The sheer number of Event Horizon facilities springing up in Peterborough after the Second Restoration, coupled with Wilholm's proximity, meant that the company had to establish a large finance division in the city. Julia used it as her de facto head office, so it was only natural that Morgan Walshaw should use it for his security division's command centre as well. It was a temporary arrangement while both divisions waited for the respective custom-built headquarters to be completed. The building they had moved into for the interregnum was the old Thomas Cook office block, situated at the top of a small bluff overlooking the Ferry Meadows estuary, on the western side of the town. In doing so they'd ousted the PSP Minorities Enhancement Council staff who had occupied it ever since currency restrictions put an end to the glories of package holidays.

After Event Horizon had taken over, the company engineers immediately set about building a concrete embankment along the bluff to halt the erosion which was eating towards the foundations. At the base of it they planted three small lagoons of gene-tailored coral to house a set of tidal turbines which powered the finance division's gear. Seeing a building which wasn't plastered with the glossy black squares of solar-cells came as something of a novelty.

The security office inside, which Greg and Gabriel had been loaned for interviewing the NN core team, was a cramped cell of a room with a metal table and three plastic chairs. It looked out towards Longthorpe, where gulls strutted about on the partially exposed mudflats.

Emily Chapman left the office without looking round, her rigid back conveying stark disapproval. She had every right to be upset, Greg acknowledged. He was actually doing the interviews with the NN core team. He'd thought it politic; Gabriel had dropped into one of her best prickly sulks at having to examine his possible interviews with over two hundred and fifty of the security staff in the building, and told him to take a share of the load himself for a change. But she could've timed it better, though.

The trouble was, Philip Evans had been right; the NN core team were all grade-A people—keen, loyal, honest, hardworking, churned out by Event Horizon's blandification programme. They hadn't taken kindly to his accusations.

"Shit creek, and no messing." He could feel a neurohormone headache coming on. Thank God there had only been nine of them to question.

"Don't swear," Gabriel snapped primly.

"I've got a right. None of them leaked the information about the NN core. How are you doing with the security personnel?"

"You wouldn't find anything."

"What? None of them have any shameful secrets?"

"They might well have, but if so they can certainly hide it from you."

His unwinding espersense caught her gelid mind tone. Eggshell-walking time. "Bugger, you know what that means."

"Dillan Evans."