Chapter 85

• It turns out that the term "wearing a wire" is archaic. It is a holdover from the days when the feds used cumbersome microphones hidden beneath clothing and old-fashioned reel and tape recording equipment.
• I wish Victoria could witness how my wire, a microchip implanted in a sleek silver knot-shaped cufflink on my right wrist, works. She would be pleased. That kind of detail is what I see her doing, biting her gorgeous, plump bottom lip as she considers giving a reporter a story to write about the latest in surveillance technology.
• The Cuban agent quipped, "Thank God for French cuffs," while a technician attached the microchip to my shirt sleeve. "Just try to chat to Santoro Rio as much as you can. You get it?"