Hard Rain

come
    within shooting distance of radio frequency or infrared, it'll let you
    know."
    "In a sexy female voice, I hope?"
    He laughed. "If someone's trying to record you, you might not want
    them to know that you know. So no sexy voice. Just a vibration mode.
    Intermittent for video, continuous for audio. Alternating for both.
    And only in ten second bursts, to conserve battery power."
    "How does it work?"
    He beamed. "Wide-range circuitry that detects transmitters operating
    on frequencies from fifty megahertz to three gigahertz. Plus it's got
    an internal antenna that picks up the horizontal oscillator frequency
    radiated by video cameras. I've optimized it for the PAL standard,
    which is what you're most likely to encounter, but I can change it to
    NTSC or SE CAM if you want. Reception isn't great because it's so
    small, so you won't be able to tell where the bug or camera is, only
    that one is there. And the big security closed-circuit TV units you
    sometimes see in train stations and parks will usually be out of the
    unit's range."
    Too bad about the CCTV units. If I had a reliable, portable way to
    detect those, I'd have a shot at getting my privacy back from Tatsu and
    whomever else.
    "Any chance you can make the reception a little better?" I asked.
    He looked a little hurt, and I realized I should have praised him
    before asking that. "Not for something this small," he said. "You'd
    need something with a much bigger antenna."
    Oh well. Even with its limitations, the unit would be useful. I
    hefted it in my hand. I was familiar with functionally similar
    commercial models, of course, but I hadn't seen one this small. It was
    an impressive piece of work.
    "Rechargeable battery?" I asked.
    "Of course. Lithium ion. Just like a cell phone." He reached into a
    jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like an ordinary cell phone
    charger. "I ran it down testing it, so you'll need to charge it when
    you get home. And don't forget to juice it up every day. There's no
    low battery indicator or anything else like that. I built this thing
    for speed, not looks."
    I took the charger and put it on the table next to me.
    Then I pulled out my wallet and slid the unit into it. It was a nice,
    snug fit. I would examine it back at the hotel, of course, to confirm
    that it was a bug detector and not some sort of bug. Not that I don't
    trust Harry. I just like to satisfy myself about these things.
    I put my wallet back in my pants and nodded appreciatively. "Nice
    work," I said. "Thank you."
    He smiled. "I know you're a professional paranoid, so I figured it was
    either this or a lifetime supply of Valium."
    I laughed. "Now tell me, what's with the vampire hours?"
    "Oh, you know," he said looking away, 'just lifestyle stuff."
    Lifestyle stuff? As far as I knew, Harry had no lifestyle. In my
    imagination he was always huddled in his apartment, worming his way
    into remote networks, creating back doors to exploit later, mediating
    the world through the safety of a computer screen.
    I noticed he was blushing. Christ, the kid was so transparent. "Harry,
    are you going to tell me you've got a girlfriend?" I asked.
    The blush deepened, and I laughed. "I'll be damned," I said. "Good
    for you."
    He looked at me, checking to see whether I was going to tease him.
    "She's not exactly my girlfriend."
    "Well, never mind the taxonomy. How did you meet her?"
    "Work."
    I picked up my glass. "You going to give me details, or do I have to
    force-feed you two or three of these to loosen your tongue?"
    He made a face of exaggerated disgust. "One of the firm's clients, one
    of the big trading houses, was happy with some security work I did for
    them."
    "Guess they didn't know about the back doors you left for yourself in
    the process."
    He smiled. "They never do."
    "So the client is happy ..."
    "And my boss took me out to celebrate, to a hostess club."
    Most westerners have a hard time grasping the concept of the Japanese
    'hostess club," where the women are paid only for conversation. The
    west accepts the notion that sex can be com modified but rebels at the
    idea that other forms of human interaction might be subject to
    purchase, as well. For hostesses are not prostitutes, although, like
    the geisha from whom they're descended, they might strike up an
    after-hours relationship with the right customer, after a suitable
    courtship. Rather, patrons at such establishments pay for the simple
    pleasure of the girls' company, and for their ability to