“Ajay’s handy,” said Heidi.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?” Hollis asked.

Ajay grinned.

“We were waiting for you,” Heidi said. “If you didn’t turn up, we were going to the gym. Ajay’s the one who told me about your boyfriend.”

“An absolutely blinding ’chutist,” said Ajay, solemnly, lowering the figurine. “Seen him twice, ’round the pubs. Regret to say I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Do you know where he is?” Hollis asked. “How he is? I’ve just learned about his accident. I’m terribly worried.”

“Neither, really, sorry,” said Ajay. “Though if there had been further bad news, we’d have heard something. He’s very well-thought-of, your man. Has his fan base.”

“Do you know any way that I might find out?”

“He’s private. Not at all clear what he does, aside from the odd jump. Do you want me to open this?” Holding up the ant. “Heidi’s got the perfect set of tools for it. Building her Breast Chaser.” He grinned.

“Your what?” Hollis asked Heidi.

“It’s therapy,” Heidi said, crossly. “My psychiatrist taught me.”

“What is?”

“Plastic models,” said Heidi. She sat up, put her feet on the floor, toenails freshly and glossily blackened.

“Your psychiatrist taught you to build models?”

“He’s Japanese,” Heidi said. “You can’t make a living as a psychiatrist in Japan. They don’t really believe in it. So he came to L.A. Office near fuckstick’s, Century City.”

Ajay had crossed to the intricately inlaid vanity, on which Hollis now saw small tools, plastic parts still attached to their molding-trees, miniature cans of spray paint, narrow-tipped brushes. All of this spread over a thick layering of newspaper. “This’ll do it,” he said, seating himself on the low stool, and raising a thin rod of aluminum, tipped with a small isosceles blade. Hollis peered over his shoulder. Saw a brightly colored box standing against the mirror, printed with a painting of a very militant-looking robot warrior in a sort of Aztec headdress, the words BREAST CHASER in sans serif caps. The rest of the writing was in Japanese.

“Why do they call it that?” Hollis asked.

“ ‘Engrish,’ ” said Heidi, with a shrug. “ ‘Beast,’ maybe? Or sometimes they just like the shape of the letters. It’s a beginner’s kit.” This last addressed to Ajay, accusingly. “I ask him to get me a kit by Bandai, something in their Gundam series, expert-grade. Gold standard of figure kits. He brings me fucking Breast Chaser Galvion. Thinks it’s funny. Not Bandai, not Gundam. A kid’s kit.”

“Sorry,” said Ajay, who’d obviously heard about this before.

“You build them?” Hollis asked.

“Helps me focus. Calms me down. Fujiwara says it’s the only thing that works, for some people. Only thing that works for him.”

“He does it himself?”

“He’s a master. Incredible airbrush technique. Scratch-built modifications.”

“Do you want me to open this?” Ajay jiggled the tip of the razor knife.

“Yes,” said Hollis.

“If it’s full of anthrax, we’ll all be sorry.” He winked.

Heidi got up from the bed and came over. “Hey. Don’t blunt that.”

“It’s vinyl,” said Ajay, laying the ant down, on its back, and deftly wielding the razor knife. Hollis watched the tip of the blade slide smoothly into the side of the round base. “Yes. Been cut, glued. Easy. There.” The bottom of the base lay flat on the newsprint, a round of blue a few millimeters thick. “Well,” said Ajay, peering into the twin small tunnels of the ant’s hollow legs, “what’s this, then?” He put down the knife, picked up a long, slender pair of tweezers, with canted tips, and inserted them into one leg. He looked up at Hollis. “Watch. I’m going to pull out… a rabbit!” He produced, gradually, a spongy sheet of thin yellow foam. Displayed it dangling limply from the tweezers’ sharp jaws, five inches square. “Rabbit,” he said, dropping it. “And for my next trick…” He inserted the tweezers again. Felt around with them. And slowly, carefully, drew out a two-inch length of narrow, transparent flexible tubing, plugged at either end with a tiny red cork. “Looks like very professional funny business to me.” There were various differently cylindrical bits of metal and plastic inside the tube, like a section of a hippie-techno necklace. He looked at it more closely, then looked up at Hollis, raising his eyebrows.

“Huh,” said Heidi, “ant’s been LoJacked. Bigend.”

“I’m not sure,” said Hollis. “Can they hear us?” she asked Ajay, suddenly afraid.

“No,” he said. “It was sealed in the doll. The foam was to keep it from rattling. You’d never set up an audio bug that way. You’d want a little needle mike, through the vinyl, for that. This is a transponder and a battery. What do you want to do with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can replace it. Reglue the base. I’ll bet Heidi can fix it so you’d never know we opened it.”

“I’m much more concerned with Garreth at the moment,” said Hollis.

“We’ve discussed that,” said Heidi. “You have to call that number. That’s all. If that doesn’t get him, plan B.”

“Or,” said Ajay, still considering the tracker bug, “you could keep this, but reglue your ant. That would give you a degree of lateral control.”

“How do you mean?”

“If you keep the bug hidden in the vicinity of the ant, rather than in the ant, they’ll think it’s still in the ant. So they’ll assume the bug is where the ant is. It has possibilities. Bit of wiggle room.” He shrugged.

“I’ve had it since Vancouver,” Hollis said to Heidi. “Hubertus gave it to me. I thought I’d left it there, deliberately, but then I found it in my luggage, in New York. Somebody here put it in my bag before I went to Paris.”

“Do what Ajay says,” Heidi said, tousling his waterfall. “He’s handy. Now come with me.”

“Where?”

“Your room. You’re going to make that call. I’ll be your witness.”

Bigend was having the No. 7 Breakfast: two fried eggs, black pudding, two slices of bacon, two slices of bread, and a mug of tea. “They get the black pudding right, here,” he said. “It’s so often overcooked. Dry.”

Milgrim and Fiona were having Thai noodle dishes, which Milgrim found an unexpected option in a place serving the sort of breakfast Bigend was having, but Fiona had explained that the Thais had quite seamlessly integrated the two, much in the way Italians had once learned to offer the full English, in a setting of pasta, but even more convincingly.

It was a tiny place, crowded, not much larger than Bigend’s Vegas cube, the clientele a mixture of office workers, builders, and the arts-oriented, consuming lunch or late breakfast. The china and tableware were random, unmatched, and Bigend’s mug of tea bore a smiling teddy bear.

“You don’t think Foley was following me in Paris?”

“You went back to the hotel,” Bigend said. “I phoned and said that Aldous would be picking you up. You were using a phone Sleight gave you, but I didn’t say where you were going, or who you were meeting. Fiona followed the Hilux.” He nodded in her direction.

“No tails,” said Fiona.

“But I’d phoned Hollis first,” Bigend said, “to find out where she’d be, in order to send you there. They might have overheard that. But if your Foley was there just as you arrived, I imagine he either followed Hollis to Selfridges or knew that she’d be going there.”

“Why would they be interested in Hollis? What does she have to do with Myrtle Beach and those army pants?”

“You,” said Bigend, “and me. They may have seen us all together at lunch, the day before. Sleight has allies within Blue Ant, almost certainly. They would assume that Hollis may be involved with our contracting project. And she is, of course.” Bigend forked a large piece of bacon into his mouth, and chewed.

“She is?”

Bigend swallowed, drank tea. “I’d like to see what the Gabriel Hounds designer could do for us for military contracting.”