The pathologist’s face wrinkled. ‘If…em…I suppose so. Where?’

‘Remember where we had that birthday bash for Emily last year?’

‘Oh, the-’

‘That’s the place. See you there.’ Will hit the ‘disconnect’ button before George could give anything away.

He grabbed his coat and took the elevator down to the ground floor. Normally he’d just keep going to the subbasement, hop on the next shuttle, which is exactly why he didn’t do it this time: avoiding the predictable. Anyway, he had half an hour. More than enough time to nip across Kelvin grove Park, cut down Sauchiehall Street and meet George.

Turning his collar up, Will stepped out into the deluge. He was wet through before he’d gone more than half a dozen paces.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

The park was even gloomier than it looked from the kitchen window. Only half of the sodiums seemed to be working, the floating globes hissing and steaming in the pounding rain, like little dying suns. Their light a pale golden glow that shimmered back from the wet path.

No one in their right mind went walking through Kelvin-grove Park when the weather was like this. They huddled indoors, plugged into whatever computer-generated rubbish Comlab were pumping through the public channels these days. Or they hopped onboard the shuttlenet, or the nearest bus. What they didn’t do was squelch along in the rain, going from one patch of yellowed light to the next.

Will kept on walking.

The city sounds were swallowed up by the downpour. Only the flickering holoverts broke the silence-pseudo celebrities pimping unnecessary products whenever he came within range of the sensors. Some public-spirited individual had vandalized a lot of the emitters, leaving blissful stretches of commercial-free peace.

A half-naked woman crackled into existence as Will passed, asking him if it wasn’t about time he treated himself to a new head of hair. ‘…years younger! You…’ Fzzzzzzzzzz, pop, ‘…fin time for that big date!’

The holo followed him to the edge of the emitter’s range, then she blew him a kiss and vanished back into nothingness.

He followed the winding pathways, not taking the most direct route, just drifting in the general direction of Sauchiehall Street. Plenty of time to spare, and it wasn’t as if he could actually get any wetter. He heard Mrs New Hair fizz back into life as someone else daft enough to be out in this weather passed too close to the sensor.

Three days enforced compassionate leave-what did Director Smith-Hamilton think he was going to do with all that free time? Take up knitting? Put his feet up and let that nasty little bastard Ken…

There was a sound on the path behind him-footsteps, then the unmistakable click of a safety catch being disengaged.

…Peitai.

Shit.

He’d been set up. SHIT. How could he be so bloody stupid? He’d thought he was being unpredictable, taking a walk across the park, instead he’d made a target of himself.

Will kept going, pretending he hadn’t noticed anything, ears straining for some hint of how many were coming for him. But the rain did too good a job of drowning things out.

Trying to look casual, he checked his watch, using the motion to cover a quick glance back the way he’d come.

There were two of them. One was wearing a long, black cloat with the hood up, hiding his features, the other a thick maroon scarf and wetjacket.

There would be others-lurking in the dark somewhere up ahead. Waiting for him to get far enough into the park to make sure no one saw what was about to happen. Following the signal from the transmitters they’d buried under his skin.

Yeah, way to be unpredictable.

Four against one-if he was lucky-and the bastards would all be Black-Ops trained. Professional killers.

Will forced himself to slow down to a stroll. He still had Brian’s Palm Thrummer, at least that was something. And it was fully charged, so the first one to try anything would get their face thrummed off…Then it’d be three to one, and they’d kill him.

Will faked a cough and triggered his throat-mike.

‘Control this is Hunter,’-keeping his voice low-‘I need you to get a pickup team to Kelvingrove Park, now.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but the Director has asked us to make sure you’re not bothered by Network business today.’

‘I don’t care what she says: get me a bloody pickup team!’

‘No can do, sir. I have been specifically ordered not to patch through any more calls to or from you while you’re on compassionate leave.’

‘It’s Lucy isn’t it?’ He paused under one of the sodiums, his eyes flicking across the trees and bushes. ‘Listen up, Lucy, I’ll be on terminal leave if you don’t get someone here right now. I’m getting set up for a hit.’

‘Bloody…Right: sorry, sir. All active Dragonflies are out on jobs…’ There was a burst of staccato keystrokes. ‘Looks like Delta Three Sixer is nearest. Connecting you now.’

He picked up the pace, trying to put a little distance between himself and the people behind him. It wouldn’t be long now. They were already halfway across the park; Kelvin Way was getting closer with every stride and beyond that Sauchiehall Street. They couldn’t make their move then; it would be too public.

Lieutenant Emily Brand’s voice crackled in his ear, curt and businesslike. ‘Talk to me.’

‘Halfway across Kelvingrove Park, heading southwest towards Kelvin Way. Two on my tail, probably another two up ahead.’

‘Is it a hit?’

‘I’m kind of hoping it’s a miss.’ In his earpiece he could hear the Dragonfly’s turbines changing pitch, followed by the roar of a chaingun. ‘Where are you?’

‘Firefight, corner of Scotland and Carnoustie.’

‘Damn.’ There was no way they could abandon a combat situation-not even for him. He was on his own.

‘We’ll get there as soon as we can. I’ll-’

‘Don’t worry about it. Been nice working with you, Emily.’

‘Will, don’t you dare-’

He killed the link before she could say anything more. He needed to concentrate on what was happening now.

Something moved in the bushes up ahead and Will felt for the Palm Thrummer in his pocket, struggling to twist it open one-handed. The tines extending up his sleeve as he flicked the switch to warm the weapon up.

A voice cut through the rain: ‘Oi, Grandad. Any last requests, like?’

This was it.

Will didn’t turn around. The taunt sounded amateurish, but he knew what would happen if he took his eyes off the shadows on either side of the path: he’d never see the other pair sneaking up on him. Clever.

‘Who the hell are you calling “Grandad”?’ He set the Thrummer to full bore, maximum dispersion. ‘Thought you were supposed to be professionals?’

The man laughed. ‘Aye? Well how’s this for fuckin’ professional?’ There was the metallic snickt of a power switch. Something big and clunky: modern weapons didn’t make noises like that anymore. Maybe it was the same antique P-750 that punched a hole in Private Floyd’s shoulder? Didn’t matter how old it was, it would still be deadly.

‘So what you going to do?’ Will slowed to a halt, moving his weight forwards onto the balls of his feet. ‘Talk me to death?’

‘Am gonnae blow a great big hole in yer arse an bugger aff wi a’ yer cards and yer housecode. Then me an some mates are gonnae nick everythin’ ye’ve got. An if yer girl or boyfriend’s aboot we’ll shag the shit ootae them an fuck’em in the heid wi an ice-pick.’

Will frowned. He knew they were the bastards from the Sherman House ‘project’, and they knew he knew-otherwise they wouldn’t be here. So why the play-acting? Maybe they were filming it? Maybe this was one of the few bits of the park where the CCTV actually worked? No one would go looking for a conspiracy, not when they had it all on tape. A mugging gone wrong. His own fault really, should have known better than to cut across the park. A tragic indictment of today’s society. Small state funeral. No questions asked.