Interrogations and AccusationsMention of Frement reminded Bremen it was time to report back. It was not something he relished. Hamon went home, looking like a lost soul. Alone again, Bremen drove over to Wilson Frement's home. He waited at the door as the body scanners ran over him, and the guard stepped aside, the heavy pulse-rifle cradled in his great paws looking menacing.
Frement barely looked up from his desk. He was hot-wired into the international monetary mainframe. Bremen glanced over the display, which dominated the wall, stocks and shares clicking this way and that, masses of figures like some weird, ancient language dancing around. It made his eyes hurt.
Flicking the switch, Frement sat back, gauged Bremen with a steely look.
“Tell me.”
“I asked, he told.”
“I'd like a litt
