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Go
it
,
Case
,
he
told
himself
.
Suck
’
em
in
.
Last
thing
they
’
ll
expect
.
He
was
half
a
block
from
the
games
arcade
where
he
’
d
first
met
Linda
Lee
.
He
bolted
across
Ninsei
,
scattering
a
pack
of
strolling
sailors
.
One
of
them
screamed
after
him
in
Spanish
.
Then
he
was
through
the
entrance
,
the
sound
crashing
over
him
like
surf
,
subsonics
throbbing
in
the
pit
of
his
stomach
.
Someone
scored
a
ten
-
megaton
hit
on
Tank
War
Europa
,
a
simulated
airburst
drowning
the
arcade
in
white
sound
as
a
lurid
hologram
fireball
mushroomed
overhead
.
He
cut
to
the
right
and
loped
up
a
flight
of
unpainted
chipboard
stairs
.
He
’
d
come
here
once
with
Wage
,
to
discuss
a
deal
in
proscribed
hormonal
triggers
with
a
man
called
Matsuga
.
He
remembered
the
hallway
,
its
stained
matting
,
the
row
of
identical
doors
leading
to
tiny
office
cubicles
.
One
door
was
open
now
.
A
Japanese
girl
in
a
sleeveless
black
t
-
shirt
glanced
up
from
a
white
terminal
,
behind
her
head
a
travel
poster
of
Greece
,
Aegian
blue
splashed
with
streamlined
ideograms
.
'
Get
your
security
up
here
,
’
Case
told
her
.
Then
he
sprinted
down
the
corridor
,
out
of
her
sight
.
The
last
two
doors
were
closed
and
,
he
assumed
,
locked
.
He
spun
and
slammed
the
sole
of
his
nylon
running
shoe
into
the
bluelacquered
composition
door
at
the
far
end
.
It
popped
,
cheap
hardware
failing
from
the
splintered
frame
.
Darkness
there
,
the
white
curve
of
a
terminal
housing
.
Then
he
was
on
the
door
to
its
right
,
both
hands
around
the
transparent
plastic
knob
,
leaning
in
with
everything
he
had
.
Something
snapped
,
and
he
was
inside
.
This
was
where
he
and
Wage
had
met
with
Matsuga
,
but
whatever
front
company
Matsuga
had
operated
was
long
gone
.
No
terminal
,
nothing
.
Light
from
the
alley
behind
the
arcade
,
filtering
in
through
sootblown
plastic
.
He
made
out
a
snakelike
loop
of
fiberoptics
protruding
from
a
wall
socket
,
a
pile
of
discarded
food
containers
,
and
the
bladeless
nacelle
of
an
electric
fan
.
The
window
was
a
single
pane
of
cheap
plastic
.
He
shrugged
out
of
his
jacket
,
bundled
it
around
his
right
hand
,
and
punched
.
It
split
,
requiring
two
more
blows
to
free
it
from
the
frame
.
Over
the
muted
chaos
of
the
games
,
an
alarm
began
to
cycle
,
triggered
either
by
the
broken
window
or
by
the
girl
at
the
head
of
the
corridor
.
Case
turned
,
pulled
his
jacket
on
,
and
flicked
the
cobra
to
full
extension
.
With
the
door
closed
,
he
was
counting
on
his
tail
to
assume
he
’
d
gone
through
the
one
he
’
d
kicked
half
off
its
hinges
.
The
cobra
’
s
bronze
pyramid
began
to
bob
gently
,
the
spring
-
steel
shaft
amplifying
his
pulse
.
Nothing
happened
.
There
was
only
the
surging
of
the
alarm
,
the
crashing
of
the
games
,
his
heart
hammering
.
When
the
fear
came
,
it
was
like
some
half
-
forgotten
friend
.
Not
the
cold
,
rapid
mechanism
of
the
dex
-
paranoia
,
but
simple
animal
fear
.
He
’
d
lived
for
so
long
on
a
constant
edge
of
anxiety
that
he
’
d
almost
forgotten
what
real
fear
was
.
This
cubicle
was
the
sort
of
place
where
people
died
.
He
might
die
here
.
They
might
have
guns
.
.
.
