The coffee arrived, and they waited until the waitress was out of earshot before speaking again.

“Could it have been a friend of ManMountain Bates?” asked Virtue.

“I doubt that he had any friends,” replied the Angel. “Besides, one doesn’t avenge a friend’s death by damaging his killer’s ship.” He frowned. “It’s got to be Santiago’s doing. I just wish it made a little more sense to me.”

A woman dressed in mechanic’s clothing entered the coffee shop, looked around, and approached their table.

“Are you the ... Are you Mr. William Jennings?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes.”

“I’ve just taken a look at your ship,” she said. “I’ll have to go over it much more thoroughly before I can give you a complete damage report, but you were right: someone’s been tampering with it.”

“I assume there were no explosives?”

She shook her head. “Not that I’ve been able to find. It doesn’t look like anyone was out to kill you, just to keep you here for a few days.”

“How many?”

“Based on what I’ve found so far, I’d guess that it’ll take two or three days to get the parts shipped in and installed.” She paused. “It could come to a lot of money. Do you want an estimate first?”

The Angel shook his head. “Just do whatever’s necessary to get it working.”

“Where can I contact you when it’s ready?” she asked.

“You can’t,” he said. “But I’ll be checking in a couple of times every day. Who should I ask for?”

She gave him her name and identification number, then left the coffee shop.

“You still look disturbed,” observed Virtue.

“I still am,” he replied. “What does Santiago think he gains by tying me down here for two or three days? I can’t be that close to him yet.”

He finished his coffee and ordered another.

“Why don’t we go to the bar?” suggested Virtue, staring distastefully at her coffee.

“Because we want to keep our heads clear until we figure out what’s going on,” replied the Angel with equal distaste.

She glared at him for a moment, then shrugged and sipped from her half-empty cup.

They sat in silence for another five minutes, and then the security officer sought out the Angel.

“I’ve been checking up on the mechanic...” he began.

“His company never heard of him, and you can’t find him in the directory,” said the Angel. It was not a question.

The officer sighed and nodded. “Somebody really screwed up on this one.” He pulled out a two-dimensional copy of the mechanic’s identification card. “This is the guy. Does he look familiar to you?”

The Angel studied the photograph, which appeared just above the man’s signature and thumbprint.

“No,” he said. “Do you mind if I keep this?”