Removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, he plugged his artificial arm into a power outlet near his seat, using a retractable cord built into the shoulder. While he waited for it to recharge he called Angel again and asked her about the next two names on the list. “Start with the one in Chicago, first,” he said. “Eleanor Pechowski,” Angel replied, and he heard her clacking at her keyboard. “Eleanor, who are you? Let’s see. She’s a retired schoolteacher.” “That doesn’t sound like someone a genetic freak would want to kill,” Chapel pointed out. “Maybe a disgruntled former student . . .” “She worked for the UN, for a while,” Angel went on. “In UNESCO. Let’s see . . . she lived in New York City at the time, on Roosevelt Island. Looks like she taught English, math, and American history to the children of UN delegates. Maybe she fell in with the black helicopter crowd.” Chapel rolled his eyes.
