The Blue Line Maglev whizzed through dark tunnels vibrating with holoverts pulsing down from grime-covered display units. Caldwell was wedged tightly between a middle-aged Chinese lady with an unfortunately placed mole on her upper lip and a rabbi muttering quietly to himself. The knapsack was on his lap, nestled in the crook of his arm like a mother nursing a tender new born. He spent a few moments rapt in thought. Then it hit him. They were after the console. It was the only thing that made sense, the only loose end that needed tying up. But how would Glyph know about that? Kenzo Yamamoto. The HUB. It was all starting to make sense.

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