Free Freedom Club by Saul Garnell Page B

important fact,” Hugo added. “Even though the component manufacturers are spread out, seventy-two percent of the design was done in Japan. The Sentients think there’s a high probability our LSers are there, or have some strong relation to them.”
    Shinzou was skeptical. “The Japanese? Typically they’re ruled out. Their personality profiles don’t match well.”
    “We can’t make assumptions about their location. Maybe this group targets outside their home country. It certainly is safer.”
    Shinzou nodded slowly. “But much harder to execute. Okay, well, you never know anything until all the facts are in. Speaking of which, if you want me to help, I need data. When can I look at the design database?”
    Hugo twisted uncomfortably in his chair and began to drum his fingers on his desk. “That’s another issue. The firm that operates the system here in Phoenix, Vitalli, is just a sub-contractor. The primary service is out in Bengaluru. Sri-Ooti Dobinski Clearing. You ever heard of them?”
    Actually, Shinzou did know the name. But it didn’t feel right to reveal that fact. Or maybe he just liked watching Hugo squirm a bit. Playing stupid was part of the game.
    He shrugged. “Maybe. It sounds familiar. There are so many. But the market always changes and the names get chopped up.”
    Hugo nodded. “Anyway, I need you to get started. I’ll be working with my contacts in Chindo. I’ll also get a Purchase Order for your time and once your security status is updated I’ll send you all the information we have to date.”
    “Sounds good.”
    “For this case we’ll probably have to deal heavily with the Chindo Union and Japan. Throw in some molecular biology and I think you can see why I called you on Christmas Eve.”
    Shinzou chortled. “Yes, this does seem like work that I am well suited for.”
    “Just remember,” Hugo asserted. “I really need to make budget this quarter. So I’m counting on you! If this heats up, well, get ready to eat lots of curry on us!”
    Shinzou frowned and shook his head. “Bangys don’t eat curry. It’s primarily sambar in the south.”
    “Yes, well, whatever’s popular these days,” Hugo sniffed.
    S umeet dreaded Hiral’s reaction to their venue, but it was better than a grimy dhaba serving rasam and sambar. No way! That would get him killed. But a convincing explanation would be needed, and Ganesh’s logic wouldn’t do. Pondering his dilemma, he briskly walked past the haute couture boutiques on Church Street and entered the Oriental Bazaar shopping mall entrance, where the cool air of the building’s airlock provided relief from the outside drizzle and humidity.
    Ignoring a blitz of music and robotic shop hawkers, Sumeet blindly made his way toward the restaurant arcade on the seventieth floor. Just past the central promenade’s hodgepodge of sushi bars and Asian restaurants, the Union Wok’s towering marquee lamp pulsated in Kannada, a language on the verge of extinction but still appreciated by whimsical locals.
    With a brief sigh, Sumeet ignored the multi-spectral Chinese-style lamp as he stepped through the restaurant’s noren shrouded entranceway. Surrounded on both sides by spherical saltwater aquariums, he approached the reception as a floater targeted him for assistance.
    “Can I help you, sir?” asked the robotic maître’d.
    Sumeet searched past its spherical shell, hoping to make out his party. It was dark inside. All he could make out was a sea of bobbing heads and the bustle of crawlers, which picked at shiny dishes with claw-like arms.
    “Yes,” he finally said. “I am here to join some friends. I have a reser—”
    “Sumeet R. Yes, welcome back,” it replied. “I believe one of your party members is already here.”
    Sumeet looked up at the floater as it displayed a still picture of Ganesh making provocative hand signs.
    Sumeet smirked begrudgingly. “Yes, he’s with me, unfortunately.”
    “I will escort the remainder of your party