Yeah, I know it all right. Well, what the frag have I got to lose? Anybody who’s tapping into my line already knows who I am. And if it’s possible to accurately locate a particular mobile phone during Seattle’s morning rush hour, it’s not Argent and his scroffy runner friends I’m most worried about. "You want a name?" I spit out. "Tell him Rick Larson called, browncone, and tell him I’m waiting." And with that I hit the End key almost hard enough to crack the secretary’s composite enclosure.