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divided into its own little area by lightweight partitions. But the partitions around this one had all been knocked over, as if there had been a struggle. Some of the partitions had computer‐printed charts on them. Others had large coloured photographs of spreadeagled young women. A man was lying beside the computer, sprawled across the desk, his face discoloured and bruised. Justine looked at the man, then at Ace. She realized that Ace was breathing hard, as if she’d just worked out or run a footrace.

‘Geezer’s name is Christian. He was down on the fifty‐first floor when their equipment blew the whistle on you. Unfortunately that drug still leaves detectable brain activity.’

‘What happened?’ said Justine.

‘They detected it. So Christian brought you up here. If the biostock isn’t dead he gets first dibs, apparently.’ Ace looked at the unconscious man. ‘I hit him a bit harder than I meant to.’

‘Thank you,’ said Justine.

‘You’ve been a right pain in the arse to everyone,’ said Ace. She took something from the pocket of her jacket. It was a small blue card like a credit card. Ace threw it on to the desk beside Christian’s face. ‘I had to do your bit. It was me who had to let the others into this place.’

‘Have you got Vincent with you?’

‘No, it’s the Doctor and a couple of cops.’

‘I’ve just had a dream about very strange policemen,’ said Justine.

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet,’ said Ace. She sat down at the desk, shoving the unconscious man over so she could get at the keyboard of the computer. Justine saw that there had been some kind of modification to the computer. A communications cable connected it to a single large chip that sat in a small box on the desk. The chip had a luminous line glowing all around it. Ace was typing on the screen. Glowing words appeared on the computer screen.

Where’s the Doctor?

A moment later a response pushed up on the screen in a strange format, only three characters wide:

ONR

OOF

WIT

HHE

LIC

OPT

ER

How do we get up there? Ace typed.

ELE

VAT

ORC

OMI

NGU

P

The corridor outside the office was dim except for access lights and silent except for a whisper of air conditioning. Ace and Justine stood on the thick carpet waiting for an elevator. The flashing lights on the control panels showed that all six elevators were heading for their floor.

‘Which one is ours?’ said Justine.

‘We’ve got a friend who can play this place like an arcade game,’ said Ace. She showed Justine the box with the chip inside it. The thin line around the chip glowed in the half‐light. ‘All of them are ours.’

But the first elevator to arrive had two Butler Institute security guards sitting in it, blank‐eyed and dead. Ace and Justine stepped back quickly and the elevator stayed open for a minute, light shining out into the corridor. Then its doors whispered shut. Behind them, on the other side of the corridor, another elevator was opening. Ace and Justine turned to see a figure in combat armour, holding a gun. The figure’s face was a blank curve of mirror: the faceplate of a Vickers weapons helmet. It hinged up as one gloved hand pulled it back. Mancuso’s eyes frowned from inside.

‘Are you coming or what?’

* * *

From the roof of the King Building the Saturday‐night traffic looked like toys. Justine began to feel a sense of vertigo, so she pulled herself back from the guard rail and retreated from the edge of the roof. She stared up at the sky. It was the middle of the night but the glow of the city illuminated grey rolling masses of cloud. The air was almost clear enough to breathe. Justine turned and walked back towards the centre of the rooftop. Ace was waiting for her by the helicopter, wind blowing in her hair. ‘Ready to go,’ she said.

Inside the helicopter the Doctor and Mancuso were already strapped into their seats. ‘Can you fly this?’ said Justine, choosing the seat immediately behind the Doctor.

‘No,’ said the Doctor.

‘Neither can I,’ said Mancuso. ‘But I know someone who can.’ She made some final adjustments on the communications link she had attached to the autopilot. The other end