They shouldered their way through, skidding on trash. Suddenly a scream erupted to their left. "What do you mean, you can’t change it?" The shouter was waving a Grenadian credit card in the face of a militia captain. "There’s fucking millions on this card, asshole!" A portly Anglo in a suit and jogging shoes—the shoes flickered with readouts. "You’d better call your fucking boss, Jack!"