Rook took the Nokia out into the hallway, since it was the only place he could be alone. Plesur was watching a virt. Rabbit was watching it with her. Pipo was still naked in the bedroom, though Rook was thinking of letting him go. Oakes was stable, for the moment, in the other bedroom.

"You've been following events?" he muttered.

"Of course."

"I have to go back there and retrieve Freddy's phone."

"Yes. It is not possible to reach Sable Ranch without a coded input device. I have checked this."

"You have? Thanks."

"One can leave a message, but there is no guarantee as to who will hear it, or how long it will be before it is listened to."

"Yeah." Rook had the idea. "Look, what are my chances?"

"Chances of what?"

"Getting back in to Herb's house, getting that phone and getting back here alive."

"One moment."

Rook took the moment to check into Schmoozer and put out a call for Jenni.

The cool, calm Scandinavian voice was back in his head. "Difficult to estimate, because of many unknown factors. So, maybe 50% chance of success."

"They might be waiting there, you think?"

"They will have little choice. Assuming their mission was to kill you, Plesur and Frederick Beckman, they missed the majority of the targets. However, they must fear discovery by police."

"But they're invisible."

"Yes. Though it is unknown as to how long they can maintain invisibility."

"Right, hadn't thought of that." How demanding was the plasmonic technology? "You got anything on that?"

"Some research in Mumbai, India, indicates that it requires a major electric power source. Batteries must be on the larger end of things."

"What if I call in the cops?"

"The house will be secured. The killers will have to leave. But you will not gain access to Mr. Beckman's body, or his phone."

"Yeah. Exactly, and if we ended up in police custody?"

"Unknown. Are there elements in the city police that favor the insurgents?"

"Insurgents?"

"Isn't this a stealth coup, as Mr. Oakes said?"

Rook felt that huge sense of dislocation and discomfort. Politics was not a matter for an SIO. Ordinary people didn't even vote anymore. It just wasn't done. The thought of being involved in something so weighty, so huge, was abhorrent, frightening.

"I guess it's something like that. I don't know, I'm just a cop."

Just a cop? Was he? What exactly was he at this point? Did he even exist? Legally, that is.

The urge to run. To head for LA was strong.

Right on schedule came the soft chime that told him his Schmoozerfrend was in contact.

"Daddy?"

He touched the imager stud on the Nokia and there was Jenni. She had her hair up and silvered, makeup like a model and a gold lame top.

"Wow, honey, what's up?"

"Going out later, with Lev."

"Yeah? Where?"

"The Zine, you know, the club where they host American Hero."

"Fun?"

"Of course, and everybody who is anybody will be there. We're in the final four now."

"What? Who?"

"Daddy? How can you be sooo out of touch?"

"I know, it's hard to imagine."

American Hero? He recalled vaguely that it was a big young-people thing, some nationwide talent contest-cum-election for some sort of pretend national office of some kind. He couldn't keep up with that kind of thing, any more than he could follow the dizzying world of the big lotteries. There was always some billion dollar winner about to be named, or another to be found because he or she hadn't turned in their winning ticket.

"Where are you, daddy?"

Rook snapped out of his revery. Jen was getting a shot of him in the darkened hallway. He probably didn't look too well groomed.

Oh, boy, how did he finesse this one?

"I'm not at home, honey. Just, uh, well, you'll be safe at this thing, yeah?"

"Safe?" Jenni's indignation came up like a cork popping out of a bottle of champagne. "Daddy! I'm not a kid anymore. And I'll be with Lev, and Karen, and Holly and John. We'll be fine. The Zine's a big scene, there'll be, like tv reporters and everything."

"TV reporters, oh my. Well, okay. I'm sure you'll be fine. I just wish..." He ground to a halt. There were so many things he wanted to say. And the acute awareness that this might be the last time he spoke to his daughter just seemed to crush his throat and immobilize his tongue.

There were so many things to wish for too. Like being there in LA with his daughter. Like not having to go back to Herb's house and face the invisible killers. Like never having been dragged into this goddamned case in the first place.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"You okay, Dad?"

"Sure. Just been a long day. This case, you know?"

"Well, I don't, since you wouldn't tell me anything."

"Look, uh, Jen. Uh, if, I...." How did he say this? How do you say, provisionally, goodbye. Forever.

"Daddy? What is it?"

Rook couldn't speak all of a sudden. The huge pressure in the back of his throat had returned. A sadness the size of mountains overwhelmed him. With a big effort he pushed it aside.

"Look, honey, things are a little crazy. I don't know. I might have to, uh, relocate."

"You're leaving HudVal?"

"Maybe. Look, sweety, if something should happen. You know. I mean, life is dangerous sometimes."

"Daddy? What's going on. Please tell me."

"Just want you to know that I love you. That I wish things had worked out between your mother and me, you know, so that we would have been a family. I'm sorry about that, and I just wanted to, well, to tell you that."

Oh, god, could he have possibly been any clumsier?

"Daddy?"

"Look, Jenni, I gotta go now. I got stuff I gotta do. Okay?"

Like he didn't want to go, he didn't want to say goodbye.

"Daddy!" Jenni was terrified now. The fear in Rook's heart had finally transmitted itself to her. She understood what he was really saying. "Don't go. Tell me. What's going on?"

"Gotta situation here. Got stuff that has to be done. You unnerstand?"

"You're gonna get killed?"

"No. I'm gonna be okay."

God, he wished it were true.

"Daddy? Don't. Whatever it is, don't do it. Don't go there."

If only he could follow that suggestion. If only...

"Have to go now, baby. Call you later."

"Daddy!"

But he broke out of Schmoozer. He couldn't take any more.

And then the tears came. Tears for what? Tears for whom? He didn't know, except that a sense of terrible sadness had its grip on him and wouldn't let go. He turned to the wall, put his forehead there and wept.

If he was going to die, and it seemed likely he was, then he had to tell Jenni. Because nobody else would. At best she would learn about it from a terse little note from Lisa Artoli, practically a form letter, sent to the relatives of any cop who died in the line of duty.

But that had been just about the worst performance of his life. He couldn't have done a worse job. Now, Jen was gripped by fear, consumed by anxiety, no doubt trying to call him over and over. Her date at the Zine would be ruined. All because he hadn't kept a grip on his emotions. It was enough to make him hate himself.

Self-loathing is a funny thing. Unpredictable. After a minute or so of it, he pulled his head off the wall with a sigh. There was a job to do and he needed a clear head for it. Because, no matter what, he was going to do it.

And then a small body slipped in beside him on the landing. An arm went around his waist.

"Man is sad?" said a little voice, betraying some concern of its own.

He swallowed. Sniffed. "Thanks, Plesur, you're a good person."

"Plesur help?"

"Yeah, Plesur helps. A lot."

He turned and hugged her against himself, glad for the contact, grateful for little Plesur's awareness of other people's emotional states.

When he broke apart from her, he held her by the shoulders and looked into those beautiful blue eyes.

"Plesur can help by staying here, and helping Rabbit. He is afraid. And later, Plesur will go to Miz Nancy. You remember the club?"

Plesur did. "Okay. Go to Miz Nancy."

"You will, uh, get an upgrade." There, he'd said it. Blunt, but necessary. She had to know sometime.

"What is that?"

"Hard to say, but you will like it. Be smart."

She smiled, uncertain but trusting him. "Okay."

He had to go. He checked that he had the key to Herb's house, then he made her go back into the apartment and promise not to open any doors for anyone until he got back. Then he went down to the front door and slipped out onto the street.

A cool breeze swept past. The sun had slipped down the sky throwing shadows across the street. He felt a shiver run down his spine. The killers were invisible. He was not. He would never see the guy who slipped up behind him and jabbed the needle into his back, or his arm..

"Thermophine, is what they'll use," was what Oakes had said. "You'll be dead before you hit the ground. Look like an aneurysm. They use it all the time these days. Remember Senator Levy?"

"Uh, no." Rook didn't know the names of Senators, well there was Senator Arnold, the senior senator from New York. Everyone knew his name because he'd been a senator for like fifty years or something.

Oakes had understood. "I forgot. Justa cop. Anyway, they killed him right outside his own home. Never voted on the bill. "

The bill? What bill? Did Rook want to know? No. He didn't. Politics was dangerous and that was all you needed to know.

He crossed the street. It was funny how quickly he seemed to come back to Herb's house. It really was just a short walk away from the General's place. The street was quiet, nobody was around. The house seemed to be waiting for him like some giant mousetrap.

Or a tomb.

He stepped up to the front door and used the key. Then he was inside, back in that quiet hush, steeped in something deadly.

He stood still listening with every fibre of his being. Nothing.

Holding the gun at the ready he went up the stairs and soon caught a whiff of the stench. He slipped across the landing to Freddy's room. The door was ajar, he pushed it open. Freddie was where he'd left him, tongue protruding, as dead as he could be. The stink was digusting.

The phone was like a pink pen. On the side table? He searched the table. Two empty narcosuma tubes, and a full one. With a little sigh of disgust, Rook pushed them out of the way, pulled open the drawer and searched some more. No pen. On the bed? Gingerly he pulled the bedclothes apart, using the barrel of the gun, doing his best not to leave DNA. No pink pen.

Was it on Freddie's corpse? Not a nice thought.

It wasn't in either hand. The brown silk pajamas had a breast pocket, but that had been torn and there was no pink pen in view.

Had it fallen somewhere in the room? He cast about looking for a flash of pink. Past the blood stain to the wall, nothing. In the corner by the door, nothing. Over towards the bathroom, nothing.

Under the bed? He dropped down on one knee and peered underneath. Nothing, well not quite. There were Freddie's white shoes. He moved around the bed to inspect those, pushed them apart with the gunbarrel and there it was, where it had fallen in Freddie's struggle to survive, a pink tube the size of a pen or a doser of Narcosuma. Rook grabbed it, checked that it was still working. Tiny green lights winked when he pressed the stud at one end. He shoved it into his pocket. Stood up, and froze.

Something or someone had closed a door downstairs, there was a distinct clunk. Rook listened. There was a creak on the stairs.

Fuck! He'd been so close to getting out of here with the damned phone and all. The thick carpeting in the hall wasn't helping. He couldn't hear a thing out there. Rook flattened himself against the wall behind the door

Seconds passed with exquisite slowness. Was there someone out there? Had he just imagined it? Was he being incredibly stupid by staying here, reacting to bumps and squeaks that might be anything?

Why, oh, why hadn't he just headed west this morning? Let someone else take care of this case. It was way beyond the powers of an SIO of a regional Homicide Squad. He could be halfway across Pennsylvania by this point.

He shook his head. No, no, and no! He had to trust his senses. He was sure he'd heard that clunk of a door downstairs. Someone had come into the house. Someone who'd avoided making any noise, someone moving silently.

The door opened wide. Someone walked in. Rook felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The door opened, someone had come into the room but he couldn't see them.

He remained stock still, holding the gun in front of himself, where the fuck were they? Then he remembered what Rabbit had said and looked down.

There, by the bed, impressions on the rug, someone was standing there, heels pointed back towards Rook. And now, when he looked hard, he noticed that there was a wobbly vertical line that hovered in midair, right there. Or was it on the bed and the wall beyond? A slight edge of distortion, presumably a side effect of the technology they used to stay invisible.

The feet had shifted. The invisible killer was turning around. Rook squeezed the trigger once, and the sharp "kra-ack" of the gun echoed loud within the room. The result was dramatic. Freddy's corpse moved sharply, rolling aside and slipping off the bed while somebody expelled a sharp little cry of pain.

The bed depressed, then sprang back and Rook knew that whoever he'd shot had fallen right across the bed and rolled off onto the floor on the far side. He stepped quickly to his left to keep that area in view and found that somebody's right leg and foot had magically appeared. The whole thing was wrapped in a silvery material, and it ended abruptly at the top of the thigh.

The leg moved. A male voice spat vicious curses at him, and Rook fired again, sure of the target now. The voice shut up and he moved away from where he'd been standing, dropped down into a crouch in the corner and waited, gun trained on the open door.

Had the guy in the invisibility suit been alone?

Oakes had said there were just two of them. Oakes had damaged one. Rook had shot another. Was that it?

Again there was just silence. Rook felt the sweat running down his ribs and spine. He was trembling, but he was also just a little bit elated. These guys had to be top rated in their field. And one of them was stretched out dead on the far side of the bed.

That's one for you, Freddie.

The silence continued. Rook kept his position, ears straining for the slightest hint of anyone out there.

At some point, though, he knew he had to get going. He should take the little pink phone back and get Oakes to make the call to Sable Ranch.

Except that there might be more invisible killers waiting out there in the hall. They were probably just as scared as he was, probably holding their guns pointed at the door. Nobody dared move.

After another couple of minutes he thought he heard a snuffle, or a sniff. Just once, and then silence returned. And then he thought he hadn't really heard it, it was just his imagination playing tricks on him. And then he wondered what the fuck he was going to do. This could go on for ever and he had to get out of that house of death and get some assistance, like soon. Real soon.

Another minute crept by. Rook's thigh muscles were passing from discomfort to pain. He had to move. He had to get out of that room.

Finally, after eleven minutes, he could take no more. He got up, picked a pillow off the floor, pulled the door back and swung the pillow to the right and then the left on either side of the door.

It struck nothing.

He dropped it and stepped out, crouched, gun held in front of himself while his eyes desperately sought any wavy, blurry lines in mid air.

Nothing. Just the silence of the house, and the sounds of auto engines, now and then outside in the street.

Moving on the balls of his feet, as nervous as a cat, he stepped down the hallway to the top of the staircase. Two flights down was the hallway and the front door. Out that door and he was just a few blocks from safety.

He took a breath and started down the stairs, gun still held with both hands in front of him. The light streamed in from the windows. He couldn't see anything or anyone in the hallway. He began to think he'd been right about the guy he'd shot being alone. He started rehearsing his moves once he was outside. Perhaps it would be smarter not to take the shortest route back to Sangacha's. He had enough of an idea now of the lay out of the streets here that he thought he could negotiate another route, so when he got outside he'd turn right, not left and head across the street and take the first left turn. If they were watching from a car outside that would force them into a maneuver that he might easily detect.

He stepped down onto the ground floor. Glanced back up the stairs, saw nothing, turned slightly and took the first blow in the chest. it was hard, professionally delivered. The air seemed to empty from his lungs. He went back and down. There was nothing to shoot at, but things were happening too fast for that. No sooner had his rump bounced on the floor, then the second blow smashed into his face. He heard the gun go off, but was sure it didn't hit anything, because the blows kept coming.

He got lucky for a moment, caught an ankle. Felt the slippery surface material, caught on hard and pulled. Someone lost their balance, a body fell past his. He rolled over, struggled to get up, despite not having any breath yet. Got to his feet and tried to suck in a breath, tried to see his foe, or foes. Neither was possible. He sensed someone in front of him, ducked, took another shot to the head, but this time to the top of his forehead and heard someone gasp from pain. He swung his right hand, still holding the gun and felt it connect, hard with something soft. He kicked out, but missed and staggered as he lost his balance.

Where were they? Why couldn't he see even those wobbly lines in the air? Why hadn't they just shot him?

He wobbled around, just holding on enough not to fall over again. Blood from his nose was spraying everywhere. There! Right in front of him. He fired twice. The gun shots boomed in the hall. One bullet smashed glass somewhere, the other didn't. Then someone kicked him in the back of the legs and he went down. Someone was cursing steadily, calling him a muthafucka, a muthafuckin' muthafucka, and worse. The same person was kicking the shit out of him.

Rook tried to counter. He blocked one blow, but that left his arm numb. He lost the gun, it was kicked away. He took another shot to the face, and then one to the side of the head. He wasn't getting up now.

He wasn't getting out of here now.

He wasn't.....