The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,57

kinks.’ That last was said somewhat acerbically. ‘And be sure that whoever they got to replace me didn’t suffer the same problems. The first thing I did was make them put in a rule that a persona could only be imprinted once. That way, it’d eliminate one of the possible causes of what happened to me. As for the other . . .’

‘That the problem might be cumulative?’

‘Exactly. Maybe there’s a limit on the number of times the process can be used before the brain says enough. We just don’t know.’

Bianca looked back at the divider. ‘So what about Adam? Has he shown any signs of problems?’

‘Not yet. He went through tests and what you could call warm-up missions before the first full operation in Pakistan, but that’s all. He hasn’t been imprinted as much as I was. So far, everything seems normal.’ A pause. ‘With the process, anyway.’

She knew what he meant. ‘But about Adam himself . . . ?’

He straightened. ‘I’m not going to go there. What he was like before he joined the project, I don’t know – and it’s his business, not mine.’

‘But you know that he’s not . . . well, normal.’

‘Like I said, I’m not going to go there.’

Bianca took the hint. ‘So what happened to Najjar?’ she asked instead.

‘He’s out of circulation.’

‘Dead?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.’

‘You know, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that line recently.’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. So, anyway,’ he said, getting back to business, ‘let’s talk about how you’re going to throw away a quarter of a million dollars.’

15

The Gambler

Macau, China

Like Las Vegas, Macau – a former Portuguese colony now returned to, but not fully assimilated by, the People’s Republic of China – was a city dominated by one thing: gambling. The relentless growth of the pastime, fuelled by increasingly affluent Chinese tourists making the trip from the mainland to wager their new wealth, had led to a full two square miles of new land being reclaimed from the sea – not to accommodate the people of one of the most densely populated places on earth, but to provide space for ever-larger casinos.

The Imperial was one of this new wave, a combined gambling emporium and hotel rising fifty storeys into the sky. It was styled to resemble, at least superficially, a traditional Chinese pagoda. A steeply pitched roof outlined in red neon curved upwards from the tower’s top, a garish hat with the word IMPERIAL blazing along each of its long sides. Even in daylight more neon was visible streaking down the tower itself, the structure visually jostling for attention amongst its equally glitzy neighbours.

‘So there’s no word in Macau for “subtle”, I see,’ said Bianca as she peered out of the window at the building. The team had set up temporary stall in another hotel not far away. ‘Zykov’s in the penthouse?’

‘Yes,’ said Holly Jo. ‘He checked in about three hours ago. He’s in the one on the right-hand corner.’

Bianca looked more closely. She could pick out windows beneath the illuminated crown, a balcony offering the occupants a spectacular view across the islands. She could also tell that the edges of the roof jutted out quite a distance from the tower itself. ‘Tony was right. I really wouldn’t want to climb along there.’

A knock at the door. ‘Can I come in?’ called a voice.

‘Yes, I’m decent.’

She turned as Tony entered the bedroom, a cellophane clothing bag draped over one arm. ‘I come bearing – wow, that’s a different look.’

‘I know.’ Holly Jo, in addition to her technical and linguistic skills, had revealed that she was also quite the stylist. Tying it back was normally the limit of what Bianca would do with her hair, but it had now been straightened and held up in a loose, stylish twist. ‘It’s so different I wasn’t even sure if I liked it, but I think it’s starting to grow on me.’

‘Just wait until I do your make-up,’ said Holly Jo.

‘Don’t make me look too tarty, okay?’

‘I don’t think that’ll happen,’ Tony said, smiling. ‘I’ve got the dress. And the shoes.’ He raised his arm to show off both the garment in question and a shoebox.

Bianca regarded the former dubiously. ‘It’s very . . . red.’

‘Ooh, let me see,’ said Holly Jo, hopping up to pluck at the cellophane. ‘Is that a Moschino?’

‘Only a knock-off, I’m afraid,’ Tony replied.

She put a hand on one hip in disapproval. ‘You’re giving her a quarter of a million