Chapters (42)
- DEDICATION
- EPIGRAPH
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY RICHARD KADREY
- CREDITS
- ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
“You have two days.” Coop started to say something, but Salzman pointed to Nelson and Coop shut up. “After I leave here I’m going upstairs to Mr. Woolrich’s office to tell him that you’re well on your way to forming a solid plan of attack. Do not make me a liar.” He turned to Nelson. “Put the cuffs away. For now.”
Nelson remained on Salzman’s side of the room and pointed at the others. “These three are up to something. I don’t know what, but they’re all in on it together.”
Salzman looked them over with his milky eyes. “Excellent. A conspiracy demonstrates real teamwork and initiative. Congratulations. It sounds like you’re off and running.”
“Just one more thing,” said Coop. He drummed his fingers on the table a couple of times. “We need to be absolutely clear on one thing. If I get you the box and come out of this alive, that’s it. I’m free and clear to go.”
Salzman nodded. “That is the agreement. Get us the box and you’re as free as—”
“A fire-breathing spider monkey?” said Giselle.
Salzman stood up, straightened his jacket. “Do we have those? I’d love to see one.”
“Me, too.”
“Go check with the lab boys and get back to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Salzman started to leave when Nelson said, “Sir. What about the conspiracy?”
Salzman turned to him. “Go have a burrito and a drink. It’s all you’re good for these days.” He turned and left.
“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Nelson got up and followed.
Coop went back to the schematics. Bayliss excused herself to use the restroom and ate her energy bar. Giselle took one of Nelson’s pencils and tossed it into the ceiling.
“Bull’s-eye,” she said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE STRANGER CAME INTO THE CITY ACROSS THE Golden Gate Bridge, crossing from the warmth of Marin into the fog of San Francisco Bay. The mist was cold and wet, but in a pleasant way. He pulled his jacket tight around him. Tourists shivered in spectacularly inappropriate shorts, taking snapshots of each other against the swirling gray background. Joggers and cars passed by.
The stranger looked over the edge of the bridge, thinking of all the suicides the Golden Gate had inspired. Wouldn’t it be glorious to see one of those? He looked around hopefully, but no one seemed interested in taking the bait. Disappointed, he kept walking.