Putting down the phone, Greg looked at the screen in his hands. They had been sitting in the car for some time now somewhere on the outskirts of the city. Frank in the next seat, turned his head and pulled the headphones from his ears. He couldn't stand it even two seconds from the beginning of the conversation between Greg and Lana, turning on the music louder and turning away to the window.
"Have you finished?" - just in case, he decided to make sure, cautiously looking back at Greg's phone.
"You know envy is a terrible feeling. They say it's one of the deadly sins." - Greg slyly smiled, without taking his eyes off the screen.
" If this is a deadly sin, then what awaits you for infecting a person with a nanochip that tracks his every sneeze?" - Asked Frank with a smirk raising one eyebrow. Greg shrugged.
"I do not think that when they wrote the Bible, someone could have imagined such a turn of events. So, if there is no law - there is no sin in it." - Greg responded philosophically, watching as the small figure on the screen began to move. At first, the device that Marina gave him barely caught the signal of the nanochip. But with each passing hour, the picture became clearer. After some simple manipulations, Greg managed to match the signal of the chip and the image from the satellite, which was used by all GPS receivers. And now they had an ideal tracking device in their hands that could even capture and display the target's movement at a short distance.
In the meantime, their target had already passed security in one of their "offices," as Greg liked to call these places. Unfortunately, the more the corporation developed, the more people willing to hack into the database, enter the main building, steal a sample from the laboratory, and so on.
The defense industry was a multi-million dollar business. And although Greg initially planned this company to produce means of protection and support for the military and civilians in hot spots in a first place, many still tried to use the inventions and products of WGARM for other goals.
It was for such purposes that offices were needed. Suppose it was not entirely legal, but quite effective nevertheless. And the practice showed that it was easier to cope with such problems quietly, in a family way, without the intervention of additional authorities.
"Speaking of laws." - Frank said, also carefully watching how his former subordinate bypasses all obstacles and goes into running, not even suspecting that all this had been planned in advance. - "I think we should include Paul in all our fun. That case of murder clearly smells terrible. In the extreme case, the lawyer will not be out of place if you or Tony are blamed for this openly. We will get a confession out of Martin anyway, but we still need to have a backup plan."
Greg was distracted by those words and thrown a keen look at Frank.
"Do you know what bothers me?"
"What?" - Frank asked tensely.
" In the recording of your conversation with Martin, by the way, it was very thoughtful of you, he mentions some woman, remember? He repeated it a few time that she told him everything about the shifters and even showed how to kill them!"
Frank's eyes darkened.
"Do you think he's talking about Angela? So she knows everything?" - Frank growled through his teeth, clenching his fists.
"Maybe. Or maybe not. It is strange somehow. Would she so obviously instigate Lana if she knew about werewolves? Plus, a person who has somehow learned about shifters will hardly be able to find out so quickly all the subtleties of the work of their Council and other laws. And without this, the second murder does not make any sense. It sounds more like someone who has access to both Tony's pistols and full information about the shifters at the same time."
"I can only come up with this big guy Kiki on my mind. The pistols were with him, as far as I know, while you and Martin were treated. But it is tough to imagine this big ass guy in the image of a woman. Alcohol, of course, can turn an ugly mug into a beautiful woman, but it can do the magic like this..." - Frank suggested, in a voice full of doubts. Greg grinned and shook his head.
" So it seems. But what prevented him from asking for help from one of his assistants? I remember exactly one with short dark hair back then." - Greg drawled, watching Martin deftly brake into some car in a parking lot nearby and fiddle with the ignition.
"It's a pity that it all happened. Such talents and all went to waist because of the strange twists of his brain."
"Sometimes it seems to me that someone else is sitting in my head who constantly twist my emotions in his own way. He makes me think about those things that I don't need at all, force strange thoughts, shows weird pictures, images, heightens anger, sadness, melancholy and covers the joy with dirty glass, through which I can't see a thing. This is so frustrating!" - Frank replied quietly, lost in thought. Greg cast him a sidelong glance and sighed, shaking his head.
"You know perfectly well who can wash your glass and not only that ..." he said with a grin, trying to lift a mood a bit, although his voice was more sad than joking.
"Let's close this topic, Greg. I am delighted that you have finally found your glass washer, I already had two chances in life, and pooped both of them. So let's better go back to our fugitive. By the way, where do you think he is heading?"
While friends were talking, Martin had already turned on the highway and flew in an unknown direction.
"Maybe he will lead us to this mysterious woman?"- Frank said hopefully. Greg frowned, trying to predict the possible route of the former comrade. He moved along the outskirts of the city, and judging by the direction, he should very soon be in one of the fashionable areas on the shore of the bay.
"If my memory does not fail me, in this direction should be the home of a person we all know very well. My guys, who are shadowing her, reported to me that she lives there lately."
"Well, maybe some of our questions will be answered now."