The next day passed in much the same way, and the day after also. Ty found that, if he leaned against the window and peered straight down, he could see part of the ramp leading into the basement garage, almost directly beneath. He watched as unmanned supply vehicles entered and departed through the airlock. But most of his time he sat in his armchair, brooding and staring out across the city.

It took a few seconds before Ty realized that the comms unit really was registering an incoming message.

Slouching in the armchair, he had been drinking his morning coffee, the window half-opaqued. It was his fifth day in captivity, and the remains of his breakfast lay on the table, waiting to be picked up by Hibbert.

He stared unbelievingly at the comms unit. A message? Did Lamoureaux and Willis know he was here? Were they trying to get him out?

The door opened suddenly and he jumped up, suddenly full of nervous energy. Hibbert gave him a wary look before approaching the table. He had clearly not noticed the glowing message icon floating above the comms unit’s imaging plate.

Ty moved quickly to one side, so that Hibbert’s view of the comms unit would remain blocked as he reached down to pick up the tray.

Hibbert instantly froze and stared at Ty with eyes full of the threat of incipient violence.

‘Nice morning,’ Ty blurted.

Hibbert’s gaze turned contemptuous. ‘Sir,’ he merely replied, then picked up the tray and left the room.

Ty sagged slightly as Hibbert closed the door behind him, then he turned to the comms unit and opened the message.

It was, he found, a list of instructions encoded in simple text. The message itself read like something out of some hoary old spy ’viro.

This message will delete itself within 300 seconds of being opened. When you are ready to leave the Senate residency, stand at the window of your suite, facing outwards, and wave your left hand.

The response will come within no more than a half hour of your performing this action. Please be prepared to move quickly.

Ty stared back out over the city, aware he was standing in plain view of an entire metropolis. Anyone could be watching from any one of thousands of windows. He thought about waving his hand immediately, but something made him hesitate.

Surely, he thought, if Lamoureaux or Willis were behind the message, they would have identified themselves in some way? How could he be sure the message wasn’t some kind of trap – that if he did stand there and wave his hand, some assassin armed with a rifle, and in league with Weil, would not endeavour to take him out with a long-range shot?

He felt trapped by his own indecision.