Christopher Brookmyre - Parlabane 04 (10 page)

to let Parlabane make her feel like some corporate whore just for earning her living. She respected Jack Parlabane for what he was and what he'd done, but right now he was acting like a petulant teenager taken under protest on a family holiday. That he was drawn on her side was a double blow. Not only did it mean this first part of 'the UML experience' would have to be pretty special to unite the two of them in a team, but it meant she didn't even get the satisfaction of shooting at the fucker.

'So did anyone catch the rules at all?' Emily asked. They were standing around the hotel's outdoor tennis court, their blue favours strapped tabard-style over the mandatory yellow fleeces, headsets making them look like the world's worst-dressed teeny-pop group. 'I was paying attention, but I started feeling self-consciously girly around all these boy-toys. We basically have to shoot the other lot, is that it?'

As well as herself and Parlabane, the blue team comprised Liz Ford from Reflected Gleam; Toby Seaton, who ran some charity in Newcastle, the name or nature of which Emily hadn't caught, and Joanna Wiggins, an IT consultant from Liverpool. Though lacking any solid reason to overestimate the calibre of the opposition, Emily was predicting that the only team-building effect of this exercise would be to bond the blue lot through shared adversity and humiliation. During the brief gun demonstration-cum-practice session, the only person less accurate in their shooting than herself had been Parlabane, who had consistently failed to even hit the circular ringed target pinned on a lamppost twenty feet away, never mind get anywhere near a bullseye. Toby had looked a little more gifted in terms of aim and basic hand-eye coordination, but he also struck Emily as so shy and unassuming that he'd be afraid to splat an opponent for fear of offending them. And then there was Joanna. She was the best shot of the group and seemed the most cheerfully enthusiastic about the prospect of the game at hand, but she was also, without wishing to put it indelicately, likely to present the largest and least mobile target.

'It's basic CTF stuff,' Joanna informed the group.

'CTF?'

'Capture the flag.' She pointed to the blue flag resting against the net in the centre of the court.

'Ah.'

'This is our base. There's a red flag in theirs. We have to get hold of their flag and bring it back here, while stopping them doing the same thing.'

'And if they get our flag to their base first, they're the winners? So it's like a race.'

'It's not a race. The winner is the first team to bring home the enemy flag while their own flag remains uncaptured. If they get ours, we have to get it 56

back here.'

'Got it, I think. '

'Also, if they get hold of ours, we have to channel all efforts into a cross-steal before we even think about recovering our own flag.'

'To create a stand-off,' Parlabane suggested, to Joanna's approving nod.

'Buys us time.'

'And you all know the drill about getting hit?'

'I caught that part, yes. Like I said, I was paying attention, it was just. . . Sorry, doesn't augur well, does it?'

'Between the rules and learning to work the guns, it was a lot of information at once,' Toby assured her. It would have sounded patronising to the point of sarcasm from anyone else (well, from a specific one else), but there was a sincerity about Toby bordering on the apologetic. The phrase 'big drink of water' leapt to mind when she looked at him, but this was an uncharitable thought symptomatic of her growing discomfiture. It wasn't looking good for the UML experience that her first response to the situation was to develop irrational hostilities and begin identifying faults and weaknesses in her teammates. So far she had subconsciously dissed Fatty, Weedy and Sarky before a shot had been fired. It was only a game, for God's sake. Get it together, girl.

'I'm lost too,' confessed Liz. 'But it's always worth bluffing a while in the hope that someone else elicits a recap.'

'Agreed,' said Parlabane. 'The trick that's let me snooze through a thousand press conferences. Sounds like you're the one distinguishing yourself as leadership material, Joanna.'

'Bollocks I am. I just know about it from work. Online CTF games are what office networks are really for. Why do you think the IT folk are always last to leave the building?'

'You serious?' Liz asked.

'Semi. We work late to get the job done, but it's a good way of winding down afterwards.'

'I thought that's what Shiraz was invented for,' Liz argued.

'Granted, but tell me any other circumstances where you can shoot your boss and still keep your job.'

'
Now
I see where you're coming from,' Liz said with a nasty smile, holding her gun at arm's length and peering along the barrel. 'Rory Glen, there's a paintball here with your name on it.'

'Just remember your boss can shoot back,' Joanna warned. There were a few sage nods and 'mmm's as they contemplated the unknown quantity that was the opposition. The two teams had been given their weapons-and-rules briefings in separate locations, the reds by Baxter and the blues by Campbell. This was not only so that neither side would begin the 57

game knowing the location of the other's base, but also to mask either team's individual strengths and weaknesses. Emily wondered whether it was also intended to make each side assume the other to be far less useless, but couldn't realistically envisage the perception being mutual.

'Rory'll be very, very up for it,' Liz mused, as if having pondered the same concern.

'Your mate Tim's going to be pretty handy too, isn't he?' Emily asked Parlabane. 'Let's face it, he's a press snapper. He's got to be adept at sneaking around and taking shots at people who haven't even noticed he's there.'

'Fair to say,' Parlabane replied. 'But he can't shoot film and paint at the same time. Or rather, I should say pixels and paint, but either way, he's got a job to do, so that should be a bit of a handicap. Plus, he's old. Even if he's hiding in a bush, you'll hear him wheezing from twenty yards.'

'Why do I suspect you wouldn't be saying that if he was in earshot?' Liz enquired.

Parlabane grinned.

'Didn't look that old to me,' she added. 'Distinguished, maybe, but not exactly decrepit.'

'Distinguished. He'd love that.'

'You tell him, you get a paintball in your mouth from point-blank.'

A horn sounded from somewhere above, one of those compressed-air portable klaxons. Emily looked to the hotel building. Campbell and Baxter were visible on the single tower that protruded from the central rear of the building, standing behind a safety rail on the turret. Campbell was holding the klaxon, and both were in possession of binoculars.

'So that's how they play referee,' Joanna observed.

'No, this is how we play referee,' said a voice in Emily's ear. They all looked at each other, indicating identical experience. 'Your comms systems are now active. Red team use channel one, blue team channel two, channel three is for UML and emergency use only. Due to the nature of the hardware, there is, unfortunately, nothing to prevent you monitoring each other's communications other than the spirit of fair play. And remember this above all: we can hear everything. Happy hunting.'

'Christ,' muttered Parlabane. He didn't say it - he
couldn't
say it, that was the point - but there was no question he was pissed off that he could no longer go ripping into UML without being overheard.

'Is it too late to talk about tactics?' Liz asked Joanna, the thought of taking on Glen evidently having sparked the group's only thus-far stated will to win.

'I'll stay back and guard the base,' Joanna replied confidently.

'Is that your role when you play online?'

58

'No, I usually attack, but when I play online my avatar's a six-foot blonde with pneumatic tits, legs up to her armpits and the waistline of an end-stage anorexic smackhead. The real me's a trifle less nimble, but I'm also the best shot, so it makes sense I stay put and repel boarders.'

'Fair shout,' Parlabane said.

'Toby and Elizabeth--'

'Liz, please, everyone.'

'Toby and Liz, you both did actually hit something in practice, so you're the scouts.'

'Scouts?'

'You hang back in neutral territory,' Joanna instructed. 'You attack in the second wave, but your first priority is to get their flag and it's your job to intercept ours if they get away with it.'

'The second wave?' Emily asked, wondering how she'd missed the role of their predecessors.

'Yeah,' Parlabane explained with an unexpectedly bashful laugh. 'You and I are the first wave. Also known as cannon fodder.'

'And you doubted UML could make you feel a valued part of a team,' Emily told him, her levity borne of relief. It sure took the pressure off to be given a role she felt confident about fulfilling.

'Okay, one last thing,' Parlabane said, pulling down his protective goggles.

'Assume they're earwigging our transmissions.'

'Really?' Emily asked. She didn't mean to sound na''ive, but wasn't sure how everyone else would respond to an unenforceable rule, whether the Corinthian spirit would be deemed more conducive to engendering trust across the whole group. 'I thought the rule was that we didn't. Just because there's no way of restricting the channels doesn't mean we should--'

'Assume it,' Liz agreed. 'Rory'll be listening. He'll want every edge he can get.'

'And what about your pal?' she asked Parlabane. 'He struck me as the gentlemanly type, snapper or not. Wouldn't he have some views on fair play?'

'Indisputably a gentleman to the last. And his view as such would be to crush us proles using every advantage at his disposal.'

'Some friend.'

'Who? Him or me?'

'Both.'

'Fair shout. Let's go.'

Emily felt a strange sensation, a repeating shudder that came in waves, pulsing through her and causing the hairs on her neck to tingle. There was a tightening in her stomach too, and an inexplicable desire to stretch her toes 59

and fingers, as though they would better conduct whatever it was as it passed through her system. It took an involuntary giggle as she ran headlong and gasped for breath to explain it to her: she was enjoying herself. It had been a slow burn, starting as it did from the unpromising baseline of reluctance and mild embarrassment. However, what began as an overall nervousness about mere participation progressed to become a growing, tightening tension as she and Parlabane stalked on quiet feet under the cover of the trees. The silence nudged up her pulse as the on-going lack of sound became almost excruciating, taking her back more than quarter of a century to games of hide-and-seek-in-the-dark, when she had almost willed someone to catch her, if only to burst the rising balloon.

Toby had reasoned that the enemy base must be in the woods to the east: there was only open hillside and bare rock to the north; the hotel and its formal gardens formed a pre-described boundary to the west; and tellingly, Baxter and Campbell's turret vantage point offered only a limited view to the south. For reasons of fairness, Joanna ventured, it would be in some kind of open space but with limited points of entry, matching the pros and cons for attacking and defending their tennis court; perhaps a picnic site or play area. But whatever and wherever it was, the game would be won and lost in the thick of the woods.

The giggle came as she ran, upon Parlabane's signal, across a few yards of open ground to the cover of another tree, the pulse and tingle sparked by her fear and expectation of the sight of an enemy or the sudden impact of paint. He put his finger to his mouth, but it was as much to cover it against the sound of him giggling too. Visual confirmation that he didn't appear to be having an especially unpleasant time prompted her to realise that thus far
she
had actually been the one most apprehensive about UML's ability to deliver, made manifest in her spiky but professional hypersensitivity. UML, she now understood, didn't need or expect her to play guard dog against Parlabane, and maybe Campbell wasn't quite so crazy to have invited him.

'I'm shaking like a leaf,' she confided in a whisper.

'That's a point,' Parlabane replied, not only whispering but averting his boom mike with one hand.

'What?'

'I can see some leaves that aren't shaking, even when there's a bit of wind. Look.'

He was right. Ahead and to the right there was some foliage that seemed oddly still and uniform, but only if you were looking for it.

'I see it.'

'It's a camouflage screen. Dunno where the base is, but we're on the right track. This is where UML expected the action to--'

60

He cut himself off and put a finger to his lips again, then signalled Emily to follow him. She watched him pick his steps delicately across the ground, his footfalls absorbed by the moss-cushioned earth. He was heading for the far end of the screen, gesticulating to Emily to make for the near. Barely daring to breathe, she ventured forward slowly, putting each foot down softly and on specific spots, like she was treading a path through the strewn toys of a sleeping child's bedroom. The concerns of such stealth were so automatically consuming that she had to remind herself to have a glance up now and again, her absorption momentarily reminding her of Elmer Fudd silently inching his way through the forest while failing to notice that Bugs Bunny was doing likewise about six inches behind him.

Parlabane held a fist aloft, which she eyed quizzically until it occurred to her that this signal meant 'stop'. She did, taking the moment to survey her surroundings, or 'check her six' as Joanna had advised. They were mere feet from the screen, standing about six yards apart. Parlabane held up three fingers. She nodded, feeling another ripple through her stomach and a ridiculously disproportionate sense of heart-thumping apprehension. Parlabane put one finger down, then another. Emily held her breath. One finger remained.

'Blue team, report status,' said a male voice loudly in their earpieces, startling the pair of them and causing them to turn away from the screen. Parlabane reflexively swept his weapon around as he scanned the area. There was nothing to be seen and no further sound to be heard. He held a hand to his chest and began laughing again, as silently as he could but helplessly nonetheless. Emily was a few moments longer in recovering from her heart's attempt to eject through the top of her skull, but found herself equally tickled by it. Remembering himself, Parlabane took a step forward and looked behind the screen, doing so casually and with none of the deliberateness of his approach, like he was checking there was milk in the fridge. Still laughing, he shook his head to confirm there was no-one behind it.