Gumshoe's beloved Tower of Babble was stacked up in the centre of the room, his motorcycle beside it, and they both looked at these items in respectful silence, neither knowing what to say until Gumshoe broke the silence with, 'I think it could be hairy out there, so let me take you back.'

  'I'll be okay,' Michael said.

  It's only a couple of minutes,' Gumshoe said, 'and I'll feel a lot better if you let me do it. It's just returning the favour.'

  Michael smiled and nodded. 'Okay, Gumshoe. If you insist.'

  I insist,' Gumshoe said.

  They grinned at each other, then Gumshoe locked the door of his room and they went down the stairs to the street. As they walked to the van, a couple of shadowy figures were crossing the road towards it, but they melted back into the shadows when they saw the other two approaching. Grinning at each other again, Gumshoe and Michael clambered into the van. Then Gumshoe began the short drive back to Bonnie's building.

  'Home and dry,' Michael said.

  He was wrong. They had only gone a short distance when they saw a Prowler, a black limousine and a SARGE parked in front of what Gumshoe knew to be the building in which Snake Eyes had his room.

  Two cyborgs were standing outside the building, one on either side of the doorway, both scanning the street, with their stun guns at the tiring position.

  Shocked, Gumshoe instandy braked to a halt and doused his headlights, then looked on helplessly as Snake Eyes, clearly comatose, was dragged out of the building by two Men in Black, with two others, also armed with stun guns, coming out behind them. While the laser weapons of the Prowler and the SARGE moved to and fro, up and down, obviously preparing to fire on anyone attempting to intervene, one of the Men in Black raised the rear lid of the limousine and the two men dragging Snake Eyes dumped him unceremoniously into the trunk. The lid was slammed shut and locked by one of the Men in Black. Then the four men clambered into the limousine and its engine roared into life. The Prowler left first, the limousine followed it, and the SARGE brought up the rear, its laser weapons moving dangerously in all directions. The three vehicles turned around the same corner and soon disappeared.

  'Oh, shit,' Gumshoe whispered, feeling dread rippling through him. The cyborg patrols might have finished, but they're still looking for us.'

  'It's not M5 any more,' Michael corrected him. 'Now it's just you. Just as well you moved, Gumshoe.'

  'Yeah, right,' Gumshoe said, his heart racing. 'Now it's just me. Let's get the fuck out of here.'

  He continued his journey to Bonnie Packard's apartment, deliberately waited until Michael had disappeared into the building, then drove back to his new home. He sat up all night, thinking of Snake Eyes, knowing that his defiant Speed Freak friend was finished for all time.

  My turn next, he kept thinking.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  'We have to penetrate the White House,' Michael informed Ben Wilkerson as they sat facing each other across a table in a noisy strobe-lit dance club in Georgetown, well away from the prying eyes of the locals in Chinatown where Ben was too visible. A holographic image of Michael Jackson —

  reproduced from an old TV special made when Whacko Jacko was turning fifty — was dominating the central stage of the club, though not drawing the kind of hysterical fans that Elvis still drummed up.

  Nevertheless, a whole bunch of girls and boys, the former wearing skin-revealing bras and halters, the latter favouring black leather, were gyrating feverishly on the dance floor without actually touching each other. They were also sweating profusely and giving out ecstatic shouts and screams encouraged by speed. Ben tugged at his droopy moustache and raised both his eyebrows.

  'Penetrate?' he asked.

  'Yes,' Michael said. 'We've got to physically enter the White House and find out what's going on.'

  'Why? That could be suicidal.'

  I ve just been in contact with Freedom Bay,' Michael explained, 'and they're seriously concerned by the fact that some torm of electronic interference, being beamed out into space rrom cyborg-held establishments all over the world, is damaging

  their telecommunications, penetrating their protective force field, and playing havoc with their flying saucers.'

  'What kind of havoc?' Ben asked.

  'The Freedom Bay saucers are malfunctioning in flight and, according to the most recent e-mail, one has actually crashed.'

  'The cyborg saucers around the White House and Pentagon are still in the air.'

  'In the air but clearly not performing normally. The lights of the mother ship are flashing on and off non-stop, as if it's trying to take off but can't, and the footballs are simply out of control. So my belief is that they, too, are being affected by whatever kind of electronic force is beaming out of the building.

  Ditto for the Pentagon. And according to Freedom Bay, this is happening all over the world.'

  Ben still looked doubtful. 'I'd love to believe that our time has come,' he said, 'but I'm still not too sure that this is it.'

  'We can't have Freedom Bay endangered,' Michael said, thinking with horror of what would ensue if the colony's flying saucers were grounded and the protective force field was neutralized. The cyborgs could fly in at will and Freedom Bay would be lost. 'We have to move before the cyborgs take advantage of the havoc they're wreaking.'

  'They seem to be wreaking a certain amount of havoc on themselves, so maybe we should just sit back and wait to see what ensues.'

  'I repeat,' Michael said, thinking with dread of what could happen to his beloved parents, his adored sister Chloe, Dr Brandenberg and all his other friends if the cyborgs managed to break in and take over the colony. Freedom Bay would return to what it had been in the time of Wilson: a vast chamber of horrors. 'We can't afford to wait and see what ensues because that could be too late. We have to move first.'

  'By physically entering the White House?' Ben mused, still doubtful and being quietly sarcastic.

  'Yes,' Michael said firmly.

  Ben sighed and glanced around the packed, noisy club, obviously needing time to think. 'What bothers me,' he said, turning back to Michael, 'is what you saw in there when you penetrated the building telepathically. The whole building had been emptied of living creatures and was filled instead with what looked to you like some kind of electrical energy — you actually said it might be neural — so until we know what form of energy it actually is, I don't think we can risk going in there.'

  'We have to. It's a chance we have to take. The cyborgs, clones and walking dead going down into the basement weren't seen to be affected by the energy source, so my bet is that it won't harm us physically.'

  'It seems to be harming the flying saucers,' Ben observed.

  'Flying saucers are machines, not living creatures, and that energy source obviously contains something that reacts negatively on their form of propulsion. If it doesn't harm the clones or the walking dead, then it shouldn't harm us.'

  Ben sighed again. 'I wouldn't bet on it, Mike. But assuming we take the chance and decide to go in, how do we actually do it?'

  'Where there's a will there's a way,' Michael said, as he had said once before.

  'And obviously you have the will,' Ben responded.

  'Yes, Ben, I have it.'

  This time Ben smiled, nodding affirmatively. 'So how do we do it?'

  First, we go back to your St John's Church surveillance team

  and check if there's been any change in activity around — or

  inside - the White House. Second, based on what we find there,

  e call a meeting of the best people we have and decide how to

  do it. Third, we do it.'

  Ben smiled again. 'I respect a decisive man,' he said, 'but I still have my doubts.'

  Then let's go back to the church,' Michael said, 'and check out what's happening.'

  'Yeah, Mike, let's do that.'

  They walked crossing Rock Creek and taking Pennsylvania Avenue, which ran as straight as an arrow all the way to Washington Circle, under a star-brightened sky. Though reasonably confident that they would not encounter any cyborg patrols, they were reminded, when crossing Washington Circle, from where they could see the flying saucers above the White House, including the enormous, constantly flashing mother ship, that the cyborgs were still active and that it would still be wise to make their way to Lafayette Square by the back route: along K Street and then south down 16th. As they walked, they talked.

  'On the assumption that you'll agree to enter the building,' Michael said, 'have you managed to put a good team together?'

  'Yeah,' Ben said. 'The cream of the crop. Six men good and true. All Speed Freaks — or former Speed Freaks — widely experienced in various forms of cyborg harassment. In other words, they're good with weapons and home-made bombs and they have nerves of steel.'

  'Good,' Michael said. 'I think we'll need all of that.'

  'There is, however, someone I'd like to use that you may disapprove of, given that you have a personal interest.'

  'Pardon?'

  Td like to use Gumshoe.'

  Michael felt a slight embarrassment, a hesitation, in himself that gave him cause for concern. He recalled Lee Brandenberg warning him that he must remain objective, not let self-interest make him stray from his path, and he knew that his embarrassment and hesitation were caused by just that.

  Though, according to all concerned, nothing physical had happened between Gumshoe and Bonnie, Michael still felt anxiety when he thought of them together, convinced as he was that they were more suited to each other than he and Bonnie were. He felt deeply for Bonnie, perhaps was in love with her, but his rational side told him that Bonnie had been correct in saying that he and she would not last.

  Bonnie and he were different, chalk and cheese, as it were, and the thought of Bonnie in a place like Freedom Bay did not

  wear well at all. This thought made him feel snobbish, dishonest, a cheat. And yet, even as he pondered what it meant, he still felt deeply for Bonnie and understood that what he was suffering from was

  jealousy, an emotion he had not known before and which he knew to be dangerous.

  He liked Gumshoe. In fact, he thought more highly of Gumshoe than Gumshoe thought of himself, but he felt pain at the thought of Gumshoe and Bonnie getting together again. This was irrational, and Michael despised himself for it.

  'Why Gumshoe?' he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

  'Because he's good,' Ben said. 'Because he's spent a lot of years going on runs with the Speed Freaks and because they respect him even more than they respect their formal leader, Snake Eyes.'

  'Alas, no longer with us,' Michael said.

  'Correct. Please bear in mind, therefore, that the Speed Freaks have always been an intensely close tribe and no matter how good the individuals are, they always need their own leader — not you and not me.

  So, since Snake Eyes is no longer with us, I'd like to have Gumshoe along as the nominal leader of the six Speed Freaks I've chosen.'

  'I'll wear that,' Michael said.

  'Good. However, it's also worth knowing that I want Gumshoe along because he was captured by the cyborgs and taken down into the basement of the Pentagon, where he saw what had happened to his parents, which beggars belief.'

  Yes,' Michael said. 'Bonnie told me. It sure beggars belief all right.'

  So, I think Gumshoe has a stronger motivation than any of us for wanting to penetrate the White House. He'll want to make it all the way to the Pentagon basement and somehow put his folks out of their misery, if necessary by switching off the power that keeps them alive.'

  Even if he gets there,' Michael said, 'that won't be easy to do.'

  No, it won't. But if Gumshoe can possibly do it, believe me,

  he 11 do it. I've talked to him about it and I know this for sure: Gumshoe isn't going to be able to live with the knowledge that his parents are down there in that condition. Either he'll save them by putting them out of their misery or he'll go insane. So that's Gumshoe's singular motivation and that's why I want him.'

  'Okay,' Michael said, 'you can have him.'

  Ben glanced sideways at him as they turned down into 16th Street, heading for the north side of Lafayette Square. 'Are you sure?'

  'Yes, I'm sure.'

  'Are you absolutely sure?'

  'Absolutely.'

  'I don't want any complications caused by personal matters. That could lead to fuck-ups.'

  'I know what you're thinking — it's my involvement with Bonnie Packard and Gumshoe's interest in her — but she won't come between me and Gumshoe as far as this mission is concerned. I like Gumshoe and, even more, I trust him, so you've no need to worry.'

  'Hallelujah,' Ben said.

  They had reached the church, seeing no Prowlers or SARGEs en route, and they entered as usual by the side door, then made their way up to the bell tower. There they found Lenny Travis and Richie Pitt

  squatting as usual behind their laser surveillance systems, the former munching on a sandwich, the latter drinking from a bottle of Bud. Michael and Ben knelt just behind them, then stared over their shoulders to where the great mother ship was still hovering in the sky directly over the White House, its many lights flashing rapidly on and off, while the footballs, which appeared to have increased dramatically in number, were shooting to and fro, up and down, as if out of control, though they never, Michael suddenly noticed, left the White House area.

  'Any change?' Ben asked.

  'There sure is,' Lenny Travis replied. 'Look down there, pal.'

  He pointed to the north lawn of the White House where, between the parked Prowlers and SARGEs, there were cyborgs

  that had not been there before. All the cyborgs were armed with laser pistols and carefully tracking their individual firing arcs, covering north, east and west. Likewise, the Prowlers and SARGEs, which previously had been absolutely motionless, though still not moving back and forth were back in action to the degree that their laser weapons were, like those of the cyborgs, moving continually from side to side. Obviously, then, for whatever reason, a protective firewall had been placed around the building.

  'Shit!' Ben exclaimed softly.

  'What's happening inside?' Michael asked.

  'It gets harder to figure out with every passing hour,' Richie Pitt said. 'Since you were last here, there's been no body heat to track, so we assume that there's no one in the building — apart, that is, from the basement. Occasionally we picked up a bit of movement here and there, usually on the ground floor, as cyborgs came up out of the basement to take up those positions on the north lawn and, we must assume, all around the building. But there's something in there, some kind of electrical energy that's playing havoc with our laser systems, so now we're only picking up shit.'

  'You mean static?

  Yeah. And it's gettin' worse and worse by the hour, which suggests that the energy field is expanding and growing more dense.'

  Any idea what kind of energy field it is?'

  Nope,' Lenny Travis said. 'We've never come across anything like it before. It's a new one on us, bud.'

  Michael looked questioningly at Ben. 'So, do we go in or not?'

  'We go in,' Ben said. 'Let's call Gumshoe.'

  Using his cellular phone, Ben called Gumshoe and caught him on his motorcycle, just out for a spin and currently burning along Constitution Avenue, enjoying the freedom gained by the freezing of the cyborg ground and air patrols.

  What can you see out there?' Ben asked him. He waited for

  the response, then said, 'Yeah, that's right, man. Those goddamned saucers are going wild over the White House and the Pentagon, so we're pulling down a little number that you just might enjoy. We're in the bell tower of St John's Church, entrance via the side door. Can you get your ass over here?' He grinned, indicating a positive response, then said, 'Great. See you soon.' He turned the phone off and put it back in his jacket pocket, saying, 'Gumshoe's seeing exactly what we're seeing and he's on his way over.'

  While they waited for Gumshoe's arrival, they all studied the sky over the White House — the

  kaleidoscopic lights of the great mother ship; the spinning, glowing footballs that were darting every which way — and then they gazed beyond the White House, to the sky over the Potomac River, where exactly the same thing was happening over the Pentagon. It was a fabulous, magical, beautiful spectacle that mesmerized all of them.

  They were all still sitting there in silence when Gumshoe entered the bell tower. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a checkered open-necked shirt, blue denims and a pair of stack-heeled leather boots — a Speed Freak without the tattoos or hair piled up with thick gel. Grinning, he knelt between Michael and Ben to see what they were seeing.

  'It's one hell of a light show,' he said after a lengthy silence, 'but what the hell's going on?'

  'We're not sure,' Ben said. 'We only know that most of the cyborgs have deserted the main building and made their way down into the basement. With the absence of living bodies — the cyborgs, the clones and the walking dead — the building is filling up with some kind of electrical energy that's making passing automobiles malfunction, playing havoc with our laser surveillance systems and maybe even affecting those saucers.' He looked directly at Gumshoe and gave him a big, cocky smile. 'So we're going in there.'

  Gumshoe stared at him in stone, cold amazement. 'We're going . . . inside?

  'You heard me,' Ben said.

  Gumshoe looked down at the cyborgs, Prowlers and SARGEs still protecting the north lawn of the White House. 'So what about them?'

  'We're going to fight our way through,' Michael informed him. 'I mean, you've put the Prowlers and SARGEs out of action before with your home-made bombs, so you should be able to do it again. As for the cyborgs, if you can disable a Prowler or SARGE you should be able to do it to them as well. Also, there's a distinct possibility that whatever that energy source is, it's maybe feeding off the energy of the saucers and gradually draining them, which could explain their abnormal behaviour. If that's the case, the cyborgs and their vehicles could now be less effective than they were. We think the chance is worth taking.'