3:45am SST Tuesday 15 January 2085
Krushkov and Brigard swiftly found their way to the jail. Krushkov led the way, marching in, and pointing his torch towards the cell door.
He roared. The door was open, and the cell was empty.
‘I knew this would happen,’ he lamented. ‘He’s one step ahead of us every time.’
He glared at Brigard.
‘And you’re an idiot!’ he shouted.
Brigard made no attempt to answer back.
Krushkov let out a hysterical laugh.
‘Well they can’t hide forever. We’ll just put a gun to the heads of some women and children, and they’ll come crawling out of the woodwork.’
‘What if the women and children escape?’ ventured Brigard cautiously.
‘If the restaurant is empty when we get there, I will laugh even harder. But where are three hundred people going to hide.’
Krushkov turned and made to leave.
‘Boss?’ said Brigard nervously.
‘What!’ said Krushkov.
‘Have you noticed how cold it’s getting?’ said Brigard. As he spoke, a frosty cloud billowed from his mouth.
‘I’ve had other things on my mind,’ said Krushkov with irritation. But he felt it, and rubbed his hands together. Both men were wearing just thin jackets over their t-shirts.
‘I bet he’s turned the heating off,’ said Brigard, starting to panic. ‘We’re gonna freeze to death.’
‘You dimwit,’ sneered Krushkov. ‘The ship’s in direct sunlight. We’d boil to death if it didn’t cool the air inside. The air conditioning will be working hard to get the temperature down, so I doubt it can get low enough to freeze us.’
Krushkov folded his arms and shivered.
‘It is getting cold alright,’ he conceded.
