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guy on the ground winced as the narrow bands dug into his wrists. “Just wait,” Turk muttered in a cold, flat voice. “World of hurt coming for you, buddy.”
    Teo watched Turk haul Jimmy to his feet and frog-march him to the nearest pillar. Turk held him in place while Fishnets wound duct tape around him, pinning him to the concrete support beam like a trapped moth.
    “All right, let’s get out of here.” Noa lifted a small radio to her mouth and said, “Back at the van in five.”
    “Copy that,” a voice crackled in response.
    And without another word, the three of them headed for the footpath.
    Teo stared after them. In less than five minutes, it felt like his whole world had been turned upside down. And now what was he supposed to do? Go Dumpster diving for dinner, then grab a little shut-eye? “Wait!” he called out.
    Noa stopped and turned to face him. “What?”
    “Take me with you,” he said, surprising himself.
    She shook her head. “That’s not how this works, Teo. Sorry.”
    “Please,” Teo pleaded. “I can help. Seriously.”
    She looked him over skeptically. “You do drugs?”
    “No.” He shook his head ferociously. “Never. I don’t drink, either.”
    Turk grumbled something, but Noa threw him a look and he shut up. She stared at Teo for a long moment, then nodded brusquely. “Fine. But any trouble and you’re out.”
    “Yeah, sure,” Teo said, hurrying to catch up. As he followed Noa through the maze of brush that led to San Bruno Street, he felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long time: hope.
     
    Peter Gregory pulled down the brim of his Red Sox cap as they passed yet another security camera. He stuck close to the office assistant escorting him; the staccato tap of her high heels punctuated the steady chatter she maintained. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to expect a response, aside from an occasional nod and sympathetic grunt. Terri was a moderately attractive woman in her midthirties with brightly hennaed hair, a form-fitting dress, and a gemstone manicure that flashed every time she waved her fingers to illustrate a point. Traces of a repressed Boston accent bubbled out during her diatribe against the gremlins bedeviling their mainframe. “It’s the third time this week the servers have gone down,” she said with another exasperated hand flourish. “Can you believe that? Do you know how embarrassing it is to explain to people that we can’t even send email?”
    Peter nodded, trying to look shocked while surreptitiously examining his surroundings. Knowing about the atrocities Pike & Dolan perpetrated, he’d expected their corporate headquarters to look more evil lair-ish. But instead of a shark tank, the lobby sported glossy floor-to-ceiling posters of cheerful people enjoying the company’s many fine products, which ranged from vitamins and shampoo to pharmaceuticals.
    The interior offices were even more of a letdown. Clearly Terri took her unofficial role as tour guide seriously; she was especially enthusiastic about a roof garden that offset carbon emissions, and the sustainably harvested bamboo floors. Listening to her prattle on, Peter was tempted to enlighten her about her employer’s off-site facilities, where kidnapped street kids were treated like lab rats. He was willing to bet that none of them featured low VOC paint and solar hot water panels.
    “For what we’re paying them,” Terri complained again, “you’d think our in-house IT guys could fix this mess.” Holding a sparkling hand beside her mouth, she lowered her voice and said, “They’ll probably all be fired over this.”
    Peter murmured something noncommittal. In spite of everything, he felt a twinge of sympathy for Pike & Dolan’s beleaguered IT department. It wasn’t their fault that the servers had crashed repeatedly after being bricked four months ago. Not only had Peter been the one to brick them, he’d made it his mission to continually develop bigger and better bugs to confound