“Then I suggest you contact this man to see if that option remains available to you. This may be your last opportunity to do so. Transmission ends.”

Eric leaned forward. “Now hold on! You directed me up here to repeat that same old…!”

He stopped. Every light on the console had winked out save those which indicated it was still powered-up. Try as he would, Eric couldn’t prod it to respond.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He exited the booth, forgetting for an instant that there might be police waiting for him to emerge. There was no one except the elderly supervisor who’d first guided him to the booth. Apparently she’d decided to wait for him. Now she watched him curiously.

“It’s quite a privilege, you know. I envy you.”

“Envy me what?” he said absently. “What’s quite a privilege?’ ’

“Talking direct with Colligatarch Central.” She looked apologetic. “The details of your communication remain private, of course, but there’s no hiding where the input originated.”

“So you’re in on it, too.”

She looked confused. “In on what?”

“Nothing. I’ll find my own way out.”

“Certainly. If I can be of further help …”

“No, you’ve done enough already.” He could feel her eyes on the back of his neck as he started back toward the elevators.

What now? What would they try next? One minute they threaten to kill him, the next they repeat old warnings. If they held to form, now they would try to kill him again.

He’d learned nothing. Only that Tarragon’s reach extended at least as far as the Colligatarch Subsidiary Service Terminal, Nueva York. Despite what the old lady had said, he still refused to believe he’d been conversing directly with the Colligatarch Central itself.

He did not enter one of the elevators. Instead he found his way across the vast chamber by reading identifying cards on individual cubicles.

Eventually he found himself near a solid wall, read the inscription on a modular divider, peered into the cubicle beyond.

“Excuse me? I’m a newsawk for channel eighty? The cybemews network?”

The man inside the cubicle looked up indifferently from his work. “What about it?”

“I need some information. I’m working on a homicide.”

“So? What’s wrong with your office terminal?”

“You know how it is at a network,” Eric said confidentially, fully aware the man had no idea how it was at a network. “Intercepts, other reporters stealing your sources. Isn’t there someone down here who works with police sources?”

“Of course.” If the man had been more suspicious, the question would have been met with trouble instead of an answer. Or perhaps he was simply tired. It was now early morning and near the end of shift for the night workers. It’s hard to be suspicious when one’s primary thoughts are of sleep.

He didn’t even ask for credentials, simply assumed that Eric had a right to be there by virtue of being there.

“You want Angelo Vargas, Module Eighteen Sixty-five.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Eighteen Sixty-five was located across the chamber, next to several deserted cubicles awaiting the arrival of the day shift. Eric circled the spot several times, trying to decide if what he had in mind could work. As to whether or not it was worth the risk, that was a foregone conclusion. He’d run out of ideas and viewed this as a last chance.

As he entered the cubicle, he closed the swinging door behind him. The middle-aged man at the desk looked up tiredly.

“What can I do for you, citizen?”

“Are you Angelo Vargas?” The man nodded, his hairless dome shiny in the reflected overhead light. “You work with the Nueva York police authority?”

“On occasion. I’m more access-ready than active. You want active, you’ll have to go to the nearest precinct station.”

“No, access will be sufficient. I’m a newsawk for channel eighty. I need some information on a recent disappearance. Missing persons stuff. Can you help me?”

“Probably.” Vargas looked significantly at his fingers, which suddenly discovered dirt that needed to be rubbed away.

“Fifty bucks.”

Vargas nodded and smiled contentedly. “No video?”

“Just research for now. I wouldn’t want to compromise my sources.”

“Fine. Just show me your station identification card and we’ll get to work.”

Eric didn’t miss a beat. “No problem.” He fumbled in a coat pocket. “Is that the call-up code you use?”

“Where?” Vargas turned to glance at his glowing screen. As he did so Eric took out a long, thin metal tool and pressed it into the back of the man’s neck. The flesh was soft, and he had to be careful not to press too hard.

“This needle beam is very quiet. You cry out, you touch anything that even resembles an alarm, you cause me any difficulty whatsoever, and you’ll never leave this module alive. I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, citizen. Take it easy. I’ve got three kids and a good wife, just don’t do anything crazy, okay?”

“I’m not a pocoloco, friend, but if you make me the least little bit nervous. I’ll slice you, comprende?”

“Sure, sure, just calm down, will ya?” Vargas was near hysteria.

“I’ll kill you,” Eric repeated, surprised at the vitriol in his voice, “and get the information I need somewhere else.”

“Christ, I said I’d do what I can,” Vargas moaned softly. “I’m not a matrix, you know. This isn’t a precinct station.”

“I know, but you move information. A lot of information.”

“Sure I do. What do you want to know? Just tell me and I’ll get on it.” The man was frantic to get Eric his information and get rid of him, which was fine with Eric. He was as anxious to leave as the man was to be rid of him.

Eric added a final warning. “No tricks now. I’m access-knowledgeable. You key in an alarm code and I’ll spot it, and it’ll be the last code you ever key in. I won’t warn you again.”

“Okay, okay.” Vargas’s voice was cracking and he seemed ready to cry. “I’m not going to die over some stupid data. Tell me what you want to know.”

Eric was convinced the man would do what he could. Why shouldn’t he? As soon as Eric fled the man could raise half a dozen alarms, forestall any damage his visitor might do with his stolen data. Except that Eric wasn’t going to be forestalled.

“Woman’s name, Lisa Tambor. Formerly of …” he struggled a second to remember her address and telephone number.