He reached for his wrist and ripped off the hospital tag: somewhere on a computer, the action would have been registered, and someone would already be looking for him. Not because he was important, but because the people picking up the bill were.

Petrovitch didn’t want to be an asset. He wanted to be invisible again.

He threw the tag into the leaf crown of a fern and caught the first lift down to the ground. He watched the counter topple toward zero, and rested his forehead against the cool metal of the wall. By the time he reached the foyer, he’d made his decision.

It didn’t look like a hospital. It looked like a hotel, which he supposed it was, really: a hotel with operating theaters. It was busy, controlled, efficient. Customers and staff moved through their booking-in procedures with whispered courtesies.

Paycops guarded a screen at the ever-revolving door. Even they looked happy and relaxed.

Petrovitch spotted a vacant chair in front of a huge circular desk. He sat down and waited for the clerk behind it to focus on him through her holographic screen.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said accurately: the clock had just tipped past noon. “Welcome to Angel Hope Hospital.”

“I need a new heart,” he said baldly. “How much?”

He had her attention. “It very much depends on what is clinically necessary. If you can submit a cardiologist’s report, I might be able to book an appointment for you.” While she talked, he could tell she was judging both him and the size of his bank balance. “Our transplant teams pride themselves on using only the very latest technology.”

“Okay, save me the sales pitch. I knew this day would come sooner or later, so I’ve had a lifetime of weighing up perfectly the pros and cons. How much for a vat-grown organic heart?”

She smiled sweetly, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. “I’m afraid that currently comes in at two hundred and fifty thousand euros. Surgery, post-operative care and rehabilitation are extra. I can download a list of charities that might be able to help in funding all or part of a less expensive clinical package. We offer several budget solutions that solve most chronic cardiac conditions.”

Petrovitch was watching carefully for her reaction. He pushed his glasses back up his nose, and asked: “Do you take cash?”

5

Petrovitch put the hospital’s datacard in his top pocket and followed the sweep of the revolving doors out into the daylight.

Private cars were queuing to drop people off under the covered entrance before pulling back out to join the mayhem of the midday roads. As one drove off, another replaced it, wheelchairs or a walker unit being brought to the passenger door as required.