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Moh broke the connection and stared at the vacant screen, feeling like banging his head against it. There was no way to get back to Cat. He didn’t know what faction she was in. Not that it would help: after her unconditional release they wouldn’t want to know her. If he couldn’t meet Donovan’s challenge, he and maybe the whole Collective could end up with an indictment against them in the so-called Geneva courts, the ones that handled intercommunal and intermovement disputes. No self-respecting defence agency in Norlonto ever appealed to them, not when there were reputable court companies vying for customers. The Geneva Convention courts were for terrorists and states to squabble in with their extorted money. Even if Donovan’s case wouldn’t stand up for five minutes, that five minutes and however many months it took to get there could cost the Collective a fortune and a reputation.

He had to find Cat. He had to fix things with Donovan, or just hope the revolution came before they lost too much business. If the ANR won they would sweep the Geneva courts away. Some chance.

There were other slim chances. He sent out a general message to the Collective’s entire mailing list, asking urgently for information about Catherin Duvalier’s present location. Then he sent a personal, encrypted message, explaining the problem and asking for some grace on the deadline, to the only publicly known address for Donovan: bdonovan@cla.org.ter.

Giving himself a hard time, he made the coffee and went upstairs. Explaining this whole mess to Janis wouldn’t be easy, but it would be a fine warm-up for explaining it to the comrades.

‘You,’ she told him when he’d finished, ‘are a fucking idiot.’

Yes, he agreed silently. And clinically insane as well, probably. At least in Norlonto that’s a victimless crime.

Another thought came to him as he watched genuine anger fighting against a sort of stoical, appalled amusement for possession of her face: And obsessed with you.

He saw the anger win.

‘Is this how you guys function?’ she asked. ‘Drink and dope and drop-dancing and goddess knows what else shit in your head?’

‘Not when I’m on active,’ Kohn said. ‘Bear that in mind.’

‘You were on active, dammit,’ she said. ‘We got a contract, remember?’

‘Yeah, OK, OK.’

Her anger subsided. ‘Couldn’t you sort of…hack into the hospital’s records, see if they’ve got anything that might give us a clue, trace her agency?’

‘We’re talking about a hospital, Janis,’ he reminded her gently. ‘Not a university or some kinda secret research establishment. Same goes for the Body Bank.’

She didn’t get it. ‘I thought the university had good security. They use our own crypto and AI, state-of-the-art.’

He rolled on the bed, caught her and made her laugh. ‘If you ever come across a bank that guards its vaults with a crowd of recidivist safe-crackers and apprentice locksmiths, supervised by guys who can’t remember ten digits without writing them down somewhere – just let me know and I’ll cut you in on it, yeah?’

Jordan woke up on the long couch to find the long room full of people either coming in and removing kit or tooling up and going out. He saw a dark-haired woman put on camouflage like make-up, select weapons like accessories, smile at him and at herself in a wall mirror, and leave. He saw a tired and dirty man grilling bacon. The man saw him and brought over a roll and a huge mug of black coffee. Jordan accepted them gratefully and, when he had finished eating, gathered the blanket around him and dug clothes and a towel out of his rucksack.

‘Bathroom?’

‘Second left down the corridor.’

He stepped through a half-open door to find a room full of not enough steam to conceal two women and a small boy in a bath and a man sitting naked on a lavatory reading a newspaper. He nearly backed out, then remembered that he’d come here to live rationally.

Closing the shower curtain was just to avoid splashing the floor.

He found Moh and Janis sitting at the table in the main room, eating cereals while giving their attention