Myself and my colleague Natasha are squatted on her studio floor beside open curtains looking at the nighttime lives of others. Safely in darkness, to ensure our scantily dressed shapes aren’t silhouetted to the outside [more…]
“Beau Peeper? Classy. From some kind of top-shelf magazine one hears about? The things you do for Queen and country, Worth.” I’m showing Natasha my exhibit ‘A’, a newspaper cutting I hope will persuade her [more…]
Miss Williams’s accommodations resembled a hotel room rather than an apartment, and a middle-market one at that. Its attraction was location, location, location rather than size, furnishings and decor. That location was the seventh floor [more…]
April 1984 suffered its share of chill winds, further proof that the final quarter of the 20th century drew towards an ice age. But the clocks never struck thirteen and the masses making their way [more…]
We’re in the underground comms room of a deserted nighttime British High Commission in Singapore. Outside, a swaling wind, a tropical storm mixed with the burnings of Indonesian crops, is battering the city state’s good [more…]
“Whose side are you on?” I snarled to Lotus Flower in a private message. “Mine,” she replied promptly. “You retire in disgrace in a few weeks, I have to think about the rest of my [more…]
In real life, we’re sat in a row in the comms room, logged on to our computers. On the screens our avatars are in the virtual 3D interactive world of EYE, an intelligence archive retrieval [more…]
We’re in an underground comms room in Singapore, suffering a bit of low key blackmail as an old contact, Tammy, on the New York side of a cell-phone loudspeaker, wants to know something, before she’ll [more…]
“Type Tammy-May Trevallion into social media,” I instructed Rose who was in charge of the keyboard at our computer terminal in the underground communications room at the British High Commission, at the better end of [more…]
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