Chapter 7

           ItwasraininginBeyoglu,andtherentedMercedesslidpastthegrilledandunlitwindowsofcautiousGreekandArmenianjewelers.Thestreetwasalmostempty,onlyafewdark-coatedfiguresonthesidewalksturningtostareafterthecar.

           `ThiswasformerlytheprosperousEuropeansectionofOttomanIstanbul,’purredtheMercedes.

           `Soit’sgonedownhill,’Casesaid.

           `TheHilton’sinCumhuriyetCaddesi,’Mollysaid.Shesettledbackagainstthecar’sgrayultrasuede.

           `HowcomeArmitagefliesalone?’Caseasked.Hehadaheadache.

           `’Causeyougetuphisnose.You’resuregettingupmine.’

           HewantedtotellhertheCortostory,butdecidedagainstit.He’dusedasleepderm,ontheplane.

           Theroadinfromtheairporthadbeendeadstraight,likeaneatincision,layingthecityopen.He’dwatchedthecrazywallsofpatchworkwoodentenementsslideby,condos,arcologies,grimhousingprojects,morewallsofplyboardandcorrugatediron.

           TheFinn,inanewShinjukusuit,sararimanblack,waswaitingsourlyintheHiltonlobby,maroonedonavelourarmchairinaseaofpalebluecarpeting.

           `Christ,’Mollysaid.`Ratinabusinesssuit.’

           Theycrossedthelobby.

           `Howmuchyougetpaidtocomeoverhere,Finn?’Sheloweredherbagbesidethearmchair.