Page 136 of Crocodile Tears

As the date for completion drew near, he stopped sleeping and eating altogether and toiled relentlessly on one new prototype after another. He’d gambled everything on this – it couldn’t fail.

When he’d accepted the stolen money, it was because he was surehe could get the duck design to work. He knew he didn’t have this wrong – itshouldwork… and yet it didn’t.

As dawn broke on the final day, he knew he was defeated. He sat, wiping his hands on a rag, staring listlessly at his gleaming new duck for a new generation. It looked beautiful, but it was fatally flawed. It would never skim majestically over the surface of the water. Instead, this beautiful, useless machine would sink the second it set out to cross a lost zone.

His dream was over, and soon he’d have to face the most terrible music. He wasn’t sure what to do next – he hadn’t planned for this eventuality, because he’d been so sure his design would succeed.

He decided he had no choice now but to throw himself on Tyler’s mercy. Tyler might be a hard-headed businessman, but they’d bonded. Maybe, if he offered to work for him for free for the next couple of years, he’d give him enough money upfront to pay into the Lytton AV IS account and save his arse.

His stomach churning, he sat beside the glistening frame of his great failure, waiting for the axe to fall.

He heard Tyler’s duck pull up outside, and he stood up, steeling himself for the look of disapproval, disappointment, and anger he would inevitably see on the older man’s face.

He could have cut and run – fled abroad to live in Lastkahn Ghetto, or some other place where the world’s lost souls washed up, out of reach of justice and his own shame, but that had never been his style. He had many faults, but he wasn’t a coward. He’d own up to his crime and take whatever punishment he was due.

He heard a duck door slamming and the sound of footsteps as Tyler walked into the workshop, flanked by a couple of his IS heavies.

“Hey, Alex.” Tyler was dressed in a smart black suit with a black shirt and red tie – he’d clearly made an effort for the big occasion. There was a bright, expectant smile on his face, and he was carrying a big bottle of champagne.

Alex’s holopad buzzed, making him jump. He was going to ignore it, but Tyler gestured that he should answer it, so he did, his fingers shaking.

“Alex – this is Neil,” a panicked voice said. “The IS Agency compliancedepartment is here. They’ve been asking about the shortfall… they want to know what’s happened to the money.”

His stomach performed a sickening lurch. “What did you tell them?” he croaked.

“I said you authorised it – they knew that anyway, because your code was used as well as mine. They want to talk to you. The Finance Director has been called in, and your father, and they’ve been questioning them. They’ve also brought in the Financial Crimes Investigation Agency and the police. I’ve been asked to contact you and tell you not to go anywhere. They’re coming over to talk to you right now.”

Alex dropped the holopad in shock. Tyler picked it up.

“Bad news?” he asked.

Alex turned around in turmoil, his mind racing, wondering where to start. This should have been his moment of glory, when his vision and skill were vindicated, but instead it was the moment of his deepest shame. He heard the sound of a duck pulling up outside.

“Who’s that? Did you invite someone else to the party?” Tyler asked, still smiling.

He shook his head. “I think…” He swallowed hard, and then squared his shoulders and looked Tyler straight in the eye. “I think it might be the police.”

The next few days passed in a haze. There were faces – dozens of them – the FCIA, Tyler, too many lawyers to count, his father – all trying to get to the bottom of what had happened. He was arrested and taken into custody by the FCIA, who held the government’s financial crimes contract. His bail was set at £30 million. He didn’t have the money to pay it, and his father refused, so he remained in custody.

His cell was a tiny grey space with a basic toilet and washbasin next to an austere bunk. He was used to cramped conditions and poor food from boarding school, and anyway, he was too upset to care.

The jail he’d made for himself inside his own head was far worse than any prison cell. He went over and over the events of the past few months, unable to switch off, berating himself over and over again forhis dishonesty, stupidity, and false pride. He couldn’t eat or sleep – he was trapped in a nightmare.

His father came to visit. Noah seemed to have aged ten years overnight – there was a layer of stubble on his usually clean-shaven jaw, and his expression was haunted. “I don’t understand, Alex,” he said, shaking his head over and over again. “Can you explain it to me?”

“No.” Alex looked down at his own hands. “I can’t.”

“It’s a hundred and forty million pounds, Alex.” His father gazed at him helplessly.

“I know.” He closed his eyes to hold back the tears.

Leaning forward, Noah spoke to him in an undertone. “If I say you were acting legitimately, on my authority, then Lytton AV will have to bear the loss. There will also be a massive fine from the IS Agency compliance department. We’re already up to our ears in loans from the bank, so I’d have to sell the business to pay off the debt and the fine.”

“No.” He jerked his head up. “No, you can’t do that.”

“If I don’t… if I say it was unauthorised, that it was theft” – Noah stumbled over the word as if he could hardly bear to say it – “then you’ll be found guilty. You’ll be sold into indentured servitude, and any assets you have will be sold, too, to compensate us for the loss we suffered as a result of your actions.”

“I don’t have any money. I poured everything I had into the duck design.”

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