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seconds, the gun remained unwavering. Then, with another cough, the man turned his hand sideways, and offered William the pistol’s grip.
    “I told you,” he wheezed. “My name’s Bill.” He coughed again. “I’m here to save your life.”

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
    THE GESTALT
     
    W ITH THE T ERESHKOVA stationary above the airfield, and passengers already disembarking, Ack-Ack Macaque switched on the autopilot to keep the vessel in place against the jostling coastal wind, and then knuckle-walked aft from the bridge.
    “It’s fuck-this-shit o’clock,” he told the Russian navigator. Time to kick back with a couple of cold lagers, and maybe a rum daiquiri or two. Then later, catch a ride down to the airfield with one of the passenger ’copters, and hit a few bars. In New York, K8 had found him a fedora and raincoat and, as long as he wore the collar turned up, and the hat pulled low enough to shade his face, he hoped he wouldn’t attract too much in the way of unwelcome attention.
    Intent on his plans, he shuffled past Victoria’s office. As he did so, the door opened and she beckoned to him.
    “I’ve got someone in here who’s extremely keen to meet you,” she said. She still wore the military tunic but, since he’d last seen her, she’d replaced her wig: a platinum blonde bob which covered the jacks implanted into her temple, and the extensive scarring at the back of her head. Ack-Ack Macaque could smell the Martini on her breath. He looked past her to the figure standing by her desk. It was the same man who’d been in the bar when he’d had his skirmish with the reporter, Nick Dean.
    “Who’s that?”
    “Mister Reynolds is here as a representative of the Gestalt.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque eyed the man up and down. “I should have guessed that.” Like all members of the cult, Reynolds wore an immaculately white three-piece suit, with matching white shoes and a white tie, and his face held the same distracted, beatific calm they all radiated. “The question is: what does he want?”
    Victoria’s smile thinned. “Well, why don’t you come in and ask him ?”
    She stood aside, and turned to her visitor.
    “Mister Reynolds, please allow me to introduce our pilot. You’ll have to excuse his manners, but he’s only barely housetrained.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque glared at her. Reynolds bowed in greeting.
    “Mister Macaque. May we say that this is indeed a pleasure?”
    Ack-Ack Macaque scratched the chestnut-coloured hairs on his chest. “For you, maybe. But I’ve got places to be, and havoc to wreak.”
    The man’s smile remained unwavering. “Of course, of course. We understand, and we are sorry for the intrusion.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque shivered. He’d run into a few of these Gestalt types in the States, and it creeped him out when they referred to themselves in the plural.
    Part religion, part social experiment, the Gestalt used wireless technology to link its members’ soul-catchers, networking them together in a web of shared thoughts and blurred identities.
    “I met some of you weirdos in New York.” Ack-Ack Macaque dug into the pocket of his aviator jacket, searching for a cigar. “I didn’t know you’d spread to the UK already.”
    The man’s dreamlike smile clicked up a notch. “We can assure you, we get everywhere.” He held out a hand, and Ack-Ack Macaque made a face. He didn’t want to shake. He didn’t even want to be in the same room.
    “So,” he said, “what do you want with me?”
    “We saw your unfortunate altercation earlier, and we thought maybe we could offer you our help?”
    “Help? What sort of help?”
    “We have a proposal.”
    “I’m not the marrying type.”
    The man’s smile tightened. “Please, hear us out. We have been following your case with great interest. A humble monkey raised to sentience? What insights you must have, what unique perspectives.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque rolled his eye. He didn’t like where this was going. He pulled the cigar from his