Automatically, he picked it up.
Faint harmonics. tiny inaudible voices rattling across some orbital link, and then a sound like wind.
A fifty-lirasi coin fell from his hand, bounced, and rolled out of sight across Hilton carpeting.
“Wintermute, Case. It’s time we talk.”
It was a chip voice.
“Don’t you want to talk, Case?”
He hung up.
On his way back to the lobby. his cigarettes forgotten, he had to walk the length of the ranked phones. Each rang in turn, but only once, as he passed.