Grady slowly gave him the finger. Then, as he slid past, Grady paused. He could see the guard’s suit coat was partially open, the man’s hand frozen in the act of grabbing a weapon from its holster.

Grady moved his lips slowly. “Nice try.”

Grady also noticed the edge of the man’s wallet in his coat pocket, and he slid his hand inside, encompassing it with his own hand as he withdrew it. It was still a difficult item to draw out, but after a few moments, he fumbled with the handle of the passenger door, pushed slowly outward, and finally slid through the edge of the nanofog as if being born into the world all over again.

Grady tumbled out face forward onto what felt like grass. He rolled back onto his feet and was relieved to discover he could move freely now. He looked back with concern at the open doorway of the armored SUV. The nanofog made it look like the occupants were doing major bong hits inside—except that the smoke didn’t budge. He could see the guards still immobilized. Good.

A glance around showed that the Escalade had hurtled across a local street onto a corporate lawn in front of a ten-story office building—most of which was dark at this hour. The Escalade had plowed through a section of chain-link fence there and slammed into a small oak tree—a surprisingly small one, considering it had stopped the armored vehicle cold and smashed the front end in. The entire length of the vehicle was mangled, its engine steaming and the electrical system dead.

Grady sucked in the fresh air and scanned the streets around him. He’d done it. He was free for the first time in several years. Free of the torture. Free of the cell where he’d thought he’d end his days. He looked up at the night sky. The stars.

No time.

He took another deep breath of the night air—then a quick glance at his earthbound surroundings.

No cars or people nearby. He could hear the occasional hiss of traffic passing on the highway below. Downtown Detroit was less populated than he’d thought it would be.

He couldn’t let his synesthesia distract him. There’d be time for reveling in freedom when he’d actually escaped.

There was a concrete outbuilding close at hand, slathered with graffiti, but it looked sealed up and dark. He was about forty feet off the road, and not easily visible even from the exit ramp.

Grady opened the guard’s wallet and was pleasantly surprised to see currency. The BTC apparently issued them petty cash for operations like this. It felt like a decent wad, dollars and foreign currency.

Grady tossed the man’s wallet and pocketed the bills. He moved behind the concrete shed, putting it between him and the road as car lights approached on the highway exit.

Damn! He’d almost forgotten the most important thing: Grady dropped down onto the grass and pulled off his left shoe. He felt around until he came up with the diamond q-link tracking device that was supposed to be in his spine. It caught the reflected light in a beautiful way, briefly mesmerizing him. He closed his hand around it. Better to dispose of it someplace that would delay his pursuers.

Another cautious glance around, and Grady ran along the base of the nearby office building, keeping to the shadows. He soon passed an exhaust vent for a subterranean parking structure and carefully slipped the q-link through a metal screen. He heard it ping against the sides of the shaft as it fell into the depths.

That ought to buy a little time.

He continued around the corner of the building and looked out across a broad stretch of empty parking lots rimmed with chain-link fencing and unkempt grass. He saw a brick church and some houses a couple hundred meters away. The whole area was flatter and emptier than he would have liked. He’d remembered cities being busier.

About a quarter mile away he could see what looked like a large well-lit conference center with parking structures. A line of buses idled there with their lights on.

Grady brushed the grass off and straightened his clothes. He started walking swiftly toward the huge building, approaching along a deserted service road. He glanced back but didn’t see anyone giving chase yet.

As he walked, Grady pulled the wad of cash from his pocket and furtively flipped through it as he passed under a streetlamp. Euros, some Asian bills, but also about three hundred some-odd in U.S. twenties. He slid the bills back into his pants.

So Richard Louis Cotton had been arrested? And from the way Grady’s guards had been talking, the FBI didn’t seem to be aware of the truth. He could feel the video projection device Chattopadhyay had given him in his right shoe, slipped in like a small arch support. He had to find somewhere to take that evidence. No doubt there would be a Detroit field office for the FBI, but Grady didn’t relish the idea of staying so close to BTC headquarters—wherever in town that was. It couldn’t be far. And no doubt they’d be crawling all over this place with seriously advanced technology once the guards managed to extricate themselves from the nanofog—or when they were noticed missing.

Some minutes later Grady hopped a chain-link fence and crossed a darkened parking lot to the side of the conference center. He then followed a sidewalk back toward the brightly lit entrance of the building.

As he approached, he could see children and adults in outlandish costumes standing in groups near the buses—girls in spandex tights and futuristic helmets, guys wearing robes and prosthetic noses, covered in blue makeup or wearing plastic armor as they clutched imitation laser rifles. Still others moved about in street clothes, smiling and laughing as they took pictures of cosplaying conference attendees. Grady noticed everyone wore badges on lanyards with a logo that read “Space-Con” in shimmering letters. Promotional banners for sci-fi games and TV shows hung along the conference center walls and from crossbeams.

Hundreds more people poured out through the conference center doors. They all looked tired as they ambled toward a line of idling buses. Cars streamed out of the nearby parking structure. It was probably close to midnight.

Grady moved along with the crowd, passing down the line of buses. He tried to divine where each bus was going, but they had only numbers that glowed in various hues to Grady, caressing him with their geometry. He tried to stay focused on reality as he approached a bus driver standing near an open door. A conference attendee dressed as a tentacled alien chatted nearby, smoking a cigarette. The driver looked up at Grady.

Grady nodded. “What time we get back?”

“The Grand’s just cross town, man.”

“Oh. Wrong bus, sorry.”

“Which number you looking for?”

Grady started walking. “No, I got it.” He pointed. “It’s over here. Sorry.”

Grady walked a couple buses down to another driver. “When do we get in?”

“Which stop? Lansing or East Lansing?”

“East.”

“About one fifteen.”

“Thanks.” Grady moved to board the bus.

The driver pointed. “Your badge. I need to see your badge.”

“Oh, I lost it.”

The man shook his head. “You need the badge to get on the bus.”

“But I lost it.” Grady went through his pockets.

“What do you mean you ‘lost’ it? You shoulda just left it on your neck.”

“Look . . .” Grady pulled some money from his pocket. “How about sixty bucks?”

The man shook his head. “Just go find your badge, but you got to hurry because we’re leavin’ in a few minutes.”

“It’s been a long day. I mean, let me just pay for the ride.”

“I don’t sell tickets, man. Why can’t you eggheads just follow rules?”

“Here, consider it a tip. Just let me get home.”

The guy hesitated but then furtively took the money. “Go on. Get in.”

Grady moved swiftly up the steps and down the aisle. The bus was surprisingly full, with worn-out-looking con attendees leaning against one another, eyes closed. A few still had cosplay costumes on, and Grady heard snatches of their conversation as he passed by, ducking under a plastic robotic arm.