A flash. A single peal of thunder. The first drop spattered against the hot concrete, evaporating almost immediately. And then another drop. And another. Growing faster, thicker, heavier, until it was bouncing back from the pavement. Gradually the streets filled with people, standing with their faces turned to the downpour. They danced and sang, celebrating the end of the oppressive heat, passing plastics of whisky and beer around. An impromptu carnival that rivalled any New Year’s Eve. And then the temperature began to drop—slowly at first, just a couple of degrees an hour—until everyone was soaked and shivering. So they left the streets to the rain. Summer was over. Now it was the turn of the monsoon. ‘That does not explain why you disobeyed my direct order to stay away from Sherman House!’ The shuttle had dropped Will and Emily off at Network Headquarters almost two hours ago, dressed in all their tattered finery. Fifteen minutes later the summons to the Director’s office had arrived.
