"Right, you ugly bastard, whoever you are,” she said to her empty apartment. "I’m coming back with some armor and defenses that’ll make even you think twice.” But when she gingerly reentered the Matrix and tracked the SAN into which the figure had vanished, her child persona drew back suddenly. It was the entrance to the Transys Neuronet system. No way! Her resolve evaporated as fast as it had formed. She didn’t intend to go headlong into the system of the most paranoid and dangerous cyber-research corporation in Britain.

Francesca didn’t like letting go of an unsolved mystery, but she knew when she needed a little help. Armor and shield programs executed from an independent frame would be just a start, but first she needed to touch base with some contacts outside the Matrix. She ignored her aching shoulders and back and keyed in the telecom code. He wasn’t home, but that was expected. She left a message instead.

“Geraint, you slippery cobber, I’ve got something a little wild on my hands. Dinner at the Savoy Grill at eight? Don’t drink too much-I need your mind intact. RSVP, Welsh boy.”

The government won by a majority of twenty-one votes, the Cambridge meeting looked worthwhile, and Geraint arrived home to find that the Empress had called. He’d been half-expecting to hear from her, yet when he wrote a card to be sent by courier, he put the date for dinner at the Savoy Hotel at two days from now. He wasn’t sure what made him want to delay. Some stubborn uncertainty in him just wasn’t ready for things to begin happening so swiftly.

The killer is satiated right now, but he’s still learning what needs to be done. With no one to mourn her, what’s left of Polly Nichols lies in the morgue. It has begun, but no one has noticed. Yet.

4

“I like the way you do that." Francesca grinned as she sat down at the table glittering with silver and crystal. “Thank you, sir!"