I grunted and put the card on the table.

It was a design cooked up by Doc Holliday and not yet in use by any RTI field team. The message could only be read by the person whose thumbprint was encoded, and even then, only if the thumb was warm and had a pulse. None of that cutting off someone’s thumb and using it or making a latex cast of a stolen print.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he said.

We looked at each other.

“And this is the part where you start telling me utterly fascinating things,” said Toys dryly.

“Okay, sparky,” I said. “Buckle up.”

CHAPTER 78

THE PLAYROOM

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

NEAR VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA

Kuga walked through the rooms of his mansion, and the look on his face drove his servants into hiding and made his Fixers snap to attention and avoid eye contact.

He went into his study and slammed the door. Then stood glaring at it for fifteen seconds before he opened it and closed it again, softly this time.

The place was very quiet. No women at the pool. No Santoro—he was down in Texas. No one of enough seniority to open up to. He went over to the wet bar and mixed a tall whiskey and soda, not caring that it was a moral crime to use forty-year-old scotch in any kind of mixed drink. Kuga drank half of it, added more whiskey, and slouched into a leather chair.

His phone rang, startling him, and when he saw who was calling, it gave him two seconds of apprehension, then it made him smile. He punched the button.

“Sunday,” he said.

“Mr. Kuga,” said the salesman. “How are you doing? Or should I guess? None of my agents have reported finding Joe Ledger’s head on a pike, so I can imagine how frustrated you must be.”

Spooky son of a bitch, thought Kuga, though he didn’t dare say it out loud.

“No,” he said.

“And your man Stafford?”

“Just got off the phone with him. He says he’s getting close.”

“What’s that old expression? Close only matters in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s happening with plan B? You had me get that stuff from Oslo—Ledger’s hair and blood samples from the evidence lockup. I drop a shit ton of money on that because you promised me you could spin some kind of voodoo bullshit, but all I see is him charging around smashing up my labs, killing my people—very goddamned important people, I might add. You know what I’m not seeing? I’m not seeing any reports about Ledger going psycho and shooting up a school or tossing grenades into a crowded restaurant. You know what else I’m not seeing? Ledger either in handcuffs or on the news because he blew his damned brains out. I’m not seeing that shit at all.”

“Give it time,” said Mr. Sunday.