Clint Bo Dean and Enya de Burgh snuggled in the back of the cab on the way back out to the airport to hand in their badges and empty their lockers. Enron had been emphatic: there was no place in the Air Poets for closet Dan Brown lovers. ìYou know, if weíre lucky, we might…

Sitting up now, Enya frowned at the complimentary issue of Stanzas on the bedside table, whose cover boasted: ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT SONNETS! She turned and gazed at the other bunk across the room. The man staring back at her looked tousled and weary, though still pretty attractive. îYou need a vacation, Clint.î…

Clint Bo Dean drifted out of sleep, like a grand human idea approaching its fulfillment in an age of machines. A Minitel unit was twiddling in the husked gloom of his Hotel Formule 1 cubicle – a shining, chortling sound not unlike that of his own brain in neutral. He stumbled out of his bunk…

AFTER HOSING DOWN their uniforms and supervising the hideous clean-up task, de Burgh and Bo Dean caught a cab back to the city for their de-briefing. It would have been easier to take one of their own cars back but as both were now in a long-term parking lot, it was easier to catch a…

CLINT BO DEAN ran his finger along the zipper of the middle-aged woman’s travel bag. îLooks like you’ve got a lot of reading ahead of you, ma’am! Anything you can recommend in here?î The woman’s harried look gave Bo Dean pause; however he kept on with his goofish routine, in the hope that she’d save…