“The Savoy.” Geraints voice was authoritative as he triggered the intercom to the driver. Flicking it off again, he said simply. “The best place is somewhere very public, I think. And the Savoy has a fine security system indeed.” He was already calling to register, listing the security services he required. They were confirmed within two minutes.

“That’s better,” he said to no one in particular, and relaxed very slightly. “We’ll get better protection than the French president on his last visit. Let’s hope we don’t need it as much as he did.”

He took the call at eight the following morning, exactly as arranged. Posted at his flat were ten security samurai and two combat mages. The electronics had also been reconfigured and the street was crawling with security. The residents of Cheyne Walk would wonder what on earth was going on in their peaceful oasis but, being Brits, they wouldn’t pluck up the courage to complain to anyone. Geraint wanted to get to the flat to retrieve money, cards, equipment, clothing, hut he wasn’t planning to stay long.

“We need somewhere safe, If they’re on to us we’ve got to go somewhere they wouldn’t expect us to go.” His Voice was brittle.

“Geraint, look, it could just have been some crazies. We don’t even know they were specifically alter us.” Francesca tried to calm him.

“Two shots. both into the chassis. They only just missed us. And a grenade? Come on. Francesca, grenades just don’t fall into the hands of crazies. Only a handful ever leak away from the corporate security goons. It had to he a corp that came after us. It must have been that bloody succubus that let them trace us. I’m sorry, my friends.” He wrung his hands in anger. “Look, it only needs one of us to get over to my place. I’ll go in the limo. It won’t take more than an hour to pick up what I need. Then we can figure out what to do next.”

When the hotel desk notified Geraint that the limo had arrived, he left with the bodyguards. Serrin turned to Francesca, eager to hear more of what had been happening.

She was glad to oblige. “After the run we analyzed what I’d downloaded. We didn’t get everything we wanted, and some of the data in the files was degraded. I had to run a program to fill in the gaps, but it wasn’t too bad. For starters, they’ve got a file on you, Serrin. It records your being employed by unspecified intermediaries to investigate security arrangements of various corporations in Cambridge. It’s got some personal stuff about you, too, but nothing especially juicy.” She looked mischievously at him and handed over the printout.

The elf scanned the pages. There wasn’t much, but he was surprised to discover that Transys had been behind the Portland runs he’d done in '43, not long after he’d left Renraku. Interesting. The target was specified as a tiny subsidiary of Global Thcbnologies.

“Oh, by the way,” Franeesea went on. “they did hire me for the Fuchi run. The file I got had nothing about them setting a spy on me-that thing that nearly killed me-but there’s a strange, scrambled line of garbage I haven’t been able to decrypt. So who knows?”

They had a file on Geraint, too, he read it, told me it contained nothing relevant, and kept it to himself, I guess he doesn’t want me to know what they’ve got on his financial and political dealings.” She smiled knowingly. “By the size of the datafile I think they’ve got quite a lot. Makes you wonder what he’s been up to, the devil.”

“As for Melvin Aloysius Smith, he’s a corporate fixer, The data on him was seriously degraded, but it’s clear that he and Peter Karl Jones have arranged at least a dozen missions together. They’re tagged as having hired you, and also as commissioning the Fuchi raid in which Rani and her people took part. No apparent connection. Actually, I can’t be absolutely certain about that. The target wasn’t specified in the subfile entry, and, again, the data was very degraded. Let’s just say that what I got is easily compatible with that supposition. They’ve hired some people for other runs, too, but nothing that seems to connect with anything we’ve got.”

Serrin nodded as he scanned the hard copy. Based on this evidence, Smith and Jones looked like very ordinary corporate fixers.

“No way of tracing them, though. There’s a Brazilian address we can crosscheck against the address from that Registration Services agency, but it’ll mean nothing. There’s some coded garbage after that, which we still haven’t been able to decrypt. If it’s significantly degraded, we won’t be able to decipher it at all.”

She continued with her summary. “As for any entries on Jack the Ripper, well, nothing. Nothing except an obviously crashed, scrambled, empty file. Whatever was there was gone by the time we got to download. Still, that tells us they used to have a file on him.”

“Oh, indeed, Francesca. I’m sure they did,” Serrin nodded grimly. “Sorry, tell you later. You finish your part first.”

“Okay.” She drew in a deep breath. This was the big one. “They had a file as fat as a walrus on Kuranita. Hey, he was a heavy samurai in his day. Before his little accident in Jo’burg he worked for quite a few corps, according to the info we got. Transys, oh so helpfully, attached probabilities for active employers to the list. In some cases, they knew for sure. That's when they hired him themselves. There’s a certain episode from about twenty years ago I think you should see.”

She had highlighted the hard copy. His hands shook as he read the matter-of-fact text. It gave the date, time, place, the fee paid, everything that was simple fact. There were no reasons given. Just a scattering of phrases such as “eliminating counter-research personnel,” the dehumanized language of executives who assassinate by memorandum.

“My parents.” His face was pale. “They hired the fragging bastard to kill my parents.” There wasn’t anything else to say. If that one crucial entry was accurate, it gave him one damned good reason for wanting to hit Transys Neuronet with everything he could muster.

Serrin took a few minutes to compose himself before telling Francesca what he’d learned during his jaunt across the Atlantic. He didn’t bother with the details of Her Ladyship, just dismissed her as weird but reliable.

“I got the names: Global Technologies and Hollywood Simsense. Then I got really lucky. I’ve got a Johnson in New York, a man I stashed one big favor with some years back. He owes me big-time, so I cashed in. He sweated when I asked him, which meant he already knew about it. Took him close to all day to get back to me, but he came through and now we’re quits.

“Global developed a combination of skillsoft and BTL technologies, apparently planning to sell them to the military. Story is that their researchers cooked up a bunch of really sick personalities, complete with their skills and memories, and the Ripper was one of them. He got out onto the streets when the goon implanted with the personality chip was unleashed after some corporate infighting between Global and Hollywood. Anyway, the two companies virtually brought each other down and the Ripper disappeared. Nobody’s quite sure what happened in the end. Odds are the military, somewhere or other, has the technology now. Nice thought, huh?”

Francesca shuddered involuntarily, all of a sudden feeling very cold.

“Just one extra flourish,” Serrin concluded. “When Hollywood Simsense stole the chips, they had a sleeping financial partner. The partner might have woken up and gobbled them alive, according to my source. You’ll never guess who the partner was.”

“Transys Neuronet, perchance?”

“Give the lady a radioactive coconut! They could have had access to those chips for long enough to know all there is to know about them. Transys could have taken the design and been testing it all this time. They’ve had more than two years to do it. This time, they could be making sure they get it right.”