Officially, according to SOP and all that drek, I should report immediately to my controls at the Star. Use a phone if I have to, but let them know I’m blown. Then they’ll call me in or give me the location of a safe house—a Star safe house this time—where I can hunker down until we’re all comfortably confident that nobody’s still gunning for me or until I figure out a safe way out of the sprawl. (Back to Milwaukee? Who knows?) That’s the officially sanctioned thing to do, and it’s also the smart thing to do.