A moment later a blonde woman in her midthirties entered the room. She was a few pounds overweight, though far from fat, her tunic and slacks were functional rather than stylish, and she wore no makeup at all. A leather satchel was slung over one shoulder.

She took in the situation in a single glance and immediately turned to Cain.

“Don’t kill him until I talk to him,” she said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Nobody’s killing anybody just yet,” interjected Socrates, unperturbed. “We’re still in the threatening stage.”

“Who are you and what’s your business here?” asked Cain, getting to his feet and backing up a few steps to incorporate both her and Socrates into his field of vision.

“I might ask you the same thing,” she replied.

“You might,” he agreed. “But I asked you first, and I’ve got the gun.”

She stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “My name is Virtue MacKenzie. I’m a journalist; I make holographic documentaries.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came here to do a feature on Socrates.”

“Where’s your technical crew?” asked Cain.

“I do my own tech work,” she said. “And I’m all through answering questions. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’ve got one more,” said Cain. “Have you talked to Whittaker Drum yet?”

“Who the hell is Whittaker Drum?”

Cain smiled with satisfaction. “Okay, You’ve told me everything I need to know.” He paused for a moment. “Terwilliger, get her out of here.”

The gambler began approaching her.

“That’s close enough,” said Virtue menacingly.

Terwilliger grinned and took another step forward. As he did so, she lashed out with a foot, catching him just below the knee. He dropped to the floor, cursing and groaning and holding his leg tenderly. “You don’t listen too well, do you?” she said contemptuously.

“Oh, my!” said Socrates, vastly amused. “This is getting interesting.”

“You shut up!” snapped Cain.

“Are you ready to answer my questions yet?” demanded Virtue, ignoring Terwilliger and turning back to Cain.

“All right,” he said.

“Who are you?”

“Sebastian Cain.”

“The one they call the Songbird?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“Why do you want to kill him?”

“I don’t,” replied Cain. “I want the same thing you do.”

“And what do I want?”

“Information about Santiago.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because you didn’t know that Socrates used to be Whittaker Drum—and the only important thing he’s done since changing his name is to meet Santiago.”

“I resent that,” said Socrates.

“What’s your interest in Santiago?” asked Virtue.

“Professional,” said Cain. “And yours?”

“The same,” she replied. “I really do produce documentaries. I convinced a couple of backers that I could get an exclusive feature on Santiago, and managed to wring a pretty substantial advance out of them.”

“And now you have to deliver,” suggested Cain, amused.