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military flights are currently grounded throughout the continental United States. Canadian airspace has also shut down. The Europeans will be closing their airports as soon as those flights currently in transit have made their destination. You got all that?’
    Dave nodded.
    ‘Sure. That’s why I’m stuck here. Fair enough too, unless you want more planes getting bit in the ass.’
    ‘Yeah, whatever. Don’t bother yourself with the policy questions,’ Foxy told him. ‘We’ll have our own experts to do that. You just need to answer some basic questions about dragons. How dangerous are they? How do we kill them?’
    ‘But you already know the answer to that,’ said Dave. ‘Really fucking dangerous, and you kill them by shooting, I dunno, missiles or something at them. Whatever those air force guys did last night.’
    ‘AIM-9X Sidewinder,’ said Igor. ‘And twenty-millimetre cannon fire. Though I think an A-10 might be better.’
    ‘What are you? An air force groupie now?’ Zach asked.
    His colleague gave him a surprised look, to which he replied with a shrug.
    ‘It’s all over the war blogs.’
    ‘Thank you, soldier,’ said Foxy, favouring him with the sort of grin Dave hadn’t had out of her since she woke up. ‘That’s great detail. Our audience will love that sort of stuff.’ Igornodded and coughed to cover the blush that crept up from his neck as the elevator stopped and the doors whooshed open.
    A small crowd was waiting for Dave.

02
    They weren’t as rowdy as the college boys, but there were more of them. Maybe a dozen in all. And they were way more determined. They started calling his name as soon as they saw him.
    ‘Dave.’
    ‘Dave.’
    ‘Mr Hooper.’
    Bellagio security – there were four of them, big slab-shouldered dudes in identical grey suits – seemed at a loss. One guy in a much nicer, more expensive-looking dark blue suit stepped forward with his hand out to shake.
    ‘Ms Knox, Mr Hooper, if you’ll come with me we have a media suite ready for you.’
    ‘Thanks, Alec,’ said Foxy.
    Hey, thought Dave, I’ve been banging Foxy Knoxy. That’s awesome.
    He allowed himself to be carried along in a flying wedge of hotel security, reinforced by Zach and Igor. Behind them trailed the small crowd of hangers-on who’d been hanging on since he’d exited the elevator. Dave wondered why this Alec dude didn’t just have his goons run them off. What was the point of having goons if they didn’t run people off?
    ‘Huh, yeah whatever,’ said Dave in reply to something Alec had said. He wasn’t sure what. He’d been distracted by the small crush of expensively dressed men and women trailing along behind him, calling out his name. They reminded him a bit of the photographers you saw at red carpet things like the Oscars, except that none of them were toting cameras. A few waved their phones at him, and one seemed to be gesturing to him with a large envelope of some sort, but he really had no idea who the fuck they were or what they wanted of him other than his undivided attention. He almost slowed down to ask them what business they had with him, but found himself carried along on a fast-running flood tide of hotel muscle.
    ‘That’s great, just great,’ said Alec, obviously pleased with Dave’s response, whatever it had been. ‘Armando has some outfits ready. We took the liberty of providing a complete ensemble.’
    ‘If we have time, Alec,’ said Foxy. She made to look at a wristwatch that Dave recalled hanging from the taps in the hotel suite’s spa. Instead she checked her phone, and swore under her breath again.
    Dave was suddenly very aware of how he was dressed and how bizarre it must look and he was seized by the anxious certainty that somebody would take his photograph and his boys would see him splashed all over the web. But nobody else seemed to notice or care. The security detail merely hurried him along as efficiently as they could while manoeuvring to stop his