the drinks cabinet and thought about a shot of vodka, but it was ten in the morning and he couldn't face the dusty bottles and fingerprint-smudged glassware. His publicist, Amanda, knocked on the door and stepped in without awaiting an answer.
He was about to ask why theyr agreed to come back to this dump, when a set of grey tyres inched into the room. The kid in the wheelchair was thirteen, with twigs for arms and metal braces on her legs. Her heard her sob story, but could only remember that her been too tired to argue when her agreed to let her visit the dressing-room.
Nello there, young lass,?Cobb said, turning on the charm with an accent pitched awkwardly between Tyneside and California. Tou must be Gaynor.?
The girl smiled and said something, or rather gargled because of the breathing tube sticking out of her throat.
Fortunately, Gaynort mother could translate. Ehet baked you cakes,?the mum explained, as she reached into a basket beneath the wheelchair and picked out an airtight box.
Gaynor was weak and it took her half a minute to peel the lid off. Cobb eased the silence by asking his publicist to fetch a pot of tea.
Clean china cups,?he added, instantly wondering if the demand made him sound like the kind of celebrity prick he was always telling himself he hadn't become.
Cobb took one of the little sponge cakes out of the box and bit it, expecting the worst.
That is one fantastic bit of sponge cake,?he beamed.
And Cobb wasn't lying; the cake got everything right: