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Draco Foundation administered Dunkelzahn's remaining estate and saw that the dragon's final wishes were carried out. Some of the instructions Dunkelzahn left behind required less than logical— and often less than legal—action, which in the twenty-first century meant shadowrunners. The Draco Foundation had enough money to hire the very best, and one of the people they had hired was Talon. He'd worked with Assets, Inc., the DF's own shadow team, for a few years following Dunkelzahn's death. In that time, he traveled all over the world and saw some amazing things.
    Eventually, he decided he couldn't go any further within Assets. Until then, Talon had always been a runner in a team, had never really operated one on his own. When circumstances drew him back to Boston last year, he decided to form his own crew with the runners he met on that caper, with the help of his old friend, Boom. His little band of shadowrunners were really starting to make a name for themselves in the Boston sprawl, but Talon still couldn't quite shake the feeling that his departure from Assets, Inc., although amicable enough, constituted some sort of betrayal on his part, a desertion of the dragon's legacy. He felt Dunkelzahn's presence strongly here on the Institute grounds, even though he hadn't known the great dragon in life.
    Talon was just grateful that the Institute's board of directors had rejected the proposal to erect a statue of Dunkelzahn in the center of the plaza. He wasn't sure he could handle having the dragon staring down at him right then. The abstract bronze sculpture, shaped like an ancient astrolabe, was considerably more friendly.
    "Heads up, boss." came a voice in his head. He had Aracos keeping watch.
    Talon yanked his thoughts back to the present as a dark four-door Eurocar came prowling down the street. It pulled up to the snow-covered curb and the rear door opened. Talon walked calmly toward the car, all his senses alert for any signs of trouble. He didn't think it was likely that Nicholas Grace or any of his cronies from the Illuminates of the New Dawn could have found him or the key in only a few short hours, but it paid to be at least a little paranoid in the shadow business. It had saved Talon's life more than once. He'd already arranged to have one of Val's drones nearby to keep an electronic eye on the meeting, and he could feel Aracos hovering close by in astral space, invisible, silent, and intangible to the physical world, but able to materialize in an instant, if needed.
    "Ready?" he thought to his spirit ally.
    " I'll keep watch." Aracos said. "Don't worry." With that Talon climbed into the back of the car and closed the door behind him.
    The Eurocar slid away from the curb smoothly. There was still very little traffic, and the driver took his time. The car's windows were tinted, so it was almost impossible to see in from the outside. The driver kept his eyes on the road and pretended not to notice anything going on behind him. It was like nobody else was in the car with him. Perhaps he really didn't notice anything. Talon thought he might be fitted with data filters to keep him from consciously remembering anything potentially sensitive while on "duty" like this.
    Next to Talon in the back seat was his employer for this run, his "Mr. Johnson." Hans Brackhaus— Talon was fairly sure that wasn't his real name—was an unimposing man. He was of average height and build and indeterminate age, somewhere in that vague range between late thirties and early fifties that corporate execs maintained through the use of modern medicine and cosmetic work. His hair was dark with just a touch of gray to give him a distinguished, reliable look. His eyes were light blue. He wore a dark, finely tailored suit, pale blue shirt, and a jewel -toned tie. If Talon had to create the image of the perfect, archetypal corporate suit, it would look a lot like Hans Brackhaus, which, he suspected, was the idea. The only unusual element of