NYPD Red 6 - James Patterson Page 0,86

me last week.”

“He came to see you? Why?”

“To apologize on behalf of Kinjo. They signed one of the most recognizable people on the planet to be the spokeswoman for their new product. She did a commercial saying, ‘With LyfeTracker, you can find me anywhere.’ Then she goes missing, and nobody can find her. Zach, the man was embarrassed beyond belief, but to his credit, he took full responsibility for the product failure.”

“And you think he’s going to be the fall guy?”

“Let me put it this way. Kinjo had big plans to roll LyfeTracker out around the world. Now it’s in the scrap heap, and the only thing that’s going to roll are heads. The smart money is on Peter’s. Corporate culture is a bitch.”

Thirty minutes later we were in a conference room in Kinjo’s Fifth Avenue office sitting around a massive rosewood table with six men in suits. On an eight-foot screen that dominated the far wall was Kang Woo Ki, sitting in front of a laptop in his home seven thousand miles and thirteen time zones away. His eyes were bleary, his hair looked like he’d combed it with an eggbeater, and he was definitely not wearing a suit. He was in close-up, so for all I knew, he was sitting in his boxer shorts. Clearly, he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Woon opened the session by exchanging a few remarks with Mr. Kang. It was in Korean, so I could only guess what was said. Woon might have simply been explaining why the man had been dragged out of bed. Or, since Kang was the company’s senior engineer, the two of them might have been making plans to get stinking drunk after their first trip to the unemployment line.

Introductions were made, and finally, Kang, speaking in perfect English, said, “How can I help you, Detectives?”

“The chip that Ms. Easton was wearing stopped transmitting data over a month ago,” I said.

He winced and gave a slight head bow.

“The question is, was it still recording her movements?”

He pondered that briefly. “In theory. The satellite connection was flawless. The problem was that the elements we used for the transmitter—”

I had no time for a science lesson or a mea culpa. “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “You are saying that in theory, the chip was gathering data. If that’s true, then her whereabouts—even after the transmitter failed—would be embedded in the LyfeTracker.”

“Forget in theory,” he said, his voice stronger as he cleared the cobwebs from his head. “Most definitely.”

Magic words. Kylie and McMaster sat forward in their chairs.

“How do we retrieve it?” I said.

“I’m afraid you can’t do that.”

Kylie dropped the flat of her fist onto the table and blew the exasperation from her lungs.

And then …

“Correction,” Kang said. “You could retrieve the information, but not without Ms. Easton’s permission.”

“Why do we need her permission?” Kylie called out to the giant screen.

“The chip is in her body,” Kang said. “You can’t just rip it out of the woman. It’s a violation of her—”

“It’s already been ripped,” Kylie said, standing up. “I have it right here.”

She held up the evidence bag that we’d picked up before we left the precinct. A loud, long “Ohhhh” came from the men around the table. We hadn’t told anybody, them included, that Dodd had cut the chip out of Erin’s arm.

This seemed like a good time to fill them in.

“So if the chip was removed, it wasn’t a failure on the part of LyfeTracker that the police couldn’t find her,” Peter Woon said, his Wharton-educated brain rewriting history to save his corporate ass. “Detective, can you make a public statement to that effect?”

We’re all whores in one way or another. We get into bed with strangers because we have something they want, and they have something we need.

“Once this case has been resolved,” I said, “the department would be happy to tell the press that the kidnapper removed your tracker from Erin’s arm because he was concerned that we would use it to find her.” And I will leave out the fact that the damn thing was broken anyway, so it was a wasted effort on Dodd’s part.

Wide smiles and animated Korean chatter around the room as the suits realized that their company’s reputation could be salvaged.

“Mr. Kang,” Kylie said, cutting through the din. “Now that we have the chip, can you help us figure out where it’s been since it stopped transmitting? And no more theories, please.”

“Yes, I can. All we