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weary sigh. ‘You’re not going to let this one go, are you, uncle?’
    â€˜Er, no,’ Freddy replied sarcastically.
    Kristy was silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling, her jaw clenched. ‘I told you I don’t want to do it. It sounds creepy.’
    â€˜They’re offering a million dollars for three songs, Kristy.’
    â€˜So?’ She could sense him looking at her. She hated his icy stare, but somehow she found the will to ignore him.
    â€˜It’s not so much the money. It’s going to be a big media event. Don’t you get that?’
    â€˜I get it. I just don’t want to do it.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I told you. It sounds creepy.’
    He was staring at her again and this time she couldn’t fight it. She turned away from the ceiling and met his gaze.
    â€˜I have the contracts in my bag,’ Freddy persisted.
    â€˜When is the gig?’
    â€˜Next Wednesday. You really weren’t paying attention, were you, Kristy?’
    She let her gaze fall on the items spread out on the table and started to feel angry. She resented this. She had just performed in front of 20,000 people, and put on a fabulous show. She deserved her rewards. For a second, she considered simply giving in to her uncle, doing whatever he asked to get him out of the place. Then she could have some fun. Wasn’t that what she had always done? But then a new voice butted in, a voice of defiance. She stood up. ‘I need more time,’ she said.
    â€˜Not possible,’ Freddy said quietly. ‘I’ve promised the promoters I would have an answer for them tonight.’
    â€˜In that case I’m saying no.’
    Freddie held her with his intense, dark eyes. They sent chills down her spine. She had heard all the stories, of course. About how Freddy had killed at least one man, about his Mafia connections, and the sort of people he employed to ensure he got his way. Her own father, Vincent, Freddy’s brother, had been terrified of him. Vincent had not wanted his only daughter to go into the entertainment business, but then he had gotten himself killed in a motorcycling accident on the Ventura Freeway. By that time, Kristy had developed an untameable desire for fame. She had won singing competitions and had begun to get noticed, and Freddy had become involved. After that, she had never looked back.
    â€˜I’m not doing it,’ Kristy added, surprising herself.
    Freddy stood up. He was at least 8 centimetres shorter than his niece. ‘Very well,’ he said. Bending down, he picked up a metal attaché case and turned towards the door. Kristy stood rigid, watching him silently, barely able to believe she was going to get her way.
    Freddy stopped at the door, his tiny hand gripping the handle. Without turning, he said, ‘I’ll contact the promoters right away, my dear. They’ve let slip they have a backup. Apparently, Bethany Shakespeare is very keen to do it.’

7
Base One, Tintara Island, the same day
    â€˜Rewind to 15.16 please, Sybil,’ Pete Sherringham said to the air. Sybil was the base computer, the world’s only quantum processor. It, or ‘she’ as the team liked to think of Sybil, was the nexus of a vast network that kept all the systems running smoothly at Base One, the command centre of E-Force.
    â€˜Ready,’ Sybil replied.
    â€˜Play.’
    Pete sat back in the leather chair in his quarters and watched the holoscreen on his laptop. With amazing clarity it showed the three-dimensional images he had seen at least 20 times before: a Silverback, the dark blue hull of George , six weeks earlier. The plane was swooping low over a burnedout shell of a building when suddenly the starboard wing was hit by something. The engine exploded and the aircraft nosedived. Then he saw himself, a tiny figure in a cybersuit, rocketing away from the cockpit in an ejector seat. But he was too low. The chair plummeted and the