The guard slid the card through a hand-held scanner, then stepped inside her booth. She would be calling Mrs. Samji, confirming the appointment. Carla waited, hoping that Frances had done her job. If all went well, the guard’s call would be subtly re-routed to the station’s telecom unit, where a sampled image of Mrs. Samji—copied from the telecom call she’d just answered, and hastily remixed—would give permission for Carla to be admitted. It was a classic reporter’s trick, highly effective, albeit illegal. And it worked. The guard stepped out of the booth, handed Carla her press card, and waved the taxi inside the wall.