Dialogos: Ready when you are.
TORquil: Glad to hear it. And how is Aunt Ludmilla?
The noise and chatter of Beans of Steel faded into the background. Greg stared at the suspicious Cyrillic characters populating his laptop. TORquil, whoever he or she was, did not believe they were talking to the real Dialogos. Hardly surprising in the circumstances. He took a quick sip of coffee before typing.
Dialogos: Aunt Ludmilla is as she always is. Drunk on sake in a Vladivostok whorehouse.
TORquil: It’s been years, D! Thought you were dead!
Dialogos: Just taking it easy.
TORquil: What can I do for you? Have you brought me a voting machine to play with?
A couple of students, one Asian, the other Asian-American, sat at the table next to Greg, chatting animatedly about some project. Seeing his eyepatch, they both gave him a curious look before returning to their conversation. Greg watched them back until he was satisfied they were exactly what they appeared to be. Only then did he return to his screen.
Dialogos: Something less interesting, I’m afraid. I want you to hack a mobile phone. The number is …
Cursing himself for growing old, he switched screens and rechecked the school’s parent directory. It was, in fact, as he remembered it.
Dialogos: +1 412-555-4769.
TORquil: Is there anything I need to know about this phone? Anything unusual?
Greg hesitated.
Dialogos: I have reason to believe it might be in the hands of the police.
TORquil: Local or something more high-powered?
Dialogos: I don’t know. I’m too far from the situation to tell.
TORquil: OK. I will be more careful. Understand: if the phone is unpowered or inside a Faraday cage, I won’t be able to get to it. No refunds, remember?
Dialogos: I remember. Your usual fee?
TORquil: It’s been three years, D. Add thirty percent.
Greg winced. His ‘pension’ wasn’t really big enough for this.
Dialogos: Done. Let me know ASAP.