MichaelThe night is icy, the ground slick with frost and a breeze, slight though it is, bites at fingers and ears, even through the gloves and the woollen caps both Klempner and I are wearing.Slipping from one shadow to another, we skirt the luridly lit front entrance of Club Electric, moving around the side."Don't slip on the ice," mutters Klempner. "You'd end up in the canal."The water, black and unwelcoming, ripples sluggishly, assorted unsavoury-looking objects bobbing at the surface."No, thanks... How are you planning on getting inside? I'm assuming you weren't planning on the front door.""No. He probably has the back covered too.""Fire escape?"Klempner shrugs, noncommittally. "Maybe.""So, what then?"He brandishes the wooden carrycase he's been toting since he first arrived with his armoury."And that is...?"He kneels, unclipping the case. It opens into two halves, lying flat, to reveal inside what looks like a gun, sort of, and various component

MichaelRemoving two dozen slates makes a gap comfortably big enough to take a man and incidentally exposes the timbers. There's no question of how to anchor the rope this time."You realise we're probably invalidating Finchby's building insurance."Klempner whistles in. "What a shame." We peer down into Stygian darkness. "How far down you think? Twenty-five... Thirty feet?""It can't be more than that if the windows outside are anything to go by."This time on the rope, I'm much more in control.It's a straightforward climb down, the rope snagged by hand, thighs and crooked around one foot, and my body mass working for me rather than against, hand over hand, I descend into gloom. As my feet touch floor, the slight noise reverbs with the feel of a large empty space.Blind-sighted in the darkness, the faint lines of external light seep through eaves. Almost as I land, the rope shivers in my hand as Klempner also descends, coming at speed and I step smartly to one side a

MichaelFinchby and Baxter exit, and after a cautious moment, Klempner and I enter the office.The air is stale, musty with cigarette smoke, the walls and ceiling perhaps once white but now yellowed and draped with dusty cobwebs. I take the chair recently occupied by Finchby, trying hard not to actually touch anything. "You'd think he could afford a cleaner." "Finchby's staff are employed differently," mutters Klempner. But he regards the hovel of a room, lip curling.I pull the laptop closer. "Okay, so he runs the women as prostitutes, but he must be worth plenty. What's the point in being wealthy if you live like this?"Klempner nods but says nothing, simply pulling up the other seat by me, watching the screen with half an eye, the door with the other.The quartered screen flicks between shots of what looks like an entrance lobby, then a dance floor, various corridors... Each quarter displays a small insert: L2 lobby, L3 Bar, I try tapping the return, but the feed

RichardAt the clinic, Elizabeth receives the red-carpet treatment. And the doctor is comforting in his brisk efficiency, taking away the need to think."I understand your concern, Mr Haswell, but be assured, your wife is in the best possible hands. We will try first to control the contractions; to see if we can halt the premature labour...""But what...?"He cuts in, shuts me up. "At this stage, even a few days delay in delivery can make life more comfortable for the baby. But..." He brandishes a forefinger... "If that proves impossible, the baby still has a very good chance indeed. Babies born preterm at this age have a 95% survival rate..."Elizabeth...In her room, in dressing gown and slippers, Elizabeth sits in an armchair, gulping down a glass of water as a nurse stands over her."Drink it down, Mrs Haswell. The Nifedipine should reduce the contractions. If we're lucky, it will stop them altogether. In any case, drink plenty of water.*****JamesLimping heav

JamesMichael looks me up and down. "You fit to walk?""I'll manage."He gives a short jerk of his head and turns to Charlotte, arms outstretched. "You walk. I'll carry Cara for you."She retreats, clutching Cara to herself, shrieking. "No!" Michael steps back, holding up his palms. "Whoa... Calm down. It's me. What do you think I'm going to do?"She bursts into tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."He takes a step closer, moving carefully. "Charlotte, we have to leave. I'm not sure you can carry Cara and walk too.""No." She swings her head in denial, tries to step out, then totters, Cara still tight to her chest.Michael exchanges a look with me, shaking his head, then he moves in... "Hold on to Cara." .... sweeping her up. His voice changes to a kind of fake yokel accent. "Come, Mr Frodo!" he says. "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you."She gives him a watery smile. "I'm sorry.""Stop saying that. You'll be fine when we've got you home and rested up for a