"Frag," she breathed. This was going to be tricky. She didn’t want Modal to spot her, but she had to meet with her Johnson. No meet, no payment. No payment, no contribution to the Sharon Young Retirement Fund. Frag it till it bleeds, she thought. Was there some way to send a message to Smeland, tell her to direct the Johnson back here? Dump a message onto the screen of the bar cash register, maybe? But no, the security system was just as isolated as Smeland had said. It didn’t even hook into the other computerized equipment in the building.