And old man Predo. God knows how old, but so well fed, so blooded up he still looks twenty-five. Coalition whip and public face of their Secretariat. The one who straightens the rank and file. Head of the enforcers. The man who counters the Society’s drive to unite all the infecteds and take us public with the Coalition’s doctrine to unite in utter secrecy. A couple of true believers in separate corners. Guys taking potshots at each other every chance they get.

They go back.

Back to a time when Terry was up here. A time when they worked the same side. A time maybe only they and a couple other people know about. Like me.

A time I figure they’d kill to keep hidden.

I put the thoughts away. Blink. And look up into the spymaster’s eyes.

– I’m Society, Predo. I was out, now I’m back in. You want to fish for what goes on behind closed doors, find another place to drop your line. I don’t run your errands anymore and I don’t give up skinny on my people. You want to know do I care about anything, now you know.

His eyes widen.

– Heaven’s, Mr. Pitt, have you seen the light? Are you a believer again? Forgive my surprise. I was under the impression that you had taken over Society security because it was the only way Terry would tolerate you on their turf anymore. My apologies if I’ve been mistaken. I never meant to impugn your devotion to your cause.

– Impugn my ass and tell me what the hell you want.

– There, that is the Pitt I am most familiar with, the one I have come to know and manipulate with such ease in the past.

I think about throwing my chair through the covered window behind him and pushing him after it. But it’s probably safety glass and I doubt the chair would break it. And we’re only on the second floor of the Coalition’s Upper East Side brownstone anyway. So what the hell good would it do? Not like the sun’s shining out there or anything.