LITMIR.BIZ

      74

      Gabriel felt the phone vibrate in his pocket and checked the caller ID.

      ‘Mother.’

      ‘Where are you?’ Kathryn said.

      ‘Following the body snatchers. They took the monk back to the Citadel. Now two of them are in some kind of dive on the edge of the Lost Quarter. The other one’s minding their van.’

      ‘What are they doing?’

      ‘No idea, but I thought I should stick with them. I figure the girl’s safe enough – so long as she’s with Arkadian.’

      ‘That’s just it,’ Kathryn said. ‘She’s not safe. She’s not safe at all.’

      Kutlar sat in the backroom of the junk-filled shop. Cornelius was to his left. Another man sat opposite, behind a desk cluttered with the guts of computers and mobile phones. Zilli was the ‘go to’ guy for under-the-counter technology. His chair squeaked every time he fed a bundle of money from a red plastic box into his counting machine. Long black hair spilled from a baseball cap advertising a tractor firm that no longer existed. Kutlar knew it hid a bald spot that no one was supposed to notice.

      Zilli’s Hawaiian shirt was the brightest thing in what looked like any junk-and-repair joint in any down-at-heel neighbourhood, but also served as a front for everything from fencing stolen property to running guns, drugs and sometimes even people. It was Zilli who had recommended the Bitch Clinic to Kutlar as a good place for gunshot wounds.

      Zilli watched the last of the notes clatter through the counter with the same gimlet gaze as an addict cooking up a shot. Then he reached under the desk, his eyes never leaving Cornelius. A small fan whirred in the silence, cooling the motherboard of an eviscerated computer.

      Kutlar felt pain lance through his leg as Zilli pulled something dull and metallic into view and pointed it at Cornelius. Cornelius didn’t flinch.

      ‘Pleasure doing business,’ Zilli said, his face cracking into a lopsided smile that revealed surprisingly perfect teeth. ‘Any friend of Kutlar …’

      He pushed the stacks of cash to one side, placed what looked like an electronic notebook in the centre of the desk and folded it open. The screen flashed into life, showing a map of the world with a blank column to its right beneath two search windows.

      ‘Chinese technology,’ Zilli said, as though he was selling them a watch. ‘Hacks seamlessly into any telecom network in the world. Just tap in a number and it’ll give you chapter and verse on all calls in and out: time, duration, even billing details and registered addresses.’

      Cornelius regarded Zilli impassively for a moment then took out a piece of paper that had been tucked inside the Abbot’s envelope. There were two names and numbers on it. Liv’s was the first. He copied it into the search box and hit return. An hourglass icon appeared on the screen and the app started trawling for a match. After a few seconds a new number appeared in the column below the search window.

      ‘It’s found the network,’ Zilli said. ‘That’s the only call logged in or out in the last twelve hours. Twelve is the default setting. You can change it in the preference menu, if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You just wind up with every pizza delivery outfit on the planet and all sorts of other shit. But here – watch this …’

      He parked the cursor over the new number. A dialog box popped up next to it listing a voicemail service. It also gave a postal address in Palo Alto, California.

      ‘That’ll be the service provider. If the number had belonged to a person, you’d now know where they live.’

      Cornelius continued to watch it chattering through the mobile phone networks trying to lock on to Liv’s phone. Kutlar glanced at Zilli, willing him to look in his direction. But he didn’t. He just kept looking at the screen. A new dialog box finally appeared: NUMBER NOT DETECTED.

      Cornelius looked at Zilli.

      ‘OK … now the thing is …’ Zilli’s chair screeched as he sat back. ‘It only works when the device you’re looking for is switched on. Mobiles send a signal every few minutes to check in with the nearest phone mast. No power, no signal, no trace. Type in a number you know is active. You’ll see what I mean.’

      The pain in Kutlar’s leg flared again as the fan moved up a gear.

      Cornelius typed his own number into the second search window and hit return. Zilli folded his hands behind his head, tilting the brim of his cap low over his eyes. His face was a mask.

      It took about ten seconds. The map which filled the main window was becoming more detailed, zooming in like a camera freefalling from space directly to the centre of Ruin. It slowed as the outline of buildings began to appear then stopped abruptly over a latticework of streets. An arrow pointed halfway along one called Trinity.

      ‘See!’ Zilli said, confident enough of the technology not to check the screen. ‘It has sat-nav capabilities too; it can triangulate an active signal to within five feet. It can also trace two numbers at a time and show you how far apart they are. Means you can track someone else’s phone relative to your own and the software will plot you a route straight to it. You just need them to switch their mobile on.’

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