"You know, Peabody could do this."
"Jesus, Feeney." Somebody had to get going, so keeping her gaze trained over his shoulder, she yanked up her shirt. "Put the damn thing where it goes."
The next five minutes were mortifying for both of them.
"You, ah, want to hold your shirt out for a couple of minutes, till the skin strip dries."
"I've got it."
"I'll be on the tracker myself. We'll be able to monitor your location through your heartbeat. We rigged this wrist unit." Relieved the worst was over, he picked it up from the table. "The mike's low frequency, so it shouldn't pop on a scan, but its range is a joke, and you're going to have to talk straight into it for us to pick you up. This is just backup."
"I'll take it." Eve removed her own unit, replaced it. "Anything else I should know?"
"We're positioning men all over Grand Central. You won't be on your own. Nobody moves in until you give the go-ahead, but they're there."
"Good to know."
"Dallas, any protective gear over your chest will jam the tracker."
She stared at him. "No vest?"
"Your choice. Gear or tracker."
"Hell, they're more likely to blast me in the head, anyway."
"Goddamn it."
"Joking." But she rubbed a hand over her mouth. "Any line on the target?"
"Nothing so far."
"You looked over the droids at Branson T and T?"
"Yeah, they've got a new Brainiac line." He smiled a little now. "New shell covering, too. Next best to skin. But they're toys," he added. "I didn't see anything full size."
"Doesn't mean they aren't there. Those toys capable of acting out a scene like what happened at Branson's?"
"If they were six foot instead of six inches, yeah. I'd say. Creepy little bastards, you ask me."
"That's my personal 'link," she said when she heard the signal. "I have to take this. It's private."
"Okay, I'll be outside. We're ready to roll when you are."
Alone, she took out her 'link, engaged the privacy mode by unfolding and slipping on her headphones. "Dallas."
"I have your data, Lieutenant." Roarke's eyes narrowed. "Where's your shirt?"
"Somewhere. Here." She grabbed it up. "What have you got?"
"She checks out easily if you skim the first few levels. Born in Kansas thirty-six years ago, parents are teachers, pure middle class, one sister, married with son. She went through the local school system, worked for a short time as a department store clerk. She married Branson about ten years ago, moved to New York. I assume you have all that."
"I want what's under it."
"So I thought. The names her records show as parents did indeed have a daughter named Clarissa born thirty-six years ago. However, she died at the age of eight. Scraping off the levels, we find this dead child with school and employment records and a marriage license."
"Bogus."
"Yes, indeed. A little dip into Clarissa Stanley's medical files indicates she hasn't seen the age of thirty-six for some time. She's forty-six. Tracing the data input, it appears Clarissa was reborn twelve years ago. Whoever, whatever she was before, has been wiped. I might be able to jiggle some out, but it won't be quick."