“I reckon on another hour, Princess, and the Paradise militia will be having a fish dinner in your old man’s Zen garden.”

“Your band of criminals will be slaughtered by my father’s men. Then they will come for you.”

“I don’t think so. First sign of them or your jihadist friends, and that trolley you’re attached to goes out the window. Seems a shame to waste a good pair of cuffs, but you’ve got to make sacrifices.” Sorenson snorted at his own attempt at humor. “What d’you reckon, Petrovitch?”

Petrovitch fingered the Beretta. “You got to her first. You get to do with her what you want.”

“Damn right,” said Sorenson, crowing, “and don’t you forget it.”

27

Sorenson was interrupted by an out-of-breath child bearing a slip of paper. He opened it, read it, and jutted his chin out as he crushed the note inside his fist.

“Go on, kid. Beat it.”

“Bad news?” asked Petrovitch.

“Nothing that can’t be taken care of. Some bunch of crazies are looting north of Hyde Park, and distracting my troops.”

Petrovitch raised his eyebrows. It had to be the Hyde Park chapter of the Jihad. “Yeah. Crazies I’ll go with: troops isn’t what I’d call your lot, though.”

Sorenson looked at Sonja and then at Petrovitch. “I’m going to deal with this, Okay? Be right back.”

The moment he’d gone, she started to speak: Petrovitch put his finger to his lips and checked through the open door. Sorenson’s broad back was obscuring the map in the war room.

“Okay. Tell me what you know about the New Machine Jihad. Quickly.” He stood so he could still see through the door.

“They helped Sorenson and me escape out of the tower, opened doors and turned off alarms.”

“Not what I needed. Who are they, and why are they so interested in you? And me.”

“I don’t know.” She yanked at her chain again. “You are going to rescue me, right?”

“Yobany stos, Sonja! I’m working on it. I don’t even know if I’m Sorenson’s guest or his prisoner. Probably both. And you had my rat, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You stole it from me. You have no idea how much grief you’ve caused.”

“I had someone take it from the police for you: I wanted to give it back. I was just waiting for the right moment. And without it, I wouldn’t have gotten this far. The Jihad talk to me through it.”

Petrovitch glanced around again. “When did they start?”

“Yesterday evening. I was hiding from Hijo, and they sent me a message, telling me the bullet train would run again.”

“Shinkansen ha mata hashirou,” said Petrovitch. Sorenson was visible briefly, then strode out of his eye-line. “Did you ever meet the programmers who created VirtualJapan?”

“I went to so many parties, was introduced to so many people. Probably, then.”