Kylar Luppas sat in the back seat of the Toyota Elite limousine opposite his second-in-command. He stared through the one-way window at the public telecom across the street at the side of the Stuffer Shack. They’d followed Kossuth’s directions to this spot as the decker made his way through the Matrix, tracing the LTG number Luppas had scanned from the Johnson in the van at Neon Sunsets. Luppas was hoping to find more than a public-access area. And to set up a security team over the area if he deemed it a worthwhile pursuit.