“I can live with that,” Win said. There was a pause. “Are we done, Myron?”

“I think so.”

“Good, I need to go.”

Chapter 21

The team name popped up just as Myron was noting that Cousin Brooke would be angry that I was holding out on her again.

SHARK CRYPT I.

“I can live with that,” I tell him, completely distracted now. It is time to get off the phone. “Are we done, Myron?”

“I think so,” Myron says.

“Good, I need to go.”

I end the call before Myron replies. I am in that same back room with Carlo, Renato, and Giuseppe. They are all still geared up, but their mood is more serious today, more somber, as the Muzzles of Rage challenge has begun. My plan is a simple one: Draw out Fat Gandhi.

From everything I know about him, Fat Gandhi is a competitive bastard in this techno-video-whatever world. His biggest rival is ROMAVSLAZIO, which is, thanks to my anonymous largesse, hosting this brand-new prestigious event. The question we need to answer: Even if Fat Gandhi is somewhat underground, even if he is at least temporarily in hiding, will he come out if challenged to a high-stakes, heavily sponsored quasi-military first-person-shooter tournament?

The answer, I now know, is yes.

I point to the new name, SHARK CRYPT I, on the leaderboard. “That’s Fat Gandhi,” I say.

“You can’t tell,” Carlo shouts at me, still clicking the keyboard. “He hasn’t started to play yet.”

“But once he plays for a few minutes, we’ll know,” Renato adds. “Half hour tops. He’s got a distinct style of play. He never uses machine guns or automatic weapons—only a sniper rifle, and he never misses.”

“There’s always a distinct system,” Carlo says.

“Like any sport, you don’t have to see the face to know the players,” Renato agrees.

“Don’t wait,” I say. “That’s our target.”

“How can you be so sure?”

It is simple, really. “Shark Crypt I” is an anagram of “Patrick Rhys.”

My plan here is obvious. The challenge for ROMAVSLAZIO has nothing to do with winning the Muzzles of Rage championship. The challenge for them is to pretend that there is a match so that they can figure out via some hacking method I have no interest in understanding exactly where Fat Gandhi is currently residing.

Referee Giuseppe says, “Let’s go, boys. Find him.”

My car and private plane are at the ready. I have the pilots and a key associate waiting. The moment they find Fat Gandhi’s location, whilst the Muzzles of Rage contest continues, we will speed to the location and take Fat Gandhi down.

At least, that is the plan.

“I still don’t know if we should do this,” Carlo says.

Again he is facing one wall, Renato the other.

“Me neither,” Renato agrees.

“We aren’t cops.”

“You heard Mr. Lockwood,” Giuseppe says. “The man pimps out underage boys.”

“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Carlo asks.

“Yeah,” Renato adds, turning to Win, “how do we know you’re not the pervert?”