Julian Vance looked down at the telephone turret.
Line Three was still pulsing with that slow, steady three-second heartbeat.
In the cue speaker, the hum of the commercial dairy compressor buzzed against the floor. Devon Park was breathing hard into the plastic mouthpiece, his knuckles clicking against the counter in District Four.
“Clara,” Julian said. “Confirm verification.”
Clara kept her fingers locked around the black rubber neck of the butt-set. Her carrier-wave synesthesia was tuned to the copper trunk line running seven miles northwest into the commercial district.
“Biological rhythm verified,” Clara said. “Heart rate one hundred and ten.”
“Breath cadence twenty-two cycles per minute. He has a slight bronchial rasp in his left lung. The acoustic reflection matches a seven-hundred-square-foot retail floor with vinyl tile and four aisles of steel shelving.”
“Any capstan flutter?” Julian asked.
