"This is the place," Remo said. "He wasn't lying."
Remo looked around. There was no one on the corner. It was two A.M. on a filthy empty street where even muggers were afraid to venture out. Policemen rode two to a car with guns cocked and ready on their laps.
Behind them was a small branch bank. It was closed for the night and the only sound in the garment district was the sewer rats scurrying from one garbage bin to the other.
"He told me his contact was always ready for him. Always. I assumed it meant twenty-four hours a day," Remo said.
"He's beaten us again," Pamela said disconsolately.
"How do you know it's a he? I only have a number for him. Two-forty-two. How do you know that 242 is a he?"
"Until we see her, it's a him," Pamela said. She started to say more, then stopped. She looked to Remo excitedly. "He's here." She nodded toward the bank.
Remo looked inside and sensed nothing alive. This was not altogether unusual because sometimes when it was filled with bank employees, he got the same sensation.
"Where?" said Remo.
Pamela nodded again, this time toward the automatic card machine, a gray metal box set into the stone of the building front.
"Punch in that number," she said. "Go ahead."
Remo punched in 2-4-2. The screen lit up. Bright green numbers appeared on a gray background. The numbers blinked for a moment and were replaced by letters. It was a message:
"CONGRATULATIONS ON A SUCCESSFUL ASSIGNMENT. PLEASE TELL ME HOW WELL YOU DID."
"Go ahead." Pamela nudged Remo.
"We killed the man and the woman," Remo said.
The screen printed out:
"ARE YOU SURE?"
"Sure. He died well," Remo said. "The woman made a lot of noise."
"WHAT KIND OF NOISE?" the screen printed.
"Good noise," said Remo. He looked to Pamela and shrugged. What was he supposed to say?
"YOU LIE," said the machine.
"How do you know?"
"BECAUSE I CAN SEE YOU. I CAN SEE YOU AND THAT BIGTITTED BRIT TROUBLEMAKER. TELL HER I WANT HER TO LICK THAT FIRE HYDRANT."
"Take a hike," Remo said.
"WHO ARE YOU? I CANNOT FIND OUT WHO YOU ARE."
"You're not supposed to," Remo said.
The machine's cash drawer opened. A stack of hundred-dollar bills an inch high appeared.
"What's this for?" Remo asked.
"FOR YOU. WHO ARE YOU?"
Remo took the money and slammed it back into the cash drawer, then shoved the drawer shut.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" came the printed message.
"To destroy you," Remo said. "I am coming to kill you."
The machine blinked again as though in some sort of joy and flashed out an insane jumble of letters and numbers. Then it flashed again in capitals:
"CONGRATULATIONS, WHOEVER YOU ARE. YOU ARE WORTH 50,000 POINTS."
The machine went dead dark in the night.
"It's gone. Bugger it, it's gone," Pamela said.
"Maybe we can trace it," Remo said.
"I hope so, I want to shoot his nougats off," said Pamela.
"You're a vicious little thing, aren't you?"
"I didn't bash in those three blokes at my flat, you know. And with my good spread, too. You did. You're violent. That's because you're an American. I'm British. I only do what is necessary to keep a bit of order in this world."
"Well, order this for a while," Remo said. "Figure out how we can find out who's using this bank's computer system."
"We can't," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because it's at the bank's main headquarters down on Wall Street. And the information storage is shielded behind steel doors that can't be opened by outsiders and can't be penetrated by another computer."
"But people can get into it," Remo said.
"They have guards and guns and walls and gates and things. Really, it's impossible."
"Yeah, yeah," Remo said. "You coming?"
"You want me now?" said Pamela.
"I've got to have someone who tells me what we'll find. If we get in to that computer thingamajig, can we get to whoever's behind this?"