As the Jaguar pulled out into traffic, the computer sounded a discreetly mellow-sounding bell, but the screen didn’t flash up any warning messages; it was obviously programmed in a more sensitive way than Mike Grundy’s.

“Get lost,” the driver muttered, presumably addressing the driver in the car behind, who must have reckoned that she should have let him pass first. In several American states, so rumor had it, whole families had been shot to death for less, but British drivers were famed for their restraint. Few of them carried anything more lethal than a pepper spray for self-defense in road-rage incidents.

“Chief Inspector Kenna seems to favor the hypothesis that this is all due to some lunatic fringe group,” Smith told Lisa. “I’ve tried to ease her away from that point of view, but I can’t share my own suspicions while there’s a possibility that Miller’s in possession of a secret with security implications. She’s no fool, though, so she’s keeping in mind the chance that the seemingly amateurish aspects of the assault on your flat are a calculated smoke screen of disinformation. In any case, we should be careful not to lose sight of the possibility that she might be right. If the target isthe university’s Department of Applied Genetics and what it stands for, rather than Morgan Miller, our involvement in the investigation might be one of the things the perpetrators would like to highlight in a list of imagined crimes against nature and humanity.”

Lisa was still busy eating and didn’t particularly want to reply, but there were questions she had to ask. “Has Chan turned up?” she said.

“He’s alive and well,” Smith assured her. “He was in Birmingham last night, but he called in as soon as he picked up his messages. He said he’d be here as soon as possible.”

Lisa was surprised by the shock of relief that coursed through her. She hadn’t been consciously aware of the level of her anxiety. She wasn’t in the least reconciled to the possibility of losing Morgan Miller, but even if worse came to worst, there was some small solace in the fact that Chan was alive and well.

“He’ll help,” she said. “If anyone knows what Morgan’s been up to lately, it’s Chan.”

“I have someone waiting to talk to him as soon as he arrives,” Smith confirmed.

Lisa realized that she hadn’t the faintest idea of where the local office of the Ahasuerus Foundation was, but the fact that the Jaguar was powering up the access road to the westbound artery suggested that it was in the Bristolian sector of the cityplex. There didn’t seem to be any urgent need to inquire further.

Smith hesitated slightly before introducing the next topic of conversation, but only for show. “You and Miller,” he said abruptly. “More than colleagues? More than friends?”

Lisa nodded, unable to do more until she had washed down the last of the pastry. Handling the cup was awkward because the holder was at the right-hand side of the tray and she didn’t want to test the wounded skin on that hand again.

“What about Burdillon and Chan?”

Lisa blinked slightly at that one. “Ed and I have been friends for a long time,” she said. “Nothing more. My department occasionally puts some work his way, but not recently, so I guess our friendship has become a trifle dormant. I still see Chan once in a while—just as friends. It’s difficult to describe in conventional terms the relationship Morgan and I have nowadays. I haven’t seen him more than half a dozen times in the last three years—maybe less frequently than I’ve seen Chan.”

“But you were very close at one time?”

“We still are, even if it doesn’t look like it—as close as we ever were. Neither of us ever wanted to get married, and neither of us ever thought of the other as the great love of our life, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care deeply about getting him out of this in one piece, or that I wouldn’t take this business personally even if they hadn’t paid a call on me too.”

“I’ve listened to the tape now,” Smith said. “That part you drew my attention to—what do you make of the insistence that Miller never cared about you, and that any promises he made were false?”

“Exactly what I wondered then,” she said. “That the idiot with the gun doesn’t know the first thing about Morgan Miller. Morgan doesn’t make promises he can’t keep—and he always cared about me as deeply as I always cared about him.”

“But he didn’t tell you what he was taking to Ahasuerus?”

“No, he didn’t,” Lisa said, becoming tired of having to repeat it. She had been waiting for an opportunity to turn the conversation around, and she didn’t give him time to slip another fquestion in. “So what, exactly, is Ahasuerus? Why are we going there first?”

“It’s nearer,” he said, answering the second question. “That may be why Miller went there first. Ready accessibility might have been the primary motive for him selecting both institutions from a longer list of candidates, given that he obviously didn’t want to discuss what he had over the phone. Unfortunately, our background check hasn’t turned up much more than the information that’s freely available on the Ahasuerus website. The Foundation was set up by a man named Adam Zimmerman, who made billions out of the financial crisis of 2025. What the website doesn’t say, of course, is that he helped to engineer and direct the crisis—he was just a mercenary, hired by the megacorps to do their dirty work, but he seems to have had an agenda of his own. He’s dropped completely out of sight, and there’s a rumor that he’s been frozen down, but it’s easy enough for a man with that sort of wealth to hide, even in today’s world, and to manufacture disinformation by the yard. It’s possible that Ahasuerus is a front, but everything we and Interpol can gather suggests that it’s a bona-fide research sponsor, financing and collating information on longevity biotech and SusAn techniques. At any rate, it seems distinctly less shady and somewhat saner than its apparent rival for Miller’s affections. Dr. Goldfarb wouldn’t discuss Morgan Miller over the phone, understandably, but when I told him what had happened, he seemed anxious to help us. I’ll be keeping an open mind, of course.”

“Of course,” Lisa echoed. She knew as she said it that it wasn’t enough to maintain the change of subject if he wanted to go back to it, and he clearly did.

“What about Miller and Burdillon?” he asked. “How close were they?”

For a moment, she wondered if Smith were asking whether Morgan and Ed had ever been lovers, but that idea was too bizarre. “Certainly not enemies,” she said. “Perhaps not even rivals, although there’s bound to be an element of that within a department. Not close friends, though. If Morgan had a hot secret, I think he’d confide in Chan before he would in Ed Burdillon—and in me before he would in Chan.”

“What about vice versa?”

“You think it might have been something of Ed’s that Morgan was taking to Ahasuerus? No—he’d never do that, even if he didn’t like what Ed was proposing to do with it. He’s a man of principle.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Smith was quick to say. “Given that Miller is a man of principle, and trustworthy, might Burdillon have asked for his help on work that he’d been commissioned to do, if time were pressing?”

Lisa looked at Smith long and hard before replying. “What work might that be?” she asked finally.

“Urgent work,” Smith parried. “Might Burdillon have co-opted Miller, if the need were there and his expertise fit the bill?”

“Yes,” Lisa said, having considered the hypothetical question with all due seriousness. “If Ed were up against a deadline and needed help, he’d have asked Morgan first, Chan second—and I suppose he might have instructed both of them not to tell me about it. So what was Ed doing for the war effort that might have required urgent assistance?”

“I’m not a biologist,” Smith said defensively. “I don’t even know what the words mean, but have you ever heard of antibody packaging?”