Random words on a random page, flipping madly, I stop. One word jumps out at me:
There is no reason why I shouldn’t be plotting my revenge. Who to attack first? This goes all the way to the top but I’ve been shoved so far down, shipped so far away, that reaching the top now is near impossible. I could leave a message, bomb this very bus of innocents, but I’d be no closer to the One.
To get close would take major resources, major bribery, and more than petty theft. Ocean himself couldn’t assemble a team corrupt enough and stealthy enough. I have to look elsewhere.
A strong middle-aged woman helps a younger and very pregnant peer off the bus. The driver gripes at me in foreign tongue. Last stop. I stand. My leg is sore. I hobble to the front as the driver’s scowl turns to quiet indifference.
Even the highest authority needs a trusted adviser and secret keeper; another leg to stand on. If I can cut off that leg, then the One will topple, fall, and break. I smile to myself.