Clutching his carryall tightly Serrin strolled down Regent Street, passing the Stuffer Shack on his way from Cambridge station to the University Arms. Three days of pointless time-wasting had ended in a meeting where Smith and Jones had been a no-show. All that greeted him at dinner was a card expressing their profuse apologies, along with a credstick to persuade him to accept an additional assignment. A couple of minor nobles who were major stockholders in Optical Neotech PLC, one of his surveillance targets, would be attending a seminar at Cambridge’s finest hotel that weekend. Could he please tag a watcher or two to their rooms after an initial snoop?