“That’s where you’re wrong,” Chang answered. His leather chair creaked as he sat back in it. “We now have someone on staff who knows the free spirit’s true name-and that’s all we need to control it. By the time that press release airs on the evening newscast, the spirit will be out of the Matrix. We’ve found a mage who can do the job.”

Things were starting to click into place. “Aziz Fader?” Carla asked. It made sense. The mage had obviously gotten the true name from Pita and used it to bind the spirit. He’d used it to kill the hell hound in a blaze of light. Now, presumably, he was going to hand over the true name in return for whatever goodies MCT Director Ambrose Wilks had promised him. Aziz had probably gotten in touch with the corporation as soon as his efforts had proven successful-and been kept busy in their lab ever since. That would explain why he hadn’t returned her calls.

Was that a hint of amusement in Chang’s eyes? He shook his head. “No. Not Mr. Fader,” he answered. “An… associate of his. She will be working with our own researchers. And those from Renraku, of course.”

Carla felt a growing sense of dread. “She”? Chang could only be referring to one person. But that was impossible. Carla had spoken to Masaki less than two hours ago, when he phoned in sick, and he’d said the ork girl was safely tucked away in his apartment. Was Masaki in on the deal, too? Carla swallowed her anger and forced herself to think logically. No. It was morn likely that Mitsuhama had forced Masaki to lie. She couldn’t even imagine what they’d used to blackmail him. Maybe the threat of violence. Once again, her imagination started to chum out unpleasant images.

Was Masaki lace-down on the floor of his apartment, even now, a bullet in his brain?

“The girl is safe,” Chang said, obviously reading Carla’s expression. “She’s much too valuable an asset to damage, although your co-worker doesn’t realize that. He, too, is unharmed.”

Carla felt a rush of relief. That was one worry down. Masaki was safe. She was surprised at how much she cared about the timid old fragger. And about the girl.

She shook her head. Caring what happened to Pita was logical-the girl was, after all, still Carla’s only chance at a big story. Not on Mitsuhama. but on the racist elements within Lone Star. It was one story that Carla’s new masters-especially with Chang's yakuza connections-wouldn’t fly to spike. It was also a story that would make NABS take notice of Carla-and get her out from under the thumb of this smooth-talking fragger.

But Carla wasn’t thinking about that now. Or at least, it wasn’t the only thing she was thinking about. Pita might be “safe,” but she was probably also terrified. Especially if Mitsuhama was holding her. She was probably every bit as frightened as Carla had been when the hell hound stood on top of her, teeth bared and ready to strike. Carla felts twinge of sympathy and wished there was something she could do for the girl.

Perhaps there was.

“I’ll wrap a news story around your press release,” she told Chang. “I’ll make it the best you’ve ever seen, and will vilify Farazad Samji as much as you like. On one… no, on two conditions, First, that you remove that foul little spirit from Mrs. Samji’s home and agree not to persecute her further-by withholding her husband’s pension, for example”

“It’s already done,” Chang answered. “We at MCT Seattle am not entirely heartless, after all. The Samjis will be provided for, despite the harm that Farazad has caused. It’s simply good corporate public relations.”

“And second, that I be allowed to talk with Pita.”

“I do not think that will be possible,” Chang began.

“Listen,” Carla said, leaning forward and using her firmest voice. “You need me. You own KKRU now, and could hire any of the reporters there to put together your news story. But I’m the station’s top investigative reporter, and the public knows it. If I commit to this piece, I can’t go back on it later and say it was all a lie. It would ruin my credibility-just as surely as the recordings on those chips would.”

“Let me see Pita, or I won’t do your dirty work for you.”

Chang sighed, exchanging his polite mask for a weary frown. “We really do wish to bring the spirit to heel, Ms. Harris. It has the potential to become an enormous economic liability to us. It is completely unsuited for the task for which it was originally conjured. If Wilks had listened to his researchers, all of this unpleasantness might have been avoided. He’s just lucky that he came up with that trideo footage in time, proving that the spirit could be controlled. Otherwise…

“What trideo footage?” Carla asked.

“The shots that Mr. Fader took of himself calling the spirit. He tried to pretend that he had bound the spirit to himself, and that his little demonstration in the Chrysanthemum Tower had been entirely his own work. But he did a clumsy job of editing the girl-Pita-out of the footage he shot as 'proof' of his power over the spirit. Our deckers were able to salvage pictures of her from an unwiped memory sector, and we determined that she was the one we really wanted. It was then just a matter of using the right lure and picking her up. And once again, I assure you that she is unharmed.”

Carla blinked. Pita was the one who’d sent the spirit to kill the hell hound? But Aziz had said… No. Aziz had lied to her, all along. He’d sold the kid out-and now he’d been cut out of the loop. Mitsuhama had probably paid him a small finder’s fee for the girl, then sent him on his way.

“I still insist upon seeing Pita,” she said. She forced a smile. “What harm could it do? If she really is safe.”

Chang sighed. He considered for a moment before answering. “Very well,” he said at last. “It might prove useful, after all. She’s somewhat… reluctant… to assist us. Perhaps you can talk her into it.”

He gave Carla a stern look. “If you try any tricks, it will be your credibility on the line-and on the air. Just keep that in mind when you talk to her.”

29

Pita sat on a padded chair, gripping its cushioned arms. She could smell the plastic hood that was wrapped tightly around her head and face, and the lingering perfume of one of the people who had come into the room earlier. And she could feel the warm stream of air from a beat vent overhead. But otherwise, her senses were completely blocked. The hood covered her eyes, and soft pads over her ears delivered a steady white-noise hiss. The sound made it impossible to think, let alone hear anything.

This must be the magemask that the other prisoners had warned her about, back when Pita had been in jail. She could see now why the cops used it. She felt completely disoriented, cut off. There was no way she could call to Cat, or hear Cat’s comforting purr. Her world had shrunk to a few tactile sensations and a dark, static hiss.

They hadn’t tied her up this time. They’d simply hustled her into this office, put the hood on her head, and shut the door. She’d explored the room by feel, gradually navigating her way around its table, chair, and couch, and trying the locked door. She’d even tried to remove the hood-only to find that each time she tugged on it, the static in her ears cranked up suddenly, making her dizzy and weak, if she let it alone, the sound returned to a bearable level. And so she sat in the empty room, trying to calm her breathing and slow her racing heart.

She didn’t know where she was, but she could guess. They’d driven across the Intercity 90 bridge to Bellevue, then to a two-story building whose walls were completely covered in ivy. She’d been hustled in past some heavy-duty security at the front door, through a series of hallways, and past a large room whose floor and walls were covered in strange symbols. This had to be a magical research laboratory of some sort. One owned by Mitsuhama, the corporation whose goons had been on her case since the beginning of this thing.