CARLYLE HOTEL
NEW YORK CITY
It took longer than Igor expected.
The call to the vice president had been run through two separate anonyzing switches, one in Germany, the other in Kiev. He thus had to hack into both networks and then build an algorithm designed to isolate the call by sifting through massive amounts of metadata. When, finally, his screen started flashing, he picked up his phone and dialed.
“Hi, Igor,” came the voice of Katie.
“Katie,” said Igor. “I want you to know I was only able to muster the brilliance needed to find the individual who made this call because of the memory of your beauty and sexiness. What are you wearing, by the way?”
“Ewww,” said Katie. “Just tell me who he is and where he is.”
“It’s a she, and she is in Guadalajara. Texting you details.”
“Thanks, Igor.”
“The pleasure, my beautiful flower, was all mine.”
“Does anyone ever fall for that stuff?”
“Sometimes,” said Igor. “You will someday, trust me.”
“If I ever go out on a date with you again,” said Katie, “it will be out of pity, Igor.”
“Pity is the first rung on the ladder to true passion,” said Igor.
“Hanging up now.”