She led the way downstairs. There was a hot damp smell on the staircase, a hint of steam in the air, as Louisa explained that Molly’s archive went way back, covering all the spying the Service did before the Flood, but that, until the budget ran dry, there’d been plans to digitise everything, an all-but-neverending chore which had been dumped in the lap of— “You’re kidding.”
Louisa said, “Yeah, no. Our very own Roderick Ho.”
Who looked up suspiciously when they entered his office without knocking. It was Lech’s office too, of course, so knocking wasn’t required: still, it was always fun to see if you could catch Ho doing something quintessentially Ho-like, such as watching movie trailers, or building a spaceship out of pizza boxes. As it was, before they were both through the door he’d passed a hand over his keyboard, presumably restoring his monitors to something approaching respectable work-product. Whatever they were displaying, they were banked in front of him like a drawbridge, sealing him off from the real world.
“What do you want?”
“Do I have to want something?” Louisa said. “I was just coming to hang.”
Ah, right, thought Roddy. Of course she was.
Of course she was.
Because one of the things about women—and Roddy ought to write a book—one of the things about women was, throw a little competition into the mix, and they drop the stand-off act pretty damn fast. Fact was, Louisa had had it too good for too long. If you ranked the talent in Slough House, sure, she came out top, partly because she was reasonably hot, but also because, well: Shirley and Catherine. Fifty was in Catherine’s rearview mirror, so she was special-interest-only, and as for Shirley, any kind of mirror was going to offer pretty brutal feedback. Don’t get him wrong, the Rodster was as feminist as the next guy, but there were ladies you shag and ladies you bag, and Shirley was definitely in the bagging area. So yeah, Louisa had had it easy, but into this three-horse race, just lately, had come Ashley Khan, and now the field was looking different. It wasn’t a complete turnaround—grade inflation did no one any favours—but Ashley was a solid seven, shading to seven and a half when she didn’t look like she was planning an office shooting, so Louisa was clearly starting to feel wobbly; suddenly there was competition, and what do you know? Here she was, come to hang out with the RodMeister, despite having struggled against their mutual attraction for, like, ever. It took all his self-control to withhold his trademark wry grin. You could play it too cool for too long, babe, he thought. Sure, I’m interested. But there’s such a thing as market forces.
There was also such a thing as Lech Wicinski, who’d chosen this moment to return to his desk. No flair, no finesse, that was his problem. Well, that and having a face like a rained-on barbecue. You had to pity the guy, but even so: cock-blocking broke the bro code, and that was a rule, not a tongue-twister. Even a sap like Wicinski should know there were lines you don’t cross.
Roddy said, “So, you wanna hang here, or go somewhere less crowded?”
With a glance at Wicinski which slid off him like a meatball from an underdone Sloppy Giuseppe.
“Nah, here’s good,” Louisa said.
Lech said, “Louisa says you’ve worked on archive material.”
Ho rolled his eyes. “I’ve worked on all sorts, dude. Fingered every pie in the Service.”
A moment’s silence followed this.
“I was telling him what a fast worker you are.”
“And I was telling her about this guy on the hub,” said Lech, “he had the workstation next to me. And I have never seen anyone retrieve data quicker than this . . . dude. Seriously, you could ask him how many yellow cars—”
“Yellow car,” murmured Louisa.
“—crossed Clifton Suspension Bridge last August, and he’d have a solid number inside ten minutes. He’s a freak of nature.”
“That is fast,” Louisa admitted.
“Fast? It’s like he’s personally wired into CCTV, Google and the dark web all at once.”
Roddy said, “What’s his name?”
Lech paused. “We just called him . . . Mr. Lightning.”
“Mr. Lightning?”
“Mr. Lightning.”
“That’s coo—uh, yeah, right. No, I think I’ve heard of him.”
“You’ve heard of Mr. Lightning?”
“Yeah, right. If he’s the dude I’m thinking of. We’re kind of tight. I mean, you know. Not IRL.” He nodded towards his screens. “On the dark side.”