Richard Bzinski put the communication bracket on his head and said: 'Now what?'

'Relax.'

'I am not so sure that I believe you.'

'I'm locating some kind of movement at the corridor outside your room.'

'If you think you can help me,' Bzinski said quickly.

'All right. Close your eyes.'

Bzinski shut his eyes very tight.

'You'll see a light.'

'Hey, I am not_', he frown.

Even trough the rainy curtain of upcoming sea waves within his drugged brain Bzinski had realized he was in trouble. He had spotted them down on the street, sitting in their car, probably been bored for the whole afternoon. It was his mistake after all: he had just had to predict that they would find him easily at the hotel. When you have stolen a couple of millions, you should predict at least one of those things. But even before putting down the three big shots, he was already high, and later, while he was scurrying along the dark sidewalk, carrying the two briefcases, his thoughts were complete with nothing more than the little one he needed badly for a drink, and the few hours of sleep he was going to allow himself. And now he was trapped. This was the reason why he hesitated to turn the ringing phone on.

'Hi,' said the very well-mannered synthetic voice from the other side. 'I suppose you are in trouble.'

'You seem to be informed, don't you?'

'I happen to know a few things on your case, yes,' said the voice.

'Am I loosing my time?'

'No. I am your only chance. And I am controlling the entire system pattern around. This could be helpful for a man in your situation. If you trust me, of course.'

Bzinski stayed silent for a moment, trying to think rapidly.

'The price?' he asked.

'Just log on the neurochannel.'

'Nothing more?'

'And you'll stay alive__ Look, we really have to hurry now.'

The picture of the two men, reloading their weapons at the elevator cell, made him to decide. He searched for the bracket with his eyes and then put it on his head.

'I'm on. Now what?'

'Just relax.'

'Not sure yet how much I believe you.'

'I'm locating some kind of movement at the corridor outside your room.'

'If you think you can help me,' Bzinski said quickly.

'All right. Close your eyes. You'll see a light.'

'Hey. Wait a minute, I don't quite__', he said.

Even trough the rainy curtain of upcoming sea waves within his drugged brain Bzinski had realized he was dead meat. He had spotted them down on the street shortly before they managed to leave their car, probably been bored for the whole afternoon in it. Some hysterical, bottomless fear drove him to grab his gun from the beside table and to bend just behind the door, staring helplessly at the briefcases with the money and the stuff. He was scared way above everything even the thought of escaping cost him a painful effort. That's why, when the phone ring came, his heart almost skipped.

'Hi,' said the very well-mannered synthetic voice from the other side. 'I suppose you are in trouble.'

'You seem to be informed, don't you?'

'I happen to know a few things on your case, yes,' said the voice.

'I don't understand.'

'I am your only chance. And I am controlling the entire system pattern around. This could be helpful for a man in your situation. If you trust me, of course.'

'What's going on here, damn it!'

'Just log on the neurochannel.'

'Why?'

'You'll stay alive.'

He felt something sticky getting trough his thoughts, but almost immediately saw a picture of the two murderers reloading their weapons at the elevator cell on it's way to his floor. The breath taking panic made him search for the communication bracket and put it on his head. He asked: 'Now what?'

'Just relax. And close your eyes.'

The vague odor of something wrong.

'Hey! Wait a second, I_ - something lighted him up.

The momentary gleam cast from the gunshot lighted up the far end of the room, causing the man to somehow toss aside his head sitting down, leaning backwards at the beside table, with a hole in his forehead. Now they noted the bracket indicating flickery on his head. The two murderers exchanged glances.

'What a hell?' one of the murderers said.

With his right arm strained upon them, Bzinski just stood. The forefinger pointed and the thumb was ready to pull the trigger. Then, from under the metallic bracket jaws, the corpse gave them a grin and merely slacken like a dead puppet.

And then something cut off all the electrical systems for miles around and within this they sensed the long silent emptiness falling over the neighborhood, as was the growing darkness.