‘Damn,’ he breathed, as a whole gaggle of figures emerged at the top of the stairs. He could just make Udmil out, swathed in a glossy raincoat. The others were less distinct, and looked to be guards. They quickly disappeared behind the parked groundcars, and he was left to guess numbers – five of them, plus a driver for each? ‘We have two vehicles,’ he told Draj. ‘Shunting picts to you now. Estimate five bodyguards, most in secondary vehicle.’

‘Fun,’ said Draj, his voice a crackle over the link. ‘I’ll keep a tickler warm for them all.’

The black groundcars started their engines, and drew off. Zidarov made sure the scanner was locked to the lead one, and waited for them to head on out of visual range. Then he moved off too, turning his forward lumens on and peering through the flying spray.

His heart was beating hard. He felt a tightness across his chest as he fell into the familiar pursuit pattern. Or perhaps that was just the scar.

On the console, he could see two blips on the network map – one was Draj, the other was the target. It was already looking clear that an interception could take place on the main ­arterial out towards Udmil’s mansion, unless the targets took an unexpected route. That had always been the most likely plan.

‘Are you seeing this, sergeant?’ Zidarov voxed, picking up speed to maintain a link with the targets. ‘Looks like we’re meeting at the primary rendezvous.’

‘Agreed. Am closing in now.’

Udmil’s convoy started to move more quickly. Zidarov was still out of visual range, but could see them climb up the ramps and onto the main transitway network. He followed suit, working hard not to lose too much ground – the traffic level was already growing, a mix of private ground vehicles and bigger municipal transports. The miles started to rack up, and with every click of the odometer the sky lightened a fraction. The rain was still relentless, making the windscreen a blurry mess of cascading water.

‘Leaving intersection now,’ Draj reported. ‘Will be with you in a few minutes.’

Zidarov accelerated, weaving between two cargo-carriers in order to gain a bit of open space. The dark, sodden profile of the city swung around to face him as he gained the flyover sections of the transitway, sawtoothed against the storm-lashed horizon. He could feel his traction slip a little as the conditions worsened, but maintained velocity. The target groundcars would be more stable in such weather, but he couldn’t afford to lose ground.

‘Estimate interception at intersection 45T,’ Zidarov voxed. ‘We can hit them there, force them down the access ramps.’

‘Agreed,’ Draj replied, closing fast. Zidarov could only imagine the amount of spray that monster would be kicking up. ‘Are they in close convoy?’