“All right,” Skeeter said tersely, “we’ll follow your lead, Margo.”
They set out in silence.
* * *
Kit was in his office at the Neo Edo Hotel, trying to placate outraged tourists and worrying about the rapidly dwindling supply of foodstuffs in the hotel’s larder, when word came: Lachley had been spotted at Goldie’s apartment. The security radio he carried everywhere crackled to life with a generalized call to every member of the volunteer security force.
“Code Seven Red, Residential Zone Two. Lachley’s on the run, last spotted heading into the subbasements. All teams are hereby reactivated. Report in for a zone assignment.”
Kit clattered the phone down in the middle of a wealthy dowager’s tirade and snatched up the radio. “Kit Carson reporting.”
“Kit, take Zone Seventeen again, same search team and pattern.”
“Roger.”
He picked up the telephone and started calling members of his team. They met on Commons, which stretched away in an echoing, empty vista of deserted shops and restaurants, the floors scattered with refuse no one had yet cleaned up. Alarm sirens hooted at intervals and lights flashed overhead, red and malevolent. Sven Bailey arrived first, followed by Kynan and Eigil. To Kit’s intense dismay, Molly and Bergitta were with them, both women moving with a determined grimness that boded ill for reasoning with them. “We aim t’help,” Molly said without preamble, “an’ nuffink you say will stop us.”
Bergitta, who had finally recovered from a terrible beating and gang-rape at the hands of the Ansar Majlis, gave an emphatic nod. “I will not stay hidden when this man attacks our home. We will help drive him out.”