Resistance by John Birmingham Read Free Book Online Page A

comfortable throwing orders around. And he wore a red and gold striped tie. The only splash of colour in the bunch.
    ‘You two,’ he barked at the cameraman and sound tech, ‘power down the equipment and don’t try any bullshit. Pull out the batteries, unplug everything, and get the fuck outside. You,’ he stabbed a finger at Knoxy. ‘You sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and start contemplating how your cooperation in the next five minutes is going to keep you out of federal prison for the next twenty years.’
    There were a dozen suits in the room now, moving swiftly to take control of the space. Dave could see more outside, pushing back his newfound entourage, brushing off the Bellagio muscle, while those in the room tried stone-facing Zach and Igor, who took up the challenge but reacted each according to his disposition. Zach showed the suits his open palms and surfer dude mellow, while Igor looked ready to throw down and get bloody.
    The agent in charge, or whatever he called himself, turned his attention to Dave. He was a middle-aged man, with a slight paunch, watery eyes and thick mousy brown hair, heavily lacquered with what looked like a couple of handfuls of styling gel. Except this guy was a relic from before the time of styling gel, so it had to be some sort of old-school pomade. Brylcreem Original, or something like that. Dude had Don Draper’s suit, hair grease and cigarette habit, judging by the stink leaching out past his slightly yellowed teeth, but none of that Mad Men style.
    ‘Who the hell are you?’ Dave asked. It didn’t come out quite as forcefully as intended, because of his crucial lack of pants.
    With pants comes dignity and a certain moral authority, after all.
    Georgia Knox spoke up before Dave could get an answer.
    ‘You ever hear of the First Amendment, asshole?’
    The producer was undeterred by her lack of appropriate day wear, nor by the threat of running the in-house breakfast TV show at some federal penitentiary.
    ‘Patriot Act trumps the First every time, sweetheart.’
    All the suits were beginning to notice Dave’s half-naked state, but at least he wasn’t wearing Mulan’s sexy-time pyjama top or sporting any wood. He started to do up the buttons he’d previously undone for Lizzie.
    ‘Mr Hooper, my name is Agent Donald Trinder and I am authorised to escort you to a secure and secret location under the –’
    ‘Authorised by whom?’ Georgia Knox demanded to know before turning and snapping at the camera crew. ‘I didn’t tell you to stop shooting.’
    Her crew seemed to weigh up the various threats and decided they were more frightened of her than Trinder. But as the camera guy tried to turn his lens on the lead government man one of the agents kicked the legs out from under the tripod, toppling the equipment. The camera hit the corner of the marble coffee table and shattered into a dozen pieces with a loud crash and tinkle of breaking glass.
    ‘Shit!’ cried Knoxy. The cameraman also swore but for good measure he threw in a wild haymaker aimed at the agent, who blocked the punch without visible effort and jabbed his stiffened fingers into the man’s armpit.
    The cameraman toppled over, clutching his shoulder and crying out in pain as he landed on the table full of broadcast gear. The other techie tried to swing the sound boom like a club and found himself pinned up against the wall by two more agents. Bellagio Alec fell to his knees, running his fingers through his hair and crying out ‘Noooo’ in such a theatrical fashion that Dave couldn’t help but laugh, while Armando surprised everyone by elbowing another agent in the face.
    Dave saw a gun appear and he felt the quickening come on. One moment he was just a guy with no pants in a room where everything was spinning out of control, and then he was the calm centre of a world which had slowed down to the point of all but stopping. He didn’t so much focus his hyper-accelerated, super-acute senses as he let