He’d been waiting for Tamara since just after one o’clock that afternoon, arriving at the Venice Hilton early to avert any suspicion. He’d checked into room 2305 seemingly at random, but had actually chosen it from a list stored in his internal headware memory of rooms within range of Tamara’s simlink transmitter. He’d had plenty of time to set up the Truman Realink simrecorder and double-check the mods that would make the signals to and from the simrig implanted in Tamara’s head look, at a glance, like portable telecon carrier waves.