Incorporated in the city boundary sign was the prominent declaration: PSP Free Zone.

"Oh yeah?" said Gabriel.

Greg let the snipe ride, though he conceded she had a point. Leicester council had earned a reputation for sycophancy during Armstrong's presidency; it was one of the last to acknowledge the Party's perdition.

That obedience was the root of its downfall; a numbing historical repetition, those showing the most loyalty receiving the least. With such devotion assured, the PSP had no need to pump in bribe money. Leicester had declined as Peterborough had risen. Now the city's New Conservative-dominated council was striving hard to obliterate the image of the past in an attempt to attract hard-industry investment.

"Give them a chance," Greg said. "It's only been two years."

"Once a Trot, always a Trot."

"Exactly where would you be happy living?" he asked in exasperation.

"Mars, I expect. Turn left here."

"I know."

He turned off the Uppingham Road and nudged into the near-solid file of bicycle traffic along Spencefield Lane. The big old trees whose branches had once turned the road into a leafy tunnel were long dead. New sequoias had been planted to replace them. They were grand trees, but Greg couldn't help wondering whether they were a wise choice if the residents were aiming for permanency; give them a couple of centuries and the sequoias would be skyscraper-high.

The original trees had been trimmed into near-identical pillars six metres high, supporting giant cross-beams over the road. Each arch was swathed in a different-coloured climbing rose. The sun shone through the petals, creating a blazing sequence of coronal crescents. It was like driving under a solid rainbow.

Greg slowed the Duo to a walking pace as they passed the entrance to an old school. Cars were clustered along the verge ahead, sporty Renaults, several Mercs, one old Toyota GX4. Image cars.

"Shouldn't there be sailboards strapped on top of them?" Gabriel said under her breath.

Greg concentrated on house numbers, praying she'd snap out of it before long. Of course, he could always ask her when her mood was due to end. He clamped down on a grin. "That's the address."

The house was hidden behind a head-high brick wall that had a hurricane fence on top, a thick row of evergreen firs hid most of the building from the road. The gate was a sturdy metal-reinforced chainlink, painted white. Cameras were perched on each side, their casings weather-dulled.

"He's having a party," Gabriel said, with facetious humour disguising the tingle of nerves Greg knew would be there.

"How nice. A big one?"

"For him. It's enough to provide us with cover, anyway."

Greg parked the Duo beyond the last of the guests' cars. "Front or back?"

"Front, of course. Your card is good for it."

He felt a burn of anticipation warming his skin, heightening senses. Black liver-flesh of the gland throbbing enthusiastically.