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vector that targets andaccelerates any inherited mutation in your DNA, bringing forward your natural death. This version focuses on the heart.
    Since we know you're a user, Monsieur, we've blended it with grade-A cocaine to make your heart attack more credible.' Holding the Glock in his left hand and the primed vaccine gun in his right, he moved closer. 'It's a good way to die. One of the best.'
    Chabrol, white as the powder, stared first at the vaccine gun and then atMax's impassive face. When he realized he would find no mercy there, his eyes darted to the window above the lavatory. 'Don't shout for help,' Max said calmly, and levelled-the Glock at Chabrol's groin. 'But--'
    'Shh. Everyone should die like this.' He placed the vaccine gun near Chabrol's shoulder. 'Don't be afraid. I'll stay with you till the end.'
    Looking directly into Chabrol's terrified eyes, Max activated the gun. There was a barely audible ssh and the vial emptied. Otherwise was no sign that the white powder was exploding into the Corsican's bloodstream.
    For a second nothing happened. Then Chabrol's body went rigid and he began to tremble. The drug paralysed him, then stopped his heart. Max held him, supporting his bulk.
    In Chabrol's eyes he saw the man's confusion, hatred, fear laid bare. Not much affected Max any more, but it still touched him to watch someone die. It was as though their final spark jumped across his emotional void and fleetingly ignited the vestigial embers of his own humanity. The instant Chabrol's pupils dilated, Max released a deep sigh.
    After he had laid Chabrol's body on the floor he left the cottage. On the beach he glanced at the global positioning system strapped to his wrist and confirmed the whereabouts of the yacht. Then he put on his fins and mask, and disappeared into the Caribbean, cutting through the water with slow, powerful strokes.
    It took fifteen minutes to return to the yacht. He pulled himself up the ladder and rolled on to the deck, stripped off his wetsuit and stood naked in the warm night breeze. He stretched his muscles, taut after the swim, and checked his watch. He had been gone fifty-seven minutes. He opened the fridge in the galley, drank a small bottle of Evian and studied himself in the mirror. He remembered his first kill, staring afterwards at his reflection, searching for some change in his face. He hadn't found one then and he couldn't see one now. For an instant, though, a different pair of blue eyes stared out of the mirror. His mother's. He blinked and the image vanished.
    He descended to the main cabin. Delphine lay asleep in bed, her face framed by ash-blonde hair, the sheet revealing more of her naked form than it concealed. He was still pumped with adrenaline, and the sight aroused him. He pulled up the sheet and slipped in beside her. She stirred and reached for him. 'Been up, Max?'
    'Just to get a drink.'
    Her hand brushed his groin and she opened her eyes. 'You have been up.'
    He smiled. 'Must be the warm night air.'
    'Really?' She was stroking him now. 'Nothing to do with me?'
    'Never even crossed my mind. You're far too much of a lady.'
    She straddled him. 'Oh, yeah?'
    He smiled. Delphine was the daughter of Henri Chevalier, the head of one of Geneva's oldest and most respected independent banks. 'I might have misjudged you.'
    As he entered her, she gasped. 'I love you, Max.'
    The pleasure pulsed through him, but he frowned.
    'I love you, Max,' she said again.
    He rolled her on to her back and responded to the rhythm of her body. Her declaration elicited only regret. Why, when it was going so well, did they always have to fall in love with him?
    FOUR DAYS LATER: 9 AUGUST
    TODAY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A PROUD CELEBRATION BUT AS HELMUT Kappel stared through the tinted, soundproofed windows of his study and watched his guests on the lawn he felt only impotent rage.
    Schloss Kappel was an austere stone mansion set in twenty acres of grounds south of Zurich. A large marquee stood between the