"There's only me here," Piers Ryder replied. "I can't do anything by myself, you need a lightware cruncher to write an antithesis."

"Haven't they even given you an estimate?"

"We can't talk to anyone outside, Julia," Morgan said.

"Why not?"

"The virus has contaminated all the communications consoles. Your grandfather's NN core was plugged into every landline, ours and English Telecom's."

"Well, what about the satellite uplinks?"

"Same problem," said Piers Ryder. "Even the dish servos are glitched."

"So use a cybofax."

Piers Ryder looked crestfallen, he glanced at Morgan Walshaw for support. The security chief responded with an empty wave.

"One of the security systems protecting the manor is an all-spectrum electromagnetic jammer," said Piers Ryder. "We thought a tekmerc penetration squad would have to be equipped with some kind of military-grade communication gear to co-ordinate their assault. A commercial cybofax couldn't possibly break through the jamming blanket. I'm sorry."

Julia felt a pang of sympathy for Ryder. "Don't apologise, I had no idea I was so well protected."

"The security office in Peterborough will know exactly what's happened," Morgan said smoothly. "They'll be working on it now."

"All they need is the antithesis," Ryder said earnestly. "Once they've cracked it, they'll load it into the company datanet and send it into our communications consoles through the optical cables, it'll flush the virus in seconds."

"Right then." Julia gave them all a bright smile.

Morgan sensed her agitation had ebbed, and relaxed into his chair. He'd already drawn up schedules for the patrols on the back of hard copy sheets. Even his terminal's dot-matrix printer was glitched.

The security people began marshalling Wilholm's domestic staff into a bedroom near the study. Morgan said he didn't want anyone but the patrols moving through the manor. Julia stayed in the study, where there would always be at least four security hardliners in the room with her.

Tea arrived in an ornate silver pot and she went round silently, pouring for everyone. Morgan smiled fondly as she offered him the biscuits. Ginger nuts, his favourite. Now, she remembered that. Funny what had stuck.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The marine-adepts' Bedford van stank of stale water-fruit and pigshit; its thirty-year-old combustion engine wheezed asthmatically from the methane it was burning, a fuel it'd never been designed to run on. Eleanor neither noticed nor cared about its failings, the van moved, and that was all that mattered right now.

Nicole drove, hunched forward over the steering wheel, staring myopically down the weak beams its headlights threw along the narrow uneven road. There weren't any doors; wind whipped through the cab, frosting Eleanor's legs.

"Should be along here somewhere," the marine-adept woman said.

"Greg said it looks just like a farm road."

"Right." Nicole leaned even further forwards, nose almost touching the cracked windscreen. "What the hell's this?"

As they turned a corner Eleanor saw about fifteen cars and four methane-fuelled Transit vans parked along both sides of the road, all of them had flashing lights on top, blue and orange in equal numbers. "Police?" The ever-present fear increased its hold.

"Some of them."

Nicole slowed. A uniformed bobby was standing in the middle of the road, flagging them down. The headlights of the parked vehicles had been left on, casting pale beams of light along the tall hedgerows, turning the leaves grey. There were a lot of people milling about on the road, less than half were wearing police uniforms, the rest had green nylon windcheater jackets with Event Horizon's logo across the back.

The bobby looked into the cab and smiled. "Evening ladies, won't keep you a moment. There's a C9 division van backing off the road up ahead."

"I have to get to Wilholm manor," Eleanor said. "I've got an appointment with Julia Evans."

The bobby looked her slowly up and down, Eleanor had thrown a thick lumberjack shirt over her swimsuit, and there were some borrowed trainers on her feet. His eyes tracked her long bare legs. "Oh yes, ma'am?"

Nicole didn't turn her head, gripping the wheel tighter.

"Please, I really do."

"Name?"

"Eleanor Broady."

The bobby pulled out a slim cybofax and typed quickly. Eleanor's heart sank.

"I don't think you do, Miss Broady," he said.

"Well, its really Morgan Walshaw I'm booked to see."

He began to walk away. "Drive straight through when the road's clear."

"Arsehole," Nicole muttered.

"What is going on here?" Eleanor could see the big van ahead, creeping into a gap between two powerful Vauxhall groundcruisers with the Event Horizon logo on their sides, there were armed men inside.

"Lotta heavy shit going down."

They both jumped at the voice. There was a young man standing on the running board next to Nicole, dressed in a black jumpsuit with a rubbery collar which came up to his chin.

Familiar face, unpleasant memory. "Des, isn't it?" Eleanor asked.

Des grinned wolfishly. "Kinda memorable, right? Listen, Father's hung out a hundred metres past the last of the pigs. See ya there." He jumped off.

Nicole grunted and shoved the Bedford into gear and they growled slowly between the lines of stationary vehicles. Eleanor saw what must've been Wilholm's entrance, a cattle grid which opened into the fields of sugar cane. It was illuminated from below by a harsh orange light, as though something was burning beneath it. Several people were standing watching it, none venturing particularly close.

It was Suzi they saw first, standing in the middle of the road, hands planted firmly on her hips. She was wearing the same kind of jumpsuit as Des, a photon amp across her eyes, and a maroon beret on her head. She waved them on to the grass verge.

Nicole pulled over and switched off the engine and lights. Eleanor looked round to see Suzi marching determinedly down the road towards the ant's nest commotion outside the manor's entrance.

Teddy swarmed into the cab, sitting beside Eleanor. "Lo there, Nicole, thanks for bringing her."

"No problem. Good seeing you again Ted."

Eleanor hadn't known they knew each other. The military mates thing again.

"OK, we've got problems," Teddy said. "Royan can't access Wilholm to see what the hell's going down; the manor's 'ware has been burned by a virus. Event Horizon and English Telecom have both physically unplugged it from their networks, it was doing too much damage hooked in. Half of Peterborough's telephones have already been glitched by the fallout." His thumb jerked back towards the entrance. "That's why the cavalry's here."

"Someone's attacked the manor's 'ware again?" Eleanor asked.

"Yeah, third time. Persistent buggers."

"Why are the police waiting out here?" she asked. "Why haven't they gone in?"

"Can't," said Teddy. "All the manor's defence gear is running loose. They've got to deactivate it first, which ain't gonna happen before morning, some of that stuff is seriously hazardous. And when they do get in the likes of you and I aren't gonna be first on the guest list."

"But we've got to find out about Greg, it's been hours!"

Eleanor felt Nicole's restraining hand on her shoulder, sympathetic, alleviating some of the anguish.

"I know, gal. Looks like we're gonna have to go in ourselves if we want some answers."

"Hey, Father." Suzi calling with soft urgency. Teddy and Eleanor climbed out of the cab.

Suzi had a man in tow, oriental-looking with a young face, wearing one of the Event Horizon jackets. "Man here is Victor Tyo," Suzi said. "Met him last night, one of Julia's security people. Captain no less."