Zero History

Vietnamese with Winnie. He remembered Hollis’s dongle, the cellular connection, in the
Chunnel. He wondered if phones worked on the London subway. He didn’t think they
did in New York; he’d never had one there. If they did, he could send Winnie a message,
once they were on the train. Tell her about Foley and the Hilux. Had it been an attempted
kidnapping? He supposed it had, if not worse, but why would anyone attempt that on the
passengers of a cartel-grade Jankel-armored truck? But then it occurred to him that
graduates of Parsons School of Design probably weren’t necessarily up on that sort of
thing.
An entrance to Bank Station ahead, pedestrian traffic picking up around them, and that
was the Central Line, they’d ride straight to Marble Arch, close to Portman Square, and
walk to the hotel. Quicker than a cab, probably, and maybe he could get on Twitter.
Heidi swung suddenly around, whisking back one side of her inside-out jacket. As if to
show him the large brooch he now saw she wore there, three rocketships, perhaps, nosedown,
silver with crimson tails. And plucking part of this away, she flung it behind them,
the entirety of her long body pivoting behind it.
Someone shrieked, as terrible a sound as Milgrim had heard, and continued to as Heidi,
rough as any policeman, rushed him down the stairs and into Bank-Monument.