Agency

48 Corridor

Who’s Caitlin?” Netherton asked Rainey, still muted, looking up at Verity and this Virgil, as she’d just called him. With the drone parked in the elevator now, between Verity and the stranger in black, all he could really see of them were the bottoms of their chins.

“Stetson Howell’s fiancée,” Rainey answered. “He and Verity split up a year ago. Amicably, though I doubt she’s met Caitlin before.”

“Whose idea was it, to bring me here?” Netherton heard Verity ask, the elevator ascending.

“Stets’,” the man called Virgil said, “and because I know people here, staff.”

“Why’s she here?” Verity asked him.

“She wants to be. Only reason there is, with her.”

“You say she’ll be okay,” Verity said.

“She’s a grown-up,” Virgil said. “The media attention’s something she was used to before she met him. Considering she’s the hot new flavor in global architecture, at least as far as the media are concerned, not to mention a looker, she’s easy to get along with. We all like her.”

“Who’s Virgil?” Netherton asked Rainey.

“Howell’s so-called assistant,” she said, “though he’s actually a key advisor, which is evidently how he likes it. Virgil, I mean.”

The elevator stopped, its door opening.

And then the drone was out, canted sharply back on the corset’s wheels, Virgil towing it, giving Netherton a view of passing ceiling fixtures. Along a wide pale lilac corridor, past doors painted palest daffodil.

Virgil briskly setting the pace, Netherton guessed, lest Verity change her mind.