"I know.” The elf’s voice was soft and his expression downcast. “Geraint, it was all too much for me. I was older than you, but I guess I felt I could never hold on to anyone I cared for. Not after the killings there. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to, not since my parents died. I guess Ijust keep running. If I keep moving, and I keep doing things, then I’m always going to be alive. If I stop, I see that my hands are shaking and my leg pains me. That’s what I get if…"

His voice trailed away, and he took a deep drag on the cigarette, coughing slightly as he began to stub out half its length in the cut-glass ashtray. Then his expression changed, and he leaned forward across the table.

“Geraint, there’s something going on here that I don’t understand. Paul Kuranita’s here under a false name. Registered as James Kuruyama.” Geraint looked startled, uncertain what to say. “You know what that means to me.”

"For God’s sake, am you sure?” the Welshman hissed.

"Positive. I spent two years building up his profile from the records of all his operations. Cost me half a million to trace everything, but there isn’t any doubt. What the hell is he doing here?"

“Look, don’t be too hasty. The seminars and lectures go on until seven o’clock tomorrow night. Don’t do anything foolish; let’s both try to find out something about it. Know where he’s staying?"

“Hotel ID had him in the Chiltern Suite." Serrin looked grim.

“Give me a couple of hours. I’m down for a real stinker at ten, a three-hour marathon on drug markets and viral degeneration syndromes. Basically it comes down to how many billions of nuyen the drug companies can make out of the crumblies before they hit their ninetieth birthdays. I have people to see there, and I need to be seen nodding enthusiastically during their speeches, if I can force down enough coffee to stay awake, that is. I'll inquire very discreefly about-Kuruyama?”