Second Skin by Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online

Nicholas thought. Who or what the hell are they? Sato has no partners in TransRim!
    Down on the dance floor, Tōrin was holding a Kami, using the touch screen to dial a number. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is a historic occasion and I am honored that all of you are here to witness the first official digital video communication via the TransRim CyberNet. Please direct your attention to the screen.’
    ‘Moshi-moshi.’ The screen had lit up. It was filled with the face of the prime minister of Japan. The clarity and detail of the digital image was astounding.
    Nicholas glanced over at the table Tōrin had been seated at, wanting to see the look on McKnight’s face, but he could not find him. His place was empty. No one seemed to notice he was missing except Nicholas.
    ‘Prime Minister,’ Tōrin said. ‘This is Kanda Tōrin, vice president of CyberNet Operations for Sato International speaking to you from the nightclub Indigo in Shinjuku.’
    ‘Greetings, Tōrin-san,’ said the prime minister. He looked gray and tired. Nicholas was not surprised. ‘This is Prime Minister Takanobu, speaking to you from the floor of the Tokyo Stock Exchange in Nihonbashi. My word, Tōrin-san, but you look your best in that tuxedo. Would you or any of your distinguished guests care to execute a trade on the New York Stock Exchange?’
    His comment was greeted by a roar of laughter from the assembled guests, which was quickly followed by a long round of thunderous applause. As the demonstration proceeded, to the continuing delight of the audience, Nicholas slipped out of his seat and, keeping to the shadows, exited the nightclub. He crossed the mezzanine lobby and had entered the chairman’s elevator to go up to check on the CyberNet data transfer when he saw McKnight striding quickly out of the men’s room on the far side of the lobby. McKnight, who had no view of Nicholas inside the private elevator car, went into Indigo.
    Nicholas pressed the button for the fortieth floor and the bronze door began to close. At the last instant, he shoved his foot between the door and the frame, punched the DOOR OPEN button. He peered across the lobby. Another man had come out of the men’s room. He had gone immediately to the bank of public elevators, pressed the UP button.
    Now, as Nicholas strode quickly out of the chairman’s elevator, the man slumped against the wall and would have collapsed completely had Nicholas not caught him. Still, he was all but dead weight.
    Nicholas thought he had recognized him from across the lobby, and now he was sure. This was Kappa Watanabe, one of the R&D techs in charge of making the CyberNet data transfer. He should have been on the fortieth floor. What was he doing coming out of the men’s room on the mezzanine? And what had happened to him?
    ‘Watanabe-san,’ Nicholas said, but there was no response. The tech’s eyes were mere slits, but the pupils were dilated and unfocused.
    Nicholas listened to Watanabe’s heartbeat and pulse. Both were unnaturally slow, as if he were slipping into a coma. And unless Nicholas was mistaken, a faint bluish tinge was coming into Watanabe’s lips. Nicholas was about to call for an ambulance when he noticed the fingers of the tech’s right hand. They were curled inward in a curious kind of clawlike gesture.
    Quickly, with some alarm, Nicholas pried open the stiff digits in order to get a look at the palm. He had seen these same symptoms before on someone lying along Vung Tau, the beachfront southeast of Saigon. Peering at Watanabe’s palm, he found what he was looking for: a tiny puncture wound, dark blue around its edges.
    Nicholas remembered the oddly clawed hand on the snorkler who had washed up on that beach in Vung Tau. The man, already dead, created not a ripple of notice.
    He had asked a local fisherman what had happened and he was told that the unfortunate man had been lanced by a Banh Tom. The innocuous-sounding ‘prawn pancake’ was, in fact, a dangerously