MONDAY - DAY 42

Jeremy arrived at work a little after ten. The night before, he had picked up the first iteration of the new software in St. Louis. Randolph asked him to get Emily and come to his office. Almost immediately, Jeremy came back with Emily.

"Good morning, Mr. Randolph," said Emily.

"Good morning, Emily. I'm anxious to see the new software, Jeremy, I first want to say something to you two. The time has come for the phase you have been waiting for. I want you to leave as soon as you can for the top four choices. I can't dictate how long you should spend in each country. You know more or less what I'm looking for. I want a lot of video footage and a lot of questions asked. Before you leave, come up with a checklist of questions to be answered in each country. Most will be the same for all countries, but some questions may be country-specific. I think you should leave within forty-eight hours."

Emily looked at Jeremy. They had been expecting this.

"If I were to guess," continued Randolph, "I'd say an average of three to four days in each country. If you see something very interesting, or very disturbing, don't hesitate to spend some extra time. If you have a routine problem, don't call me. Call your parents. It might be good to call home when you arrive in each country and when you leave, giving them your telephone number and room number. Alicia can check once or twice a day to find out where you are and if there are any problems. Here is my pager number. If you have a serious problem, page me. I don't think there is any danger, or I wouldn't be sending you. However, as someone told me recently, it's better to be too safe than not safe enough, and you can't be exactly safe enough."

"I don't mind being too safe," said Emily. "I prefer it."

"Me too," said Jeremy. "I'd rather be safe than macho."

"Good thinking," said Randolph. "We've gotten American Express cards for both of you, in your own names. Just turn in the bills. We'll also give you fifteen thousand dollars in cash. Remember you two are on a pleasure trip. You need to act like it. You are both supposed to be from well-to-do families. If I thought it necessary to tell you not to do anything foolish, you wouldn't be here."

He smiled at them. "If you don't have a good time while you're at it, you're missing a great opportunity."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," said Jeremy. "Right, Emily?"

"I'm sure it will be wonderful," said Emily. "Even when it's work, it will be fun."

"Great," said Randolph. "Is there anything else you need, or are there any questions?"

"I don't have a question about the trip," said Jeremy, "but, I've been wanting to ask you something completely unrelated."

"Let's have it," said Randolph.

"You might think I'm crazy, but there is a man standing at the off-ramp from I-95, nearly every morning when I come to work. He has a sign that says 'Will Work for Cash or Merchandise.' Ordinarily, I wouldn't think twice about those people, but there's something about him. He doesn't ask for money, but for work. That alone makes him different. He doesn't look like your average homeless person. Does he Emily?"

"No," said Emily, "He's always clean, clean-shaven, his clothes are pressed with sharp creases, and his shoes are shined. He waves at us, every time we go by."

"He didn't always wave," said Jeremy. "At first we'd just look at each other, and it was like we communicated somehow."

"What about him?" asked Randolph.

"Well, I thought that you might have a need for an extra person; I knew that the daytime custodian had quit," said Jeremy.

"Bring him in, and we'll see what he has to offer."

"I already did," said Jeremy. "He's down in the lobby. Could you speak with him? His name is Kent Rogers."

Randolph looked at Jeremy. "You took a lot for granted, Jeremy."

"Perhaps I took a chance, but it was calculated," said Jeremy.

"I'm sure it was," said Randolph, gruffly. Inside, he smiled. "Very well. I don't usually interview the custodians, but bring him up. While I'm talking to him, Jeremy, you can install the new software on a couple of computers. I'll check with you, when I get through talking to Mr. Rogers. Emily, you can start on the checklists to take with you. Be sure to take two video cameras, in case one breaks. Take plenty of cassettes. Take an audio tape recorder so you can record notes. Take two digital cameras. All those things should be on hand; we use them around here. If there's a shortage, try Randolph Computers, or have Alicia run them down."

Minutes later, Jeremy was back with his 'homeless' man. Randolph came from behind his desk and extended his hand.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers, I'm Clinton Randolph. Sit down and let us get acquainted. Jeremy, tell Alicia that I'm not to be disturbed, barring an emergency."

Half an hour later, Randolph knocked on Jeremy's open door.

"How are you two doing?" asked Randolph.

"It's going well," said Jeremy. "How did Mr. Rogers work out?"

"Mr. Rogers has agreed to join us, as the daytime custodian. He starts Monday. I was put off by his inability to provide any references, but like you, I saw something in the man that attracted me, and I decided to take a chance. I think there's more to him than meets the eye."

"I'm glad," said Jeremy.

"Tell me about the software," said Randolph.

"It's marvelous," said Jeremy. "I already have it installed on my computer, if you'd like to see it."

"You bet," said Randolph. "How is your father, Jeremy?"

"He is doing very well. In fact, he says he feels better than he has in years. I think it's the diet Doctor Selby put him on. He's losing weight and his cholesterol is falling. He's gradually increasing his daily exercise. Naturally, we're all overjoyed about his progress."

"That's great. Now, show me how this software works."

"I'll just type in a test message of a few lines," said Jeremy. "Then save it and exit. Now I call up the encryption program which Ali called Crypton, from Superman; type in the name of the file to encrypt; then, I select two texts. Let's use Don Quixote and Oliver Twist. There can be up to sixty-four texts on the list. Now starting pages for each text. One word from each text for each message word. We could take a lot of words from the texts for each message word. The order of the words will be scrambled in a way that he wouldn't tell me, then each word is looked up in a dictionary. The dictionary has a sixteen-bit hexadecimal or four-character code for each word. There are special techniques for handling words not in the dictionary. The page of hexadecimal is finally encoded with PGP. I have other options such as special ways to scramble or rotate the dictionary codes, and I could use special dictionaries. I can also change the whole process every line or every x lines, even every letter. A preamble tells the decoder the configuration and how many characters, words, or lines the code is good for. After that amount, another preamble is given. Even if someone decodes the PGP, they have a page of 4-character hexadecimal words that are just as meaningless. If they manage to decode a line of those, most of the words they get are extraneous and no one knows how to pick out the message words. The whole system could change on the next line. Just press enter and away it goes. In different preambles, the fields are in different orders. A code at the beginning tells the computer how do interpret the preamble. For maximum security, we can send the message a character at a time, with the character buried in page or pages of extraneous letters. Even if you know how it works, it is impossible to break it. On this short message, encryption will be almost instantaneous. On a message of a few pages, it takes a while, but that's the price you have to pay for the security. See, it's done. We can view the message; it is of course garbage. We can e-mail it directly. We can compose, mail, read, and export, the works. The program occupies about one and a half megabytes of hard drive, but you have to have Paradox, the texts, and the dictionary. I used about 14 megabytes of disk."

"That's no problem today," said Randolph. "I want you to install it on my computer in my office and the one in my office upstairs. I'll watch and you can explain as you go along. I'll install it on my laptop. Then, give it to Emily. "I want four sets, on diskettes or CD's, right away. We'll need more texts to choose from later, but that can wait."

"It's on three diskettes, not counting the texts. He downloaded these two books from the Guttenberg Project on the Internet," said Jeremy. "It's incredible. What a beautiful job he did, and in such a short time."

"Everything Ali does is incredible," said Randolph. "I've never seen a software genius like him. I've got to get to my office. If you two have any problems, don't hesitate to bring them up. If you're still short anything, buy it. If you are short any personal items, even clothing, that you might need for the trip, let me know. You should probably take a wide range of clothing, from evening dresses and a tuxedo, to bathing suits. The company will take care of anything you need to purchase. Go ahead, and get started."

Randolph had not gone twenty feet down the hall, when he turned and went back to Jeremy's office. "Jeremy," he said, "I need for you to requisition a laptop computer-the best-and install Crypton and all the accessory software on it. I need it as soon as possible. Just give it to Alicia. Do this before any of the other installations. It is very high priority. Also, when you have encryption software on Emily's computer, I would like for you two to send each other some messages, to verify that you have no problems. I'm sure Ali did that already, but always verify your assumptions, when it's important. I may be leaving. With any luck, I'll be back tomorrow."

"I'll get right on it," said Jeremy. "I think I should take a laptop with me, too."

"Requisition one."

***

When Randolph returned to his office, Leonard Fisher was waiting for him.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Leonard," said Randolph.

"No problem, Clint. I just got here a minute ago."

After telling Alicia not to disturb him, Randolph closed the door. "Sit down, Leonard. You don't have to whisper, but keep your voice down. These fans on the windows are to prevent eavesdropping with a laser microphone, which I've verified that they do quite well, if we don't talk too loudly. I need your help for a couple of minutes."

"What can I do for you, Clint?"

"My apartment is bugged, and I want to take advantage of it to feed them some false information. This is what I want to do..."

Minutes later, Randolph went up to the apartment. He called Alicia and told her that he was expecting Fisher, and to let him know when he arrived. Alicia said that Fisher had already arrived.

"Sit down, Leonard," said Randolph, when he had ushered his friend into the living room. "I brought you up here because what I have to say is in the strictest confidence. I would be afraid to talk about it on the telephone." They were on the sofa, only a few feet from one of the bugs.

"What is it, Clint?"

"You know the Justice Department is looking into my businesses for antitrust violations."

"Yes."

"One thing you don't know is that I am looking around the world, for a spot to set up a major resort. I haven't picked the spot yet, but I am rapidly narrowing it down. When I first began thinking about a resort, in an isolated part of the world, it was as much a place for me to get away, as it was for a business. I thought I'd capitalize on it, by making it an elite getaway. The more I worked on defining what I wanted in the resort, the more it appealed to me. Last weekend, as you know, I went to Costa Rica, in a very isolated minor resort. I did a lot of thinking while I was there.

"To tell the truth, I've been getting a little bored with my businesses. I certainly don't need any more money. I don't even need all the money I have now. No one needs that much. Not only that, but I'm getting tired of it all. There is nothing fresh, nothing new about starting a new business any more, or expanding an existing one. Little by little, I want to start liquidating my businesses. For a while, I just want to work on my resort. Maybe in a year or two, I'll decide to do something new. I can't say yet. Right now, I just want the freedom to reflect on my future."

"My God, Clint. This is the last thing I could have expected."

"This investigation by the Justice Department was the last straw. I doubt that I have broken any laws, but I don't want to go through the hassle. A few years ago, I would have been ready for them, even glad for the challenge. Now, I figure why fight for something I don't really care about any more."

"In a way, I guess I can see your point. After you've done as much as you have, what else is left to do?"

"There are millions of things I can do, Leonard. But adding to my business empire isn't one that interests me, at this stage of my life. The day-to-day management has become a chore. I know it's going to be a major job to dump these companies. I don't want to give them away. I want a fair price. You're my banker, can you help me?"

"I'll do my best, Clint. Boy, this isn't going to happen overnight, you know. You're talking many billions of dollars. You don't find that kind of money sitting around, waiting for an opportunity. Let me work on it for a while, and get back to you with my thoughts. Wow. You've taken my breath away."

"I'm not even telling my parents, for fear they might leak it. If the word got out, morale would fall in my companies. I know that they have to know sooner or later, but there is no use tearing down the companies before I can sell them. Not only that, but the customers would suffer, and I wouldn't want that."

"I'm really in a state of shock, Clint. This is the last thing in the world I would have expected. But, I think I understand it, and I'll do all I can to help you."

"Good," said Randolph. "I'll go back down with you. I appreciate your help Leonard. I hate to run, but I have some important things to take care of."

When they were back in Randolph's third floor office, they were laughing.

"I think you would have made a good actor, Leonard," said Randolph.

"I just got into it, Clint-as if it were really happening.

"That ought to give them food for thought. I'd love to know how they take it."

"So would I."

"I hate to say it," said Randolph, "but I really do have to get busy on some phone calls. I'll have to chase you away. Thanks for the help, Leonard."

"Any time. Believe it or not, it was fun. I have to get going too. See you later, Clint."

After Fisher left, Randolph closed the door. He had to talk with Norman Jefferson. The situation called for a face-to-face meeting. He would take him a laptop with everything installed ready to use. That way they could communicate via the Internet. Norman could help him a great deal and he might very well be disposed to help. After all, he was, as he, himself, had put it, "bumming around." Knowing Norman, he was probably getting bored. As Secretary of State, he had traveled all over the world, meeting with some of the most important and most powerful people in the world. He was visiting some of them now, but-." He stopped in mid-thought. The idea had come from his subconscious. His mind raced.

He pressed the intercom button. "Alicia, see if you can find correspondence we had last year with some used airplane dealers, and bring it to me, as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

In a couple of minutes, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," called Randolph.

Alicia handed him a folder. "Thank you, Alicia."

He glanced through the folder, took out one of the papers and dialed a number from it. "Hello, I'd like to speak to Roger Svenson."

"Hello, this is Roger."

"Roger, this is Clinton Randolph. I'm holding a letter you sent me last year. At that time, you had a several large corporate jets listed. How about today? "

"I have three good ones, Mr. Randolph. One is a very unique 737. It was a corporate plane, for a company that experienced a sudden reversal of fortune. It has a sort of Pullman type interior. You may know that the early airliners had sleeping accommodations, because the trips took so long. This one has them for comfort and convenience.

"The main section can seat a maximum of a hundred and twenty-six in forty-two private staterooms, although that's packing them in pretty tightly. It can sleep eighty-four. It has six executive staterooms, which can each seat six and sleep four. It has a hide-away conference table. Special fuel tanks give it forty percent more range than a standard 737. It also has a comfortable lounge and a complete communications center, with fax, telephones, satellite communication, television, short-wave radio, and several computers. And much, much more."

"What model is it?"

"It's a 737-800--the biggest 737 made,--like new with only 700 hours on it.

"How much?"

"Twenty-three million."

"That's a bit high. What are the other two?"

"You might negotiate the twenty-three million down a little. Also, I have a Lockheed Electra."

"Propjet?"

"That's right," said Svenson.

"Not interested," said Randolph. "What's the other one?"

"It's a stock 737-300, for nineteen million. It's in mint condition."

"If I send someone to check them out," said Randolph, "and he likes one, when can we take delivery?"

"That same day, it you have a qualified pilot to fly it out. You have to get it registered with the FAA."

"Can we buy it for a foreign company and not have to register it?"

"You have to register it somewhere."

"I'll work on that," said Randolph, "In the meantime, I'll send my man to Dallas. I'll probably send a co-pilot along with him. I may even go myself. If they fly into the Dallas airport, can you pick them up?"

"We would be glad to."

"Great," said Randolph, "I'll call you back"

Randolph called Alicia on the intercom. "Find Fran for me, right away, if you can. Tell him I want him to fly to Dallas and look at a couple of planes ASAP. Tell him I need a co-pilot, for a 737, to go with him. When he knows how soon he can take off, he can let me know. Let me know if you can't reach him. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

***

Doctor Dennis Pierce drove leisurely toward his laboratory. He had to act as though he hadn't known that his laboratory had been blown up. The street that he usually took into the campus was blocked off. He drove on to another entrance and again found the turn to the laboratory blocked. He parked some distance away and walked toward the lab.

He could see the building was still standing, more or less. One wall was mostly gone and the interior was black from having burned. Police and fire vehicles were everywhere, as were policemen and firemen. When he drew near, a policeman approached him.

"You can't come any closer to this building, fellow," said the policeman.

"I'm Doctor Pierce, that is my building. What happened to it?"

"Someone blew it up."

"Good morning, Doctor Pierce," called another man, who was walking hurriedly toward them. He was wearing the uniform of Campus Security.

"Good morning, Burt," said Pierce. "What in hell happened to my lab? My God, it looks like there are years of work ruined."

"For the guy that was in the building, it ruined more than that," said Captain Burt Cox. "He's dead as a doornail."

Pierce almost collapsed. He had killed someone. Who?

"Are you all right, Doctor Pierce?" asked Cox, grabbing his arm.

"Who was it?" asked Pierce.

"We don't know," said Captain Cox. "He had no identification whatsoever."

"It wasn't any of my staff, was it?"

"No. It wasn't the custodian and doesn't seem to be a student. It was a white male, about five foot-eight and a hundred and sixty pounds. Around thirty-five years old, they think. The FBI is looking into it."

"The FBI, what do they have to do with it?" asked Pierce.

"I don't know, they just appeared, about half an hour ago," said Cox.

"Can I get in to see if any of my records are salvageable?"

"Not yet, Doctor Pierce. You might as well go home. I'll give you a call when you can get in."

"Thanks, Burt," said Pierce. "I guess I should stop and see Dean Simpson, just to let him know where I am."

Forty-five minutes later, Pierce walked into his house.

"What happened?" said Kathy Pierce. "You look like you've been hit by a truck."

"I need some air," he said. "Let's go for a walk."

She followed him outside and down the street.

"There was someone in the building, when it blew up," said Pierce.

"Oh, no," she cried. "Who?"

"That's the really strange part. They don't know. There was no identification at all on his body. He wasn't anyone who works in the lab, or the janitor, or a student. He was a man around thirty-five years old."

"Who would be there at two in the morning, on Sunday night?"

"No one. That's why I did it then. Maybe I should turn myself in."

"Don't be silly, Dennis."

"But Kathy, I killed a man."

"You certainly didn't mean to. Quite the contrary, you did it to save lives, maybe thousands of lives, even millions. Turning yourself in won't bring him back. Wait and find out who it was. There's something fishy about this."

***

Phil Matthews had convinced Bob Adams that it would be wiser to wait and find a foolproof way to put his wife's killers out of business. Perhaps it was easier because Adams had found a reason for wanting to stay out of jail-a major passion for fighting gun control. It was only a few days since Adams had first contacted the NRA. Since that initial call, he had been in contact with them eleven times. He had begun using E-mail the second day and had worked his way up the ladder, from a lowly customer service-type person to a regional director. Now he wanted to communicate with the headman. Bob Adams' marketing company specialized in what was called Guerrilla Marketing by the father of the subject, J. Conrad Levenson. Basically, he helped small businesses with small budgets to compete with huge national and multinational companies, by the use of ingenious marketing strategies. He had been thinking for days, trying to find a way to combat the gun control extremists. He had asked for a list of prominent NRA members in Florida and had reviewed it. That morning on the news, he had heard a reference to one of the names on the list and something had clicked. He couldn't wait for E-mail to run its course; he telephoned the Regional Office of the NRA.

"Hello, this is Bob Adams. Can you tell me how I can get in touch with the National Director?"

"You can try the National Headquarters. The number is 800-555-2121.

"Thank you," said Adams. He dialed the new number.

"This is Bob Adams, I need to speak to Charles Preston, the National Director. Is that possible?"

"Mr. Preston isn't here. I can try to reach him and have him call you. Can you tell me what this is in reference to?"

"I have an idea on how to use a special opportunity in the Florida Legislature to advance the agenda of the NRA, which happens to be my own personal agenda. A few weeks ago, I noticed two men who appeared to be casing my house. I decided to buy a gun to protect my family. I found I had to wait three days and take a course, even though I was a military police officer for several years. The night of the second day of the waiting period, they broke in and shot my pregnant wife and me. My wife and my unborn son died. My wife's body fell on top of me, and the weight of her body on the hole in my chest slowed my loss of blood, so that, miraculously, I survived. As you might guess, I am very opposed to gun control, especially waiting periods. My business is guerrilla marketing, and I have some guerrilla marketing ideas for the NRA. Can you remember all that and make sure Mr. Preston hears it?"

"I think so, Mr. Adams. I don't know what to say about your wife and son. I'm so sorry.'

"What's your name?"

"Sandra."

"Sandra, just help me make sure their deaths serve a great purpose: the advancement of freedom in America; and make sure Mr. Preston calls me as soon as possible."

"I will, sir. I'll do my very best to get hold of him and have him call you."

Adams gave her his number and asked her to let him know if she couldn't find Charles Preston.

***

Fran Benson called Randolph, to tell him that he had found a temporary co-pilot, and they both could leave any time today, with an hour's notice. Randolph had already arranged to set up a Bermuda company, which had a line of credit for up to twenty-five million dollars. He felt that he would probably take the first plane Svenson had mentioned. It sounded almost too good to be true. He just needed to whittle the price down a little. Thinking his negotiating skills might save him a million or more dollars, he had decided go himself. "I need a little while to take care of a few things," Randolph said to Benson. "I'll be going with you. I don't want to buy something as big as a 737 without seeing it. You and the co-pilot go on to the airport, as soon as possible. I'll meet you there.

Randolph went up to the penthouse and got a mobile telephone that was registered to Alicia. He took it to his third-floor office and called the Hotel Galua, in La Manga del Mar Menor. Norman wasn't in his room, but they paged him and he came to the telephone. "Norman, this is Clint. I need to talk to you. Are you going to be there the next couple of days?"

"Yes. I'll be here another week."

"I'm not sure of my arrival time. As soon as I know, I'll let you know. I'll fly into Alicante or San Javier, depending on whether I come alone or not. If I'm not alone, I don't want anyone to know exactly where I'm going, so I'll get a car in Alicante and drive to La Manga. If all goes well, I should be there the day after tomorrow."

"I'll be here, Clint, waiting for you."

"I have to run, Norman. I'll talk to you soon."

Randolph was on the intercom again. "Alicia, get me Margaret Parvell, in New York City. The telephone may be listed under Patrick Parvell. If a man answers, don't let him know it's me. Lie a little, if you have to."

"Yes, sir."

***

Patrick Parvell had just left for the studio, and Margaret Parvell was sitting at the dining room table, enjoying the view and the tranquillity, while finishing her second cup of coffee. She was beginning to understand why so many people wondered what she ever saw in her husband. Just as she drank the last drop of coffee and was getting up from the table, the telephone rang. She walked into the study, to get the nearest telephone. "Parvell residence," she said.

"Margaret Parvell?" a female voice asked.

"Yes. Who is calling?"

"Please hold for Clinton Randolph."

She couldn't believe her ears. Clinton Randolph calling her. Perhaps he was calling her husband, although that would be even more incredible.

"Hello, Mrs. Parvell. This is Clinton Randolph. Do you have a couple of minutes?"

"Why, yes," she said, still in shock.

"I have long been an admirer of your work," said Randolph. "I think you are unsurpassed, in your field."

"Thank you," she said. "I don't think you have any equals in several of your fields either."

"I can certainly, understand if you're not interested, given your husband's crusade against me, but I wondered if you would be interested in doing an interview of me."

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"I am always serious. Well, almost always. But now, I am completely serious. I would like a truthful objective interview by a literate writer. I don't know if it would do me any good. But it can't hurt me. It could, however, possibly hurt you."

"My husband would have a fit."

"There is that, too," he said.

"I would certainly love to do it," she said. "In fact, I could never forgive myself, if I said no."

"As I said before, I understand that there may be compelling reasons not to do it. It is only that there is no one else that I would like to do it."

"I'll do it," she said.

"I thought you would," said Randolph.

"You must know me better than I know myself," she said.

"I doubt that," said Randolph. "I'm planning on going to New York this Wednesday, but I don't have time to give you the interview there. Would you fly to Spain with me? You can interview me on the way over, then you can return on the next flight, or you can stay and have a little holiday, not with me, but on me. I expect to be in Spain only one day, or at the most two, so you could also return with me, if you wish. Can you work something like that into your schedule?"

"This is awfully strange," said Margaret. "I know you generally don't give interviews. Now you're spending the money to fly me to Spain and back, so I can interview you. Is this on the up and up?"

"You have my word of honor," said Randolph. "It is true that I generally don't give interviews, and with most reporters, I would be loath to give anything other than a live interview, because of unethical editing. Although I realize that few will be interested in what I might have to say, there may be some who might be sustained by it. For the sake of those few, I want to do it. I don't want what I say to turn out to be unrecognizable, even to me, and I think choosing you precludes that. I do have two conditions: one is that I review whatever you decide to publish or broadcast, with the option to require that you omit or correct any editing that changes the meaning of anything I said. The second condition is that I want a copy of the original interview, for comparison purposes. I don't think these conditions are necessary, or I wouldn't have called you, but without them, my reluctance to interviews couldn't be overcome. I don't know what other reassurances you might require. I am not spending any money to fly you to Spain; I am flying to Spain on business, whether you come along or not. My intentions are honorable, if that is a concern. I'm not trying to take you out of the country for nefarious purposes. I don't know you or even what you look like. I know how you write, and from that I can probably deduce quite a bit about you. If your appearance is of the same caliber as your writing, that would be serendipitous, but not nearly as exciting as it would be to find that your writing is a reflection of you, the person."

"You seem to have a way with words, yourself. From what I hear, your word is pretty reliable."

"I work hard to keep it that way," said Randolph.

"I'll agree to the conditions. And, no, I didn't think you were trying to pick me up. As to what you have to say, do you plan to work it into the conversation, or do you want me to ask some specific questions?"

"If I don't get a chance to work it in, I'll talk to you about it. I'd rather you just did it your way, if possible. You are usually thorough, and you pursue any interesting divergences. I would like for you to reach as large an audience as possible, but I leave that to you. I realize this is an imposition, asking you to go so far, and if there were any other way I could work it into my schedule, I would."

"It is not really an imposition," she said. "It gives me a lot of time, and, let's face it, interviewing you is bound to be good for my career. You have a deal. I won't have much time to prepare my interview, but I'll make do. My husband will be apoplectic, but he's been that way before, with no serious long-term effects."

"I'm on my way to Dallas to buy a plane," said Randolph. "Right now, I don't have one that can go that far. As soon as I complete the deal, I'll contact you. For reasons that should be obvious, I'd rather not speak with your husband. I'll have my secretary call you and just say that your flight leaves at such and such time, and from where. I'll see you there."

***

"Well, Frances, It happened. Just like we knew it would," said Alvin Walters, walking into the kitchen, where his wife was preparing dinner."

Frances Walters set down the pan she was holding and put her arms around her husband's neck. "I assume you're talking about BNT or Minority Matters."

"Both."

Well, it's their loss," she said, giving him a kiss, "and my gain."

"What do you gain?" he asked her.

"Well, if you don't have to work for those ingrates, you'll be home more." She pressed against him. "Won't you."

"I don't know if I can stand being at home more," he laughed.

"That'll be the day." Separating from him, she said, "Seriously, Alvin, what are you going to do?"

"I really don't know," he said. "I've got a few nebulous ideas, nothing more. I'm in no hurry. For a while, I probably will be home more."

"Maybe you could write another book," she suggested.

"About what?"

"Maybe a novel about a non-profit group and a black 'rrreverend,'" she trilled the word, "who plot to keep the black population mired in stupidity and poverty, so that they can rake in tons of money in government grants and in donations from those misguided people who think their money will help black people and even more from those who know the score and have their own reasons for keeping blacks down and the nation divided."

"No one would find that credible," he said. "It's been going on for years, and no one believes it."

***

Bob Adams grabbed the telephone on its first ring.

"Bob Adams."

"This is Charles Preston, Mr. Adams. I understand you wanted to talk to me."

"I certainly did, Mr. Preston. I want to thank you for getting back to me so quickly. I want to see if I can enlist your help in a plan I have for getting gun control laws-at least the waiting period-eliminated in Florida and possibly other states as well."

"I would do all I could to help accomplish that. What would do you have in mind."

"The first step would be to get State Senator Malcolm Reardon to put an amendment on the state's budget bill and switch his vote from against to for, if they will leave the amendment on it. That would be the first step and after that I have a plan. It will take a few minutes to explain it all."

"If you can possibly get gun control laws repealed in any state, I'll listen to you for days. Go ahead. Tell me your plan.

***

Marta Frazier and Michael Keller were having lunch together.

"You won't believe what I'm about to tell you," she told him.

"Yes, I will," he said.

"I installed your software patches, Michael, and then I went surfing the World Wide Web. Most US government sites use the directory routine when you access them. The CIA, DEA, FBI, the White House, and even the Department of Agriculture."

"Agriculture," said Keller. "I can see the police types, but agriculture seems weird, and so does the White House."

"There are stranger things," she paused for effect, "the same thing happens when you access the French Government, the UK government, the Japanese government; even AOL, Prodigy, CompuServe, and, last, but certainly not least, our own company, AP&P. There may be others, but those are the only ones I've found, so far."

"There must be something in the MicroShaft browser," said Keller. "Did you try any other browser?"

"No I didn't. I don't have any other browser."

"I'll try Netscape," he said. "Did you log onto MicroShaft.com?"

"Yes, I did. They didn't access any of the routines, though. Actually, that was the first place I tried."

"That is really surprising," said Keller.

"The whole thing is really disgusting," said Frazier. "I didn't mention that they also access compress and delete file routines. I think they do a directory and write it to a file, compress it, and, transfer it to their server, then delete it. This means they can do anything they want on our computers, including wipe our hard drive clean."

"So much for privacy," said Keller. "Since they can download a file, they could read the directory, and if they see a tax program, for instance, they could download your tax files, and your bookkeeping files. It starts to get scary fast."

"It looks like anyone who has anything they don't want the government to see, had better keep it on a different computer than the one they use to access the internet," said Marta Frazier.

"You know, I'd forgotten about it, until now, but Sandoz also said something about push technology. I can't remember what it was."

Of course, Michael," cried Frazier. "In push technology, they 'push' information onto your computer. If they can send the message or file that you want, they can send another that you don't want-one they want you to have. Supposing they send you a program to monitor what you are doing, and they check it from time to time, keeping an eye on you."

"There's something strange here, Marta. They didn't access the routines when you accessed MicroShaft. Maybe they didn't know about them and a spy in MicroShaft put the routines in without their knowledge. Then, too, they could also be smart enough to appear innocent. There is definitely some sort of collusion between the government and MicroShaft, or, at least, someone at MicroShaft.

"If MicroShaft were innocent, how do you explain what they did to the other guy that Sandoz told about the routines," Marta said. "If they hadn't had something to hide, they wouldn't have done that."

"Maybe the manager the guy went to was the spy, or in on it," said Keller. "AP&P must be in on it too, since they use the routines."

"That's right," she said. "Oh God, Michael. Supposing MicroShaft somehow tests the subroutine, before they access it, to see if it's been modified. The code we put in, to let us know when they accessed it, would change the size and the CRC. They would know it was modified and not use it. Not only that, but they would know who had modified it."

"That's scary," admitted Keller. "I don't see how they could check the routines without accessing at least one of them. Unless there's at least one more that we don't know about."

"I can think of a lot of ways, Michael. They could check it while WinDose is loading and put a flag somewhere in memory. All you need is one bit. A zero if it's okay, and a one if it isn't."

"Since the others did use it," said Keller. "They apparently don't check. I could be wrong, but I'd guess there is no check. Hell, it's bad enough that the government and the telephone company are in on it, without MicroShaft."

"Do you suppose anything would happen to us, if they found out that we know about it?" she asked.

"I don't want to find out. Do you?"

"No way," she said. "You know there could be quite a few routines that we don't know about. They could require a parameter, such as a filename or a number, in order to operate. We would never know where to store such a parameter, or how long it would be, or if it was encoded or what. They could already know that I know. That scares me to death, Michael."

"Come on, Marta," he said, putting his hand on hers. "They probably don't know. Just to make sure, why not access them again without the modifications. We both know that noise on the line or a hiccup in the computer could give them a false reading. They have to know that too." He wasn't as sure as he sounded. But, what good would it do to worry?

***

Perry dropped Randolph and Kit at the Airport. Fran Benson and the co-pilot, whom Benson introduced as Sid Hodges, had been there long enough to have the plane full of fuel and the flight plan filed. At 10:45, they left West Palm Beach for Dallas.

Once Randolph saw the airplane that belonged to the defunct Silicon Valley company, he knew it would be perfect, if it turned out to be in good condition and he could get the price down a little. He hired a local company to inspect the airplane thoroughly and to verify its service record. Their team went right to work and soon gave the aircraft a clean bill of health. Benson and Hodges took it up and put it through its paces, pronouncing it fully operational. After negotiating the price down to 19.7 million dollars, Randolph called Leonard Fisher to authorize the expenditure for the airplane and an insurance policy. The funds transfer went through quickly, but the confirmation of the insurance policy took two hours. Randolph took advantage of the wait to call Francesca.

"Hello, Francesca," he said.

"Clint?"

"Nolite temere. Ego sum. Fear not. It is I."

"You took Latin in college?" she asked.

"No. I just remembered that particular phrase. A Pope wrote it at the bottom of his portrait, when the artist asked him to write a bit of scripture on the painting. How have you been, Francesca?"

"Better than ever. Where are you?"

"I'm at the Dallas airport."

"Am I going to get to see you?"

"I'm afraid not. I just bought a plane, and I'm waiting for the insurance to go through. As soon as it does, I have to take the plane to the Bahamas to get it registered. But, I didn't want to be in Dallas without calling you."

"Bahamas. I'll never forget that day in the Bahamas. What kind of plane did you buy?"

"A 737."

"Wow."

"I expect to be doing a lot of international travel," he said, "and I may be taking quite a few people with me. I can't tell you about it, just yet. When you hear about it, you'll understand."

"Whatever it is, I hope it works out well for you, Clint."

"Thanks, Francesca. So do I. It's a very important situation."

"I've been following your problems in the news, lately," she said.

"Don't believe everything you see and hear from the media."

"I never have. There's no reason to start now. Besides, I know you."

"Is that your dog barking?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"What kind of dog do you have?"

"She's a Border Collie."

"Black and white, I suppose."

"Yes, she is. Her name is Mimi."

"That's much better than Zerlina," he said.

"That's what I thought, although Zerlina has a pleasant ring to it."

"Indeed it does. Does Mimi always bark so much?"

"I think there's someone at the door."

"I'll let you go for now, Francesca, so you can answer the door. I'll be in touch."

"I hope so. Good-bye, Clint. Thanks for calling."

"It's been my pleasure. Good-bye, Francesca."

Randolph then called Roger Svenson and asked him to be on the lookout for another similarly equipped plane. Finally, well insured, they took off for Nassau. They arrived too late; the government offices were closed. They spent the night in Nassau.