From: Lester <maxim@netcom.com>
Date: Mon, 27 Oct 1997 19:38:46 -0800 (PST)
Subject: Logo Fyles #11
Message-id: <Pine.3.89.9710271927.A20770-0100000@netcom19>
Kam: Crypto intercepted this depeche from GOBBO, but were unable to break it. Skudler's gone home, so I'm passing it on to you. Here it is:Dear Cole,
Mix the cheap KB with the street kind. Cops taking no crap. All the same, Sergeant Pepper will train tiger with singsong. Actress to check Trollop books tonight. Send card.
-- C.A.B. Terminate.
That's it, Kam. Good luck. See you when you get back, perhaps? Z.
Brond put the fax in his pocket and finished packing. He went around the flat, turning things off. He thought of calling Kora, chassed the idea, and left.
A taxi was parked up the street, motor running, internal light on. A dark-haired woman sat in the driver's seat, mouping on lamb korma stuffed in naan. She's frack, Brond thought, but the look she gave him was glacial, chilblain class. She nodded at his unasked question. The cab was free. Brond dushed himself and his dorlach into the back. The driver continued eating, deliberately.
He took the coded message out of his pocket and puzzled over it while she finished. His brow was furrowed as she started up. The furrows deepened as she turned left on Spring Street, heading towards the terminal.
He deciphered the message not a moment too soon.