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last week and placed my extra footage in there for this week’s story. Now the folder’s gone.”
    Alice looked at Duncan. Blake saw a smirk cross his lips and quickly fade. Duncan brought a hand up and rubbed it through his ginger hair.
    “I don’t know anything about that,” he said.
    “Did you label it?” Alice asked.
    “Sure – I called it ‘Blake DO NOT DELETE’.”
    “Well the main server isn’t for general use. You know how temperamental it is. Did you have anything important in there?”
    Blake stared in disbelief at her.
    “The folders labelled ‘Alice’ and ‘Duncan’ are there and intact. You both have projects you’re working on in those. I don’t understand where my stories and footage have gone.”
    “Well, I’m sure you can write and film them again. They couldn’t have been that important.”
    “Alice – it was an exclusive I had on a prostitution ring. I’ve been building those contacts for months. I can’t just get access to a brothel and secretly film it.”
    Alice half stood. She wrapped her knuckles on the desk and pretended to type into her computer. Blake watched her screen. All she was doing was messing around.
    “Well, I can’t see your files either. But brothels?” she sneered. “Frankly, it doesn’t sound like the piece you were working on had anything to do with work.”
    “What are you talking about?” Blake ignored the insinuation. “I told you I had an exclusive I was producing for the World News team. They’d set aside a full page for it next Sunday. The video was going up on the Web site.”
    “We cover economics here,” she snapped. “Your first focus is our team. That should be your output. If you have any spare time, then you can work on side projects.”
    “That’s not relevant,” Blake continued. “I produce my stories for our part of the Web site – and the newspaper. Where is my other work? Have you deleted it?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous!” She replied with rising anger. “You’re so paranoid and unprofessional.”
    Blake took another few seconds. When he spoke, he was calm and clear.
    “I’m not paranoid, I’m just wondering why the work I’ve done is no longer here. Especially since the work the two of you have archived is all present.”
    He stared at Duncan.
    The ginger haired weasel avoided his eyes. Tall and lithe, with ears so large they could almost pick up satellite broadcasts, Duncan was so deep in the closet he was practically hiding behind the coat rack.
    Blake had never considered him a friend – but this?
    Could he really support this? Maybe he alone was responsible and Alice’s surprise and anger, as fake as it seemed, was justified and real?
    Blake tapped his fingers slowly. Both his colleagues were staring at him as though he was mad. They were a picture of virtue.
    “Well played,” he thought, “well played. Damned if I complain and damned if I don’t. If I call New York to speak with the main editors, they’ll think I can’t get along with my team here and, if I ignore the clear deletion of my work, this shit will run and run for the next eighteen months. Fuck this three year contract.”
    He took a deep breath and considered his options. He had no proof that someone had erased his folder – it would be easy to argue that it was a computer error; after all, Alice was correct that the server was unreliable.
    And yet...
    The itching claw of addiction scratched at his skin. He needed a cigarette.
    “Well, if that’s all on that subject perhaps we should hold the weekly editorial meeting?”
    As Alice said it, a wicked glint lit her face.
    “Oh Christ,” Blake muttered. “What fresh hell is this?”
    ***
    The car roared to life.
    Mehr slammed the gearstick into reverse. His foot hit the floor. Wheels screeched as they gained traction on the dust strewn tarmac. The Algerian reached the driver’s side door, its window still open, and lunged his sword towards Mehr’s head.
    Mehr span the steering wheel, his