Islands in the Net by Bruce Sterling

to go.
    Debra Emerson had once been a high muckety-muck at the CIA, back when there had been a CIA and its muckety-mucks were still in vogue. Security work had no such glamor nowadays. Emerson had the look of someone who had suffered in silence, a sort of translucency around the eyes. She favored gray corduroy skirts and long-sleeve blouses in meek beiges and duns.
    The old Rastaman shambled over, smiling. “Winston Stubbs,” he said. He had the lilt of the Caribbean, softened vowels broken by crisp British consonants. He shook Laura’s hand. “And Sticky Thompson, Michael Thompson that is.” He turned. “Sticky!”
    Sticky came up, his arm around the Church girl’s waist. “I’m Laura Webster,” Laura said.
    â€œWe know,” Sticky said. “This is Carlotta.”
    â€œI’m their liaison,” Carlotta drawled brightly. She pushed her hair back with both hands and Laura glimpsed an ankh tattooed on her right wrist. “Y’all bring much luggage? I got a van waiting.”
    â€œI-and-I have business up-the-island,” Stubbs explained. “We be in to your Lodge later this night, call you on the Net, seen?”
    Emerson broke in. “If that’s the way you want it, Mr. Stubbs.”
    Stubbs nodded. “Later.” The three of them left, calling a luggage trolley.
    Laura watched them go, nonplussed. “Are they supposed to be running around loose?”
    Emerson sighed. “It’s a touchy situation. I’m sorry you were brought here for nothing, but it’s just one of their little gestures.” She tugged the strap of her heavy shoulder bag. “Let’s call a cab.”
    After their arrival, Emerson vanished upstairs into the Lodge’s conference room. Usually, Laura and David ate in the dining room, where they could socialize with the guests. That night, however, they joined Emerson and ate in the tower, feeling uneasily conspiratorial.
    David set the table. Laura opened a covered tray of chile rellenos and Spanish rice. David had health food.
    â€œI want to be as open and straightforward with you as I possibly can,” Emerson murmured. “By now, you must have realized the nature of your new guests.”
    â€œYes,” David said. He was far from happy about it.
    â€œThen you can understand the need for security. Naturally we trust the discretion of you and your staff.”
    David smiled a little. “That’s nice to know.”
    Emerson looked troubled. “The Committee has been planning this meeting for some time. These Europeans you’ve been sheltering are no ordinary bankers. They’re from the EFT Commerzbank of Luxembourg. And tomorrow night a third group arrives. The Yung Soo Chim Islamic Bank of Singapore.”
    David paused with a fork halfway to his mouth. “And they’re also—?”
    â€œData pirates, yes.”
    â€œI see,” Laura said.… She felt a sudden surge of chilly excitement. “This is big.”
    â€œVery,” Emerson said. She let that sink in for a while. “We offered them any of six possible locations for the meeting. It could just as easily have been the Valenzuelas in Puerto Vallarta. Or the Warburtons in Arkansas.”
    â€œHow long do you expect this to last?” David said.
    â€œFive days. Maybe a week at the outside.” She sipped her iced tea. “It’s up to us to supply airtight security once the meeting is under way. You understand? Locked doors, drawn curtains. No running in and out.”
    David frowned. “We’ll need supplies. I’ll tell Mrs. Delrosario.”
    â€œI can take care of supplies.”
    â€œMrs. Delrosario’s very particular about where she shops,” David said.
    â€œOh, dear,” said Ms. Emerson sincerely. “Well, groceries are not a major problem.” She picked carefully at the skin of her stuffed pepper. “Some of the attendees may bring their own