Easton spread out a set of dossiers, each with a glossy photograph attached. “Danica Paterson, Annita Pescador, Cantina Spadero, Dianne Scarpato,” he said, pointing at each one in turn. “It is imperative that they be captured and brought back to the Institute.”

The bounty hunter, wearing clean but inconspicuous civilian clothes, leafed through each file in turn. “You’ll pay the agreed-upon bounty for each one, plus all expenses incurred in each successful hunt.” It wasn’t a question.

“And the unsuccessful ones?”

“Those are on me. But there won’t be any.”

“Fair enough,” said Easton. “Do you have any questions?”

“I’m a professional,” said the bounty hunter. “All I need to know is who and where. I don’t need to know why.”

“If you say so.” Easton took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But I should warn you that all four of them will resist you tooth and claw. And once one of them knows you’re coming, they all will.”

“They moving as a group?”

“No, certainly not.”

“They in close contact by phone or internet?”

“I wouldn’t think so. They want to distance themselves from each other at almost any cost.”

The bounty hunter sighed. “Then why don’t you be square with me and say why, exactly, they will all know what one knows?”

Easton fingered a paperclip nervously. “Well…the fact of the matter is…they are the same person. All of them.”

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