Now Attila was rolling in wealth, a fragging mil in the Cayman Island banks, eighty-five kay on his personal stick, and a confirmed chip dealer. He knew a good thing when he found it. Smuggling guns was crudcreds compared to boosting industrial chips. Some serious nuyen spread about on the streets of Addis Ababa gave him names to contact in Angola. A deal was quickly cut with some slaves, surprisingly easy too, and here he was sailing to Brazil in style, the little lovely at his feet carrying his next million surgically implanted inside her collapsed left lung. After the stolen Chinese chips were extracted in Rio, he’d sell her to the local snuff jockeys, then see what Seattle had to offer in way of fun and biz. That was the place to be these days. Yar, life was almost too fragging wonderful to believe. And he was supposed to worry about some snake? Ha!