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I lean back in my easy chair. If Death can extract the implants, that opens up many very problematic possibilities.
Perhaps Kate was a test case, to see if it could be done. That way when someone like Merwin Locke or Franco Silvestri or Evo Griekin tries to have their implants taken out, they’ll know it works. Are they planning to betray me? I would, if I were in their position. But they’re all being watched. If they were in contact with Death, I’d know.
If I was him, what would I do now? There are a million ways Kate could be used against me, if that’s the goal. But if they wanted her to go to the authorities with her knowledge, what’s taking so long? Why wait?
“Get the tech division to acquire all the computing power we can buy and run facial recognition on everything you can,” I tell Nick. “Traffic cameras, ATMs, social media — find Kate.”
“Yes, sir.”
Now, what would she do if she’s alive, assuming Death would let her? Probably what she’s wanted to do since the day Ingram abducted her: tell the world what she knows. She could go to LPN, except I’d know where to find her. That’s too risky. She could make contact with her old boss, John Howell, and tell him everything; but would he believe her?
If not him, though, there is someone else. He may know nothing, but it’s worth a shot.
—
Brendan Zimmerman leaves the Ellman Media office trailed by a security guard. Dressed in plain clothes and following at a distance, the guard does a good job of not looking obvious, but the cameras identify him immediately as a known professional.
Why would a reporter for a small news outfit need protection? Is he scared Anarchy, Inc. would make him a target, or does he have a specific reason to be concerned?
If Kate’s made contact with anyone from the outside world, it would be Brendan, who frequently glances over his shoulder as he walks up 3rd Ave. toward Union Square. He keeps his hands deep in the pockets of a heavy, black sweater, as if he could be clutching a phone or a can of mace. He’s definitely nervous, and not especially subtle about it. Is he watching for someone specific, or just generally apprehensive?
Time to find out.
“Intercept the target’s security detail,” I tell Nick. “Then bring him to me.”
I listen to the audio feed, smiling as Nick pesters Brendan’s man.
“Hey hey hey, come to our show tonight! Just twenty dollars, two drink minimum — two-hour stand-up show. Just over on 4th Ave.”
“Get the fuck away,” the guard growls.
“You ever hear of Dominic Yaz? Funniest guy in the city, he’ll be there. They got a full bar upstairs, and I’ll give you a coupon if you’re interested.”
“Fuck off! Oh, fuck. Shit!”
Out the limo’s rearview mirror I see the guard fall, likely tripped up by Nick.
“Hey, someone help this guy!” Nick shouts.
Excellent.
“Zimmerman! Run!” the guard shouts, but it’s too late.
A moment later, two of my men shove Brendan into the limo. My driver slips into traffic, and then we’re off.
“What the fuck is this?” says Brendan. He reaches into his pocket again, then looks down at it, as if something’s missing.
“We took a taser off him,” Nick says, holding the device aloft. “We’ll give it back soon, don’t worry.”
“Let me out right here and maybe I’ll consider not reporting you to the police,” Brendan snarls.
Despite his brave talk, sweat shines from his forehead.
“We only need a few minutes of your time, Mr. Zimmerman,” I say. “Just relax.”
His eyes dart to the door handle, even though Nick sits in the way.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask.
