“Theo Boratto.” Vincent frowned. “That was the night we picked up Raimi.”

“Who?”

“Capac Raimi. The guy we let walk.”

I thought back. I’d been part of a support platoon sent to eliminate Boratto and his cohorts. Tasso had lined us up beforehand and described a young man who would be with Boratto. He wasn’t to be harmed. If necessary, we were to sacrifice our own lives before jeopardizing his. No reason was given.

“He’s working for The Cardinal now, isn’t he?” I asked, recalling scraps of gossip I’d picked up in Shankar’s.

“Sure as shit is,” Vincent growled. “The Cardinal’s pet monkey.”

A tall man in a white uniform appeared beneath us and called up, “Mr. Carell?”

“Yeah?” Vincent replied, leaning over the bar.

“I’m Dr. Sines. You’re here to pick up Miss Skylight?”

“Got it in one, Doc.”

Sines didn’t say much as he led the way through the arteries of the Fridge. Five minutes later we entered a large, spotlessly white operating room. Stiff corpses hung from the walls by steel hooks, entrails tumbling down their fronts. I’d been startled the first time I saw them. Thought they were real. It was only when I noticed the pathologist laughing that I realized they were fakes. Lab humor — go figure.

Other doctors and assistants circled the room, ignoring us, up to their elbows in blood and gore.

Our cargo was lying facedown on a slab, naked, whitish-blue.

“I’ve taken her prints, measurements, photographs,” Dr. Sines said. “Had to work quickly. Been examining her back while I was waiting. A clumsy piece of work.”

The back in question had been carved to pieces. Long slashes, deep gouges, thin red cuts and violent purple punctures. An uneven circle had been etched between her shoulder blades, several straight lines radiating from it at tangents.

“What’s that?” I asked.