of the burglary, and only posted to the forum three times.”
“How could it have been him if he was posting?”
“This is three posts over a period of three hours. His usual rate is almost ten times that amount. If he is the DIE you’re looking for, he would have been working from at least one connected device. He could have easily posted to the forums during a quiet moment. Or three.”
“Can you track the IP address of the posts? See if it matches the network ID at the rampartment compound?”
“Each post is from a different IP. Obfuscation is indicated, as these IP addresses match known VPN servers located in central Europe.”
Enda put the phone on speaker on the vanity counter, wiped herself, flushed the toilet, and washed her hands. When the roar of water gave way to the hiss of the cistern, she asked: “What about the IP address he usually posts from?”
“Processing,” Natalya said.
Enda waited patiently, inspecting herself in the mirror. Bed hair, yellow crust in the corner of her eyes. She splashed water on her face, but didn’t bother to wash it.
“Over ninety percent of his forum posts originate at a virtual reality café.”
“Send me the address,” Enda said.
“Done.”
“Thank you, Natalya.”
The Mechanic hung up without another word, and Enda couldn’t help but smile at her brutal efficiency.
Enda washed her pits at the sink. She ran her tongue over furry teeth, and swished coffee around her mouth, hoping it would do enough to mask the lingering smell of Crystal on her breath. She left the bathroom and found Crystal sitting up in bed, sipping coffee with her long legs stretched out, feet pointed like a ballerina.
Crystal put her cup down on the bedside table and patted the mattress. “You should come back to bed.”
Enda chewed her lower lip but shook her head. “I can’t.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Crystal said.
Enda’s throat ached as she swallowed. “Oh, I know you will. But I can’t.”
Crystal stood and walked around the bed. She touched a hand to Enda’s face and kissed her slowly on the neck. A chill ran down Enda’s spine, and Crystal kissed her again, leaving a trail up her neck before nibbling on her earlobe.
Enda exhaled loud. “Fine, but we have to be quick.”
* * *
When they were done, Enda climbed out of bed onto legs like jelly.
“Pass me your phone,” Crystal said.
Enda handed her the phone without thinking, and quickly dressed. She collected her bag from the corner of the room, still weighed down with her less-lethal arsenal. If she’d known her investigations would lead to an overnight rendezvous, she would have packed spare clothes—at least some spare underwear. Still, her appearance was hardly a concern when she was only tracking a porn-obsessed adolescent boy.
Enda watched Crystal pose for a photo, a cheeky smile framed by the waves of hair falling on either side of her face. She keyed her digits into the phone, walked around the bed, and gave it back to Enda. She leaned in painfully, teasingly slow, and they kissed.
“You have my number now. Call me.”
Enda stepped past Crystal and stood in the bedroom door. “I’m going to be busy,” she said. It was the truth, but it served as a lie.
“I’ll call you then,” Crystal said.
“I won’t answer,” Enda said beneath her breath. She hurried down the hallway, leaving Crystal, and their night together, behind.
* * *
Enda threw four breath mints into her mouth and their cool sweetness seeped across her tongue. She exhaled breath like ice and peered across the street at Osman’s apparent home base, a virtual reality café called the Varket.
The café’s neon sign glowed bright above the vantablack entrance, the footpath outside clear of pedestrians. Close by, a knot of people gathered beneath overlapping umbrellas. They stared at the café with haunted looks.
The hairs stood tall on the back of Enda’s neck. She pushed the sensation from her mind and crossed the road, ignoring the flash of red beneath her feet and the rain that fell steadily onto her head. At the café door she stopped to glance over her shoulder—most everyone on the street had paused, as though she’d stumbled onto a film set and all the extras were waiting at their marks. Enda went inside and pulled the door closed, shutting out the city.
Every surface in the café was painted black—scratched and scuffed in places, revealing layers of other black, gloss layers, matte layers, archaeological strata of black paint recording the years. The floor was sticky beneath