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dysprosium is essential to cell phones, and startups with only one product line, such as Celltronics and ZoGo, will be the hardest hit. I heard Celltronics is facing bankruptcy.”
    Bailey had dossiers on both. She’d only had time to glance through them, but she’d noted the name of ZoGo’s CEO: Shawn Crusher. A search of the databases had revealed his birth name as Shawn Ming Crutcher, but he’d changed it to Shawn Crusher at the age of twenty-two, when he’d left college to start his technology career. A smart move, even if it had been driven by a fragile ego. He’d gone to work for qPie, the search-engine giant, and had quickly been promoted up the ranks, his new moniker giving the news media easy wordplay shots at his propensity for crushing the competition. Then, just five years into his reign, he’d been fired. Speculators claimed it was over a cell phone he developed that didn’t make it through focus groups—after qPie had spent millions on it. Now he manufactured his own burner-style phones. Recent business reports called him “brilliant” and “prescient” for investing in low-end phones before the crisis began to render high-end electronics unaffordable for many consumers. The analysts also admired his marketing skills, claiming he possessed “a rare combination of technical and promotional savvy.” ZoGo was one of the few companies holding its own in the new shortage-driven market.
    Mark Ziegler, Celltronics’ CEO, was nowhere near as flashy or high-profile. He was older and had started his company after a long career in software design. Celltronics made middle-of-the-road phones and marketed them to large employers who bought cell phones by the thousands.
    While Bailey couldn’t rule out the big three—Apple, Samsung, and Nokia—it seemed highly unlikely that someone inside one of those reputable companies had suddenly gone rogue. Not that it couldn’t happen. People like her, with little or no conscience, could easily step outside social boundaries in their quest for power or money. But it made sense to start with the newcomers, who were vulnerable and fighting hard for their share of the pie.

C HAPTER 7
    Tuesday, March 17, 9:15 a.m., Mountain View, California
    Shawn Crusher’s phone rang, interrupting his morning scan for market-share data. Annoyed, he glanced at the caller ID. No name appeared, but he recognized the number. This wouldn’t be good. He popped in a tiny earpiece and pushed the Answer button on his Tones, a new neck-wraparound wireless device. “Hello, Max.” It was the only name he had for his financier, and Shawn suspected it was phony.
    “We have a couple of problems.”
    Even though he’d known blowback was coming, the man’s cold, flat tone made his neck muscles tighten. The voice was enough to intimidate him, and he hated that. “Yeah? Like what?”
    “What the hell happened with Nick Bowman?” Max had quickly switched to shouting.
    How did he know? Had Bowman’s body surfaced already? “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t bullshit me. Someone found the body. What the hell is going on?”
    Shawn swallowed hard. Nick Bowman’s death was unfortunate. He’d never planned to harm the scientist. But Shawn had already tucked away his guilt and moved on. That’s how he survived. Besides, what he was trying to accomplish was far too important to let other people derail him.
    “Bowman was totally uncooperative from the beginning,” Shawn explained. “When he caused a problem on the transfer flight, my crew had no choice but to deal with him.” He’d been a lot less complacent when Harlan and Rocky had reported the incident.
    “There’s more.” Max resonated with controlled anger now. “My source in the bureau tells me someone made a connection between Thurgood and Bowman, and now they’ve sent an agent to investigate.”
    Fuck! Shawn had a dozen questions, but he knew his contact wouldn’t stay on the phone much longer. “Who is the agent and what do you