Read The Courier's New Bicycle for Free Online Page B

— it adds an extra layer of worry none of us wants. But it’s thanks to Lars that Inez has come prepared today.
    We gather round as she unfolds a map-sized sheet of the farm’s layout and spreads it across a benchtop. A technician with Southern Electric by day, Inez is relied on by the group for her expertise in disarming things like CCTV and alarms. She earned her stripes back when she worked as a systems analyst for Defence intelligence, fighting computer hackers. Now she’s joined their ranks.
    â€˜Look and memorise, folks,’ she says. ‘This is our route in and out.’
    I watch her strong brown fingers trace the lines and shapes and think of where else they’ve been recently — then force my attention back to what she’s saying.
    â€˜The latest batch of stuff from Lars has this week’s entry codes and passwords, plus the digital surveillance footage I requested,’ she tells us. ‘The footage I’ll loop and doctor for time and date. When I hack in, that’s what’ll feed to the surveillance monitors. We’ll be invisible to the cameras.’
    While we have every reason to trust Inez’s hacking expertise, the interior of the farm where the horses are kept is run on a semi-automated system, and it’s made everyone jittery, especially Brigid.
    â€˜What if the system comes back online while we’re still in there and triggers a lockdown?’ she asks.
    â€˜I’ve a special patch for that kind of fail-safe. It won’t happen,’ Inez replies. She looks at the rest of us. ‘An hour before we arrive, I’ll start running the pirate program. By the time we get there, the “ghost” machine will have insinuated itself into the farm’s computer system. I’ll be able to control all the security functions from my palm computer.’ She glances reassuringly at Brigid. ‘One key press will disable the movement sensors and automated alarms; the next will swap the CCTV with the dummy substitute; the last will spring the doors. And then, my friends, we’ll be in like Flynn.’
    My pulse does a little flip. I love her when she talks dirty.
    She gets out a set of photos next, and we study the grainy shots, hurriedly snapped: our route through the dairy to the internal yards, and the exit where the other cell will be waiting for us with the horse trucks.
    â€˜Lars has risked a lot giving us all this,’ she reminds us. ‘We need to move fast.’
    Lydia, beside me, nods vigorously. The rest of us scrutinise the layout, trying to feel confident. Only Nagid seems relaxed. A newcomer to our group but seasoned campaigner with Greenpeace, he’s seen all kinds of direct action.
    â€˜Anything more to know about the caretaker?’ he asks.
    Inez shakes her head.
    We’ve learnt from Lars that the farm’s owners have become complacent, thinking themselves safely connected to the powers that be, and reduced the security detail on the overnight shifts to a grand total of one. The only other person onsite at night is the caretaker, Russ Stefanovic, in a cottage half a kilometre from the dairy. On Friday evenings he goes to the pub for his weekly binge session.
    I look around the group. ‘Lars is doing the Friday shift this week. We give the thumbs up to the other cell and the job’s on.’
    â€˜Say again about the security cameras?’ Brigid presses Inez.
    â€˜They’ll be effectively blind while the monitors in the security office are streaming doctored video. Anybody watching will see only a loop of old, uneventful footage. No one — not even Lars — will be able to tell there’s been a swap-over from their system to the ghost. He’ll stay put in the monitoring room and do none of his usual yard checks or perimeter inspections. Once the horses are loaded, I’ll beep him to get out of there.’ She pauses. ‘Our usual onscreen greeting will come up at