“I’m on my way, Henry,” he said briskly. “Give me that again about somebody falling out of an elevator shaft. Is he dead?”

“He isn’t dead, Al — broke up a bit and concussed. I’ve called an ambulance for him.”

“But if he fell four hundred metres…”

“No, he was up there when the explosion happened — sounds like a bomb to me, Al — and as far as I can tell he got blasted into the elevator shaft and hit the wall. Lucky for him his CG unit was all right and he had enough savvy left to switch it on. He was floating down the wind like a soap bubble when Victor and me put a line on him and brought him down.”

“Get an ID on him as soon as you can.” Werry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “How did he get in there, anyway?”

There was a sputtering silence. “Well … Victor and me got cold up there and we didn’t see any harm in calling in at Ronnie’s place for a cup of something to warm us up. I guess he could have got in then.”

“That’s wonderful,” Werry said. “That’s really wonderful, Henry.”

“Al, there’s fourteen Goddamn floors in the Chinook and it’s four or five hundred metres all round. Two of us flitting around in the dark can’t seal up a place that big. There could be a whole Goddamn procession going in and out, for all we would know about it.” Corzyn sounded hurt and aggrieved.

“All right, all right.” Werry glanced at Hasson and pulled a face. “What’s all this about a bomb?”

“That’s what it seems like to me, Al. What else would cause an explosion? I found out there’s a lot of paint stored on some of the floors, but that would only burn, wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t blow up.

“You could be right. Do you think the kid who got hurt was fooling around with explosives and blew himself up by accident?”

“He’s out cold now, Al, but it doesn’t look that way to me.”

“What do you say, then?”

There was an even longer crackling pause. “Victor saw Buck Morlacher at the hotel this morning.”

“Aw, no,” Werry groaned, shaking his head. “Henry, don’t say things like that over the air. In fact, don’t say them at all. Hang on-I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Werry accelerated past a group of slow-moving cars and the dark hulk of Weisner’s furniture store came into view ahead. The bilaser projector on its roof had created a gigantic dining table which glowed against the night sky. The sight of it caused an uneasy stirring in Hasson’s memory, but his thoughts were completely dominated by the conversation he had just heard. On the night of the barbecue Morlacher had seemed dangerously near his limit of control, and from what Hasson knew of the big man it seemed entirely possible that he would go as far as planting booby traps to clear his property of what he regarded as vermin.

“I don’t like the sound of this, Rob,” Werry said thoughtfully. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Hasson gave him a sympathetic glance. “You think Morlacher would have gone that far?”

“Buck thinks he can get away with anything.”

“So what’l1 you do?”

“Who says I’ve got to do anything?” Werry demanded, hunching his shoulders like a man warding off blows. “We don’t even know that Buck had anything to do with this. It seems to rue that I’ve got to have some kind of proof before I think about arresting a man like Buck.”

“Nobody’s going to argue with you on that one,” Hasson said, resolving not to raise the matter again. The flashing lights of an ambulance expanded out of the distance and momentarily washed the interior of the police car with ruddy brilliance as the two vehicles passed. The bleat of the ambulance’s siren dopplered away into a low growl. Werry swung his car into the cross-street from which the ambulance had emerged and the Chinook Hotel came into view as a vertical thread of grey light surrounded by a vague smudge of weak radiance.

Hasson, who had been looking out for something spectacular, had to remind himself that the hotel building itself was four hundred metes above ground, that a person standing on its lowest floor could have looked down on the old Empire State Building. The fantastic structure, made feasible only by 21st century materials and engineering techniques, was a monument to one family’s megalomania and arrogance. He could visualise, and almost condone, the poisonous rage which boiled through Morlacher’s mind each time he looked at the edifice which had annihilated the parental fortune and which, instead of repaying the investment with profit and prestige, had made him the butt of local humour and created a safe refuge for the gangs of delinquents he hated so much. It was even possible to imagine him reaching an extremity in which he was prepared to destroy the building altogether…

The police car abruptly slowed down as the street ahead of it became congested with other vehicles and groups of pedestrians all, as though taking part in an animal migration, converging on the site of the hotel. Werry swore and rolled down his window as he came to an intersection where a uniformed police officer was absent-mindedly controlling traffic while exchanging banter with two girls.

“Arnold,” he shouted, “stop trying to fix yourself up and get this street cleared right up to the hotel entrance. Do you hear me?”

Arnold gave him a friendly wave. “I hear you, Al. Some fun, eh?”

“That’s what I have to work with,” Werry muttered as he switched on the car’s warning lights and forced his way at dangerous speed up to the hotel grounds and across the line of the perimeter fence. Several other cars and two fire vehicles were parked in a loose cluster a short distance away, their headlights streaking the grass. Werry slid his cruiser into place beside them and got out, smoothing his tunic as he craned his neck to look up at the hotel. Hasson joined him as he was met by the bear-like, sag-bellied figure of air patrolman Henry Corzyn.

“It doesn’t look like there’s much happening up there, Werry”.

“You can’t see anything till you get up high.” Corzyn lowered his voice and moved closer to Werry. “I haven’t said anything to the television people, but I think there’s a bunch of angels still in the building, Al. I got as close as I could and shone a light in, and I think I saw somebody skulking about. Couldn’t be sure, though.”

“Why don’t they pull out? Aren’t they worried about being roasted?”

“Who knows what goes on inside their pointed little heads?” Corzyn shifted his position until he had his back to a man who was standing nearby aiming a television camera at the sky. “Besides, if there’s anybody dead up there…”

Werry looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to make me feel good?”

“It was one hell of an explosion, Al. Most of the glass is gone out of the first floor windows on this side — and those kids don’t go around singly, you know. A whole bunch of them might have got clobbered all at once.”

Werry walked three paces away from Corzyn, stood for a moment with a hand on his brow, then came back. “That isn’t very likely, is it? I mean, some of the others would have sent for help.”

Corzyn shrugged. “Young Terry Franz from the TV station is up there now with a big spotlight. Maybe he’ll be able to see more’n I could.”

“You better get up there with him, Henry. Try to check the place out. Take a megaphone with you.”

“Got one here.” Corzyn touched his breast pocket, revealing the square outline of an electronic voice magnifier, and shifted his hand to the control panel of his CG harness. Hasson turned away, chilled, unable to watch the take-off. He waited a moment and when he directed his gaze skywards Corzyn’s shoulder and ankle lights were like a small group of tracer bullets speeding towards the dim-glowing target of the hotel. The dinner Hasson had eaten became an unwanted mass in his stomach.

“Where’s Quigg?” Werry bellowed, striding towards the nearest knot of onlookers. “Has anybody seen Victor Quigg?”