The move was reframed by the National Health Service who saw this as the perfect opportunity for a nation renowned for the obesity of its youth to redress the balance and 'fight the flab'. Kai Rooney and the fabulous Beckham brothers were drafted in from Milan and Los Angeles for photo-shoots of them performing their national service on dyna-treadmills and cross-trainers.

The Green Alliance, who later rebranded themselves as the Imagine Party, also hitched their wagon to the Dynagym shooting star, proclaiming that Britain was blazing a trail in saving the planet. Europan Union financial backing came flooding in, and the Party won the 2030 General Elections with a landslide.

Und so, the politicians were content; the public was satisfied; even the coal-miners stopped complaining. The scioneers were happy too a producing enormous quant.i.ties of drugs to help an unfit, overweight nation cope with the exertions of an hour a day's keep-fit.

As ever, there were abusers: juicers who had previously over-indulged in protein pills and anabolic shakes switched instead to Torox ('Strong Like Bull!') and Gorillamine ('Be King Kong Strong!'). The latter claimed a victim in an old friend of Lek's, back in the day when he was a fresh-faced immigrant in London and still bothering to do the rounds of the speed dating circuit. He regularly saw a couple of guys in the same position as himself: newly arrived in the city and looking for female company. One of these was Cesar Pitres, a Puerta Rican former boxer turned gym instructor.

One unsuccessful evening at the Covent Garden Greyhound Racing and Singles Night, Lek and Cesar opted out of chit-chatting with members of the opposite s.e.x in favour of a bucket of gritted chicken and several Texmex beers. It helped that earlier in the evening they had both placed a winning bet on the same dog a a black bullet called Introspective a and so were happy to spend their creds in the bar. They stumbled through the centre of London and back to their respective homes south of the river. They became firm friends after that night, but over the years, Cesar's constant abuse of Gorillamine and Lek's persistent calls for him to take it easy had put a strain on their relationship. Still, Cesar was an ally, and right now Lek felt he needed some muscle in his corner.

Lek pushed open the door of the Kennington Park Road branch of Dynagym and asked the receptionist if he could speak with the manager. She looked him up and down before taking his name and saying tonelessly into the tannoy, 'Mr Pitres to Reception please, Mr Pitres to Reception'. It had been some time since Lek had last seen Cesar and the sight of him bursting through the double-doors of the weights room was both awesome and terrifying. Ten years ago, Cesar Pitres was a well-built, handsome young man. Now he was a monster. He must have weighed at least 300 pounds, and every inch of his ma.s.sive arms and legs, straining the fabric of his sports vest and shorts, was covered in uneven tufts of dark fuzz. With age, his hairline had not receded, quite the opposite: it had crept down his forehead and merged with his heavy eyebrows, frowning over fierce amber coloured eyes which seemed to know the wisdom of ages. The muscles of his face no longer expressed real human emotion, and it was only in a faint sparkling of those eyes that Lek recognised any pleasure in Cesar's face.

'Lek Gorski!' he boomed, 'Welcome to Cesar's palace! Come up to my office amigo a long time no see!'

Lek winced as his fingers were nearly crushed in a warm handshake. He noticed that Cesar's fingernails were black.

'You look well,' Lek tried to lie, but it was no use. The words came out strangled.

'I know, man, I know.... Don't say anything. Too far gone to change now. Anyway, what brings you round here? It's good to see you man!' Cesar cried and threw a giant arm around Lek's shoulders as he led him upstairs.

'We need to talk Ces. I might need your help.'

Over a carbonate-free c.o.ke in Cesar's office, Lek told him everything a the meeting, the money, the transponder, the train - and Cesar took it all in, seated at his desk, his thick hands working a pair of fist-grips like they were clothes pegs.

When Lek had finished he felt completely drained: the very elements of his story sounded ludicrous in his own head, but when Cesar pushed him, he still felt that he had made the right decision by running. Cesar nodded, deep in thought.

'You've got troubles, son,' he concluded. 'Here's the thing: half the guys in this place, including yours truly, are buying the drugs your company produces. Your dealers, Pechev's men, they come round here all the time, so you best believe me when I tell you that this is not the place to lay low. Your man Pechev, he's got his fingers in a lot of pies in this town: not just the drugs, but prost.i.tution, illegal gambling, protection. Who do you think keeps the wolves from our door?'

'What are you saying Cesar? Are you in Pechev's pocket as well?'

'Cesar Pitres is in no man's pocket!' He replied in a voice like thunder.

Lek cowered. 'You wouldn't fit,' he managed to squeak.

Cesar's expression softened almost imperceptibly. 'All I'm saying is this Lek. I can't protect you. Not from them. Not here. Yeah, sure, look at me, big tough guy, but even I can't stop bullets. That's what you've got to know. They'll be coming for you. Here's one of them now.'

Cesar had uttered that last line so nonchalantly, that its significance was lost on Lek for a moment, before the words exploded in his consciousness. He stood and looked out of the window as Vidmar stepped out of his Honda Enzyme. Lek watched him straightening his scarred jacket and taking a moment to bask in the midday sun, as he felt his own life crumbling around him.

'f.u.c.k, Cesar! That's Vidmar! He's f.u.c.king here for me!'

'Chill yourself,' rumbled Cesar, picking up the phone on his desk. 'Janine? Anybody wants me, I'm in a meeting. Do not disturb. Understood? Good.' He turned back to Lek.

'Just relax chico a you're safe for now.'

The room fell silent. As the seconds leaked by, Lek heard the door open into reception. Janine was speaking. He was straining to make out the voices, until a 'Sir, you can't go up there!'

Cesar moved away from his desk and across the room with a speed that belied his bulk. His ma.s.sive frame blocked the doorway.

'Is there a problem here?' he asked smoothly.

'No problem,' Vidmar replied, and even from where he was sitting, Lek could hear the shock and surprise in his voice. 'I was just hoping to have a moment of your time, Mr...?'

'Pitres. And you are?'

'Vidmar. 'Veed-Marr'.'

'Well Mr Vidmar, I'm afraid now is not the best time. If you would be so kind as to make an appointment with my secretary, I'll be happy to see you after lunch.'

'Thank you Mr Pitres. I'll do that,' Vidmar said, his composure regained, and he handed Cesar his business card. He trotted down the steps and nodded politely to Janine as he left without making any arrangements to return.

Cesar and Lek watched Vidmar looking back at the office window as he made his way across the tarmac to his car. The Enzyme rolled silently out of the car-park and out on to Braganza Street.

'Yeah, he knows you're here alright. I thought you said you dumped the bug?'

'I did.'

'Then they're following you chico. Flat-footing. Pure and simple. You can't stay here.'

Lek looked like he might cry.

'Pull yourself together. I'll have a couple of fellas lead you out the back door. Stand behind them and n.o.body's going to spot a guy your size.'

'And what then?'

'What can I say man? I have to look after my own,' Cesar said by way of an apology, unable to meet his friend's eye. Lek was the first to break the awkward silence which had descended on the room.

'I understand. It's ok, really Cesar. What time is it anyway?'

Chapter 8.

The clock on the Enzyme's dashboard read 13:38, but there was clearly a loose connection somewhere: the LED blinked on and off sporadically. The biorg engine purred quietly. At least something worked.

In spite of his military training, or perhaps because of it, The Scar did not place much stock in modern technology. His training may have told him otherwise, but in his gut, in his heart, if he still had one, Vidmar trusted only in nature. Before his rapist's crimes caught up with him, in his former life as a member of the Estonian Secret Police, Vidmar had seen too many operations fall foul of nature's caprice: satellite link-ups lost because of deep cloud cover; solar flashes millions of miles away knocking out the workings of robotech teams; even fibre-webcams destroyed by nesting wasps. Man had nothing compared to nature's a.r.s.enal, and all a soldier in the field could do was accept it and adapt.

Vidmar peered out of his windscreen, under the abandoned railway bridge where he had parked. A canopy of thick trailing kudzu vines shaded the Enzyme. Nature winning over again, he thought.

As expected, he saw movement at the back of the Dynagym, but only two figures emerged. Another two hulking gym-junkies, just like that brute of a manager, Vidmar thought, but he noticed something strange in their movements. In his experience, men the size of these two didn't tend to stand so close to one another. Unless that was the reason why they had slipped out of the back doors and were scanning their surroundings so intently. Alternative lifestyles and all that. Then he saw the target - Gorski, that geek, peeping out from between them, wide-eyed as a bush-baby. Vidmar smiled knowingly and the scar tissue pulled at his eyelid. He understood people, and all the tracking devices in the world couldn't compete with nature, especially human nature.

He watched as the two bullish men shuffled out of the back gates and down the street, blocking Gorski like a human wall. They made their way along the street until they reached the entrance to the Gridley Housing Estate and stood there, like a couple of bouncers guarding the doors of an East End speakeasy. Vidmar saw Gorski slip away into the estate. 'So be it,' he said to himself. This game was all about staying one step ahead of your opponent, and Vidmar played it well. Always had. He thought about Pechev and his precious chess set. 'I could teach him some moves.' Better to let the scientist think he was still in control of his own destiny for now. Vidmar certainly didn't want to scare the little s.h.i.t into bolting, and then what? Shoot him? Half a million cred wasted with a single bullet? No thank you. That's why he had to let him go at Victoria. Too many people. Better to wait, better to follow, pick your moment, and offer him no other option. He needed to corner the guy, somewhere everybody felt comfortable...

He waited until the two bulls had moved on, before he nudged the Enzyme out of its hiding place and cruised down to the Skypephone on the corner of the street.

He thumbprinted and dialled a number. Danny Calabas' greenish corpulent face floated into view. G.o.d, he hated these middle-management goons.

'Vidmar! What's happening baby? How come you don't come round no more? You got no love for my girls? I got all new ones. From your part of the world too. All blonde and skinny with itty-bitty t...'

'Shut up Calabas. Listen, you remember the doctor who works for us? His name was, is, Gorski'

'Sure, Gorski. Good cheekbones, always wearing specs.'

'That's him'

'Yeah, what about him?'

'I seem to recall he had a thing with one of your girls a few months back?'

'Well kinda. He met one off-duty, so to speak. She's only a cage dancer though. Sometimes a little bit more on the side. But yeah, he took her out for a spin a few times, but word in the halls is nothing ever came of it. He only ever wanted to talk. What a sap!' He licked the back of his hand and even on the low-rez screen, Vidmar could see his pupils dilating.

'Whatever Danny. Digits and Data....'

'What's it worth?'

'It's worth me not sticking my fist down your throat next time I come around.'

'Ok, ok. John Lennon's ashes! She doesn't stay here. She's got her own place off Lavender Hill, Stormont Street, number 66, don't remember the flat though. You'll have to just try them all. No mob. She ain't stupid, that one. Fixed line is.... hang on... 6CC6 1E58..9F....'

'You're breaking up. Was that S for sugar?'

'No F. F for.... frog.'

Vidmar sn.i.g.g.e.red down the line. 'What's her name?'

'Crystal Purcell.'

'That's right, Crystal Purcell,' said Vidmar, pulling a crumpled pub napkin from his pocket. There it was: 'CP', in Gorski's handwriting, circled and underlined. 'Nice one Danny. Talk soon.'

Vidmar unclipped a vial from the chain around his neck and unscrewed the cap. He tapped out a b.u.mp of Bloodhound a a gift from a crooked copper he knew at New New Scotland Yard - onto the back of his hand and Dysoned it up. He saw nothing wrong with giving nature a helping hand every now and again.

Chapter 9.

Crystal Purcell swore violently as she sliced her finger open on a can of corned beef. 'They can put a man on Mars, but f.u.c.k me if they can't figure out a way of getting into these tins without a little frigging key!'

She turned the tap on and washed the away the blood. Another scar to add to the collection, she thought. In truth, Crystal was still a little shaken up after the phone-call. There had been times in the past when a score had somehow managed to get hold of her number and had called in the hope of some free s.e.x chat, or worse yet, love. But this time was different. No caller ID, no names. But the threat was clear.

Crystal shook her head and tried to get it all out of her mind, but her thoughts turned to Lek Gorski and the strange affair they had shared a few months back. After all the men she'd known in her young life, and the few that she had even loved, none had moved her in quite the same way as the quirky and not unattractive scientist with his strange accent, bizarre mannerisms and old fashioned approach to relationships.

They had met for the first time at a wake in New Richmond. She had been invited to attend, practically begged in truth, by the deceased's son, Harold. He had been telling his entire family that he was happily engaged to an exotic beauty for months, until Dad's untimely death at a UNICEF charity fox-hunt caught Harold in the lie, and he was forced to improvise with one of Danny Calabas' good time gals. Danny gave him a good rate, given the circ.u.mstances.

Although Crystal played the role of the fake doting fiancee with aplomb throughout the entire day, even managing to squeeze out a few tears during the cremation itself, she found herself drawn to the quiet Polack in the corner who had been drawing on c.o.c.ktail napkins all day, and paying n.o.body else any attention.

She finally found a moment when the crowd clamoured around the buffet to approach his solo table.

Crystal Purcell was a true natural beauty, and as such, unused to making moves on single men. She found herself lost for words, and was about to utter something inane, when Lek, aware of her presence, raised a finger and told her she would have his undivided attention in just a moment.

'What are you doing?' Crystal asked, intrigued.

'Just finishing off a piece... of... work', he said, dotting a final full-stop, placing his pen in his top pocket and sweeping the fringe from his face with a flourish. 'Oh it's you!' he said, blushing slightly, 'shouldn't you be standing with your... boyfriend?'

'Actually, he's not my boyfriend.'

'Forgive me. I can't keep up with the correct terminology these days. Your, your...' Lek searched for the word.

'He's not my anything.'

'Oh I see. Poor man. He must be heartbroken.'

Crystal thought about explaining, then shook her head and forged ahead with a stumbling introduction.

'....and you are?'

'I am Lek Gorski. Very pleased to meet you.'

'I noticed you all alone over here'

'I noticed you noticing,' Lek said with a boyish smile and it was Crystal's turn to blush.

'Are you, were you a friend of the, of the...'

'Dead man? No. Well, yes. He was a business a.s.sociate of mine. Another man of science.'

'Oh, you're a scientist? How interesting. What do you do exactly?'

'I work with animals!' Lek near shouted and let out a shrill uncontrollable laugh. Many of the mourners stared and Crystal realised that her new acquaintance was, in fact, stoned.

'Are you high? At a funeral?'

'It helps me think straight,' Lek explained, suddenly serious, 'besides, I'm here to work.'

'How's that?'

'I work with human emotions. When they let me out of my lab, I like to seek out human behaviour and just watch. Not only funerals of course. Marriages too. I used to spend a lot of time at the airports, before they closed them all down. Great places to watch people. Lots of joy. Lots of sadness. Real raw emotion.'

'You make it sound so clinical.'