Disclosure

"No, Your Honor."

"Very well. Bear in mind that inflammatory and unsubstantiated characterizations do not assist our mutual efforts at resolution."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"I want everyone here to be clear: these proceedings are potentially damaging to all parties-not only in their outcome, but in the conduct of the proceedings themselves. Depending on the outcome, Ms. Johnson and Mr. Sanders may find themselves working together in some capacity in the future. I will not permit these proceedings to unnecessarily poison such future relationships. Any further unwarranted accusations will cause me to halt these proceedings. Does anyone have any questions about what I've just said?"

No one did.

"All right. Mr. Heller?"

Heller sat back. "No further questions, Your Honor."

"All right," Judge Murphy said. "We'll break for five minutes, and return to hear Ms. Johnson's version."

You're doing fine," Fernandez said. "You're doing very well. Your ice was strong. You were clear and even. Murphy was impressed. You're doing fine." They were standing outside, by the fountains in the courtyard. Sanders felt like a boxer between rounds, being worked over by his trainer. "How do you feel?" she asked. "Tired?"

"A little. Not too bad."

"You want coffee?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Good. Because the hard part is coming up. You're going to have to be very strong when she gives her version. You won't like what she says. But it's important that you stay calm."

"Okay."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "By the way, just between us: Howdidthe relationship end?"

"To tell the truth, I can't remember exactly."

Fernandez looked skeptical. "But this was important, surely…"

"It was almost ten years ago," Sanders said. "To me, it feels like another lifetime."

She was still skeptical.

"Look," Sanders said. "This is the third week in June. What was going on in your love life the third week of June, ten years ago? Can you tell me?"

Fernandez was silent, frowning.

"Were you married?" Sanders prompted.

No.

"Met your husband yet?"

"Uh, let's see… no… not until… I must have met my husband… about a year later."

"Okay. Do you remember who you were seeing before him?"

Fernandez was silent. Thinking.

"How aboutanything that happened between you and a lover in June, ten years ago?"

She was still silent.

"See what I mean?" Sanders said. "Ten years is a long time. I remember the affair with Meredith, but I'm not clear about the last few weeks of it. I don't remember the details of how it ended."

"What do you remember?"

He shrugged. "We had more fights, more yelling. We were still living together, but somehow, we began to arrange our schedules so that we never saw each other. You know how that happens. Because when we did run into each other, we fought.

"And finally one night, we had a big argument while we were getting dressed to go to a party. Some formal party for DigiCom. I remember I had to wear a tux. I threw my cuff links at her and then I couldn't find them. I had to get down on the floor and look. But once we were driving to the party, we sort of calmed down, and we started talking about breaking up. In this very ordinary way. Very reasonable way. It just came out. Both of us. Nobody shouted. And in the end, we decided it was best if we broke it off."

Fernandez was looking at him thoughtfully. "That's it?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Except we never got to the party."

Something at the back of his mind.

A couple in a car, going to a party. Something about a cellular pbone. All dressed up, going to the party and they make a call, and

He couldn't get it. It hung in his memory, just beyond recollection.

The woman made a call on the cellular pbone, and then… Something embarrassing afterward…

"Tom?" Fernandez said, shaking his shoulder. "Looks like our time is about up. Ready to go back?"

"I'm ready," he said.

As they were heading back to the mediation room, Heller came over. He gave Sanders an oily smile, then turned to Fernandez. "Counselor," he said. "I wonder if this is the time to talk about settlement."

"Settlement?" Fernandez said, showing elaborate surprise. "Why?"

"Well, things aren't going so well for your client, and-"

"Things are going fine for my client-"

"And this whole inquiry will only get more embarrassing and awkward for him, the longer it continues"

"My client isn't embarrassed at all-"

"And perhaps it is to everyone's advantage to end it now."

Fernandez smiled. "I don't think that's my client's wish, Ben, but if you have an offer to make, we will of course entertain it."

"Yes. I have an offer."

"All right."

Heller cleared his throat. "Considering Tom's current compensation base and associated benefits package, and taking into consideration his lengthy service with the company, we're prepared to settle for an amount equal to several years of compensation. We'll add an allowance for your fees and other miscellaneous expenses of termination, the cost of a headhunter to relocate to a new position, and all direct costs that may be associated with moving his household, and all together make it four hundred thousand dollars. I think that's very generous."

"I'll see what my client says," Fernandez said. She took Sanders by the arm, and walked a short distance away. "Well?"

"No," Sanders said.

"Not so fast," she said. "That's a pretty reasonable offer. It's as much as you're likely to get in court, without the delay and expenses."

“No.”

"Want to counter?"

"No. Fuck him."

"I think we should counter."

"Fuck him."

Fernandez shook her head. "Let's be smart, not angry. What do you hope to gain from all this, Tom? There must be a figure you would accept."

"I want what I'll get when they take the company public," Sanders said. "And that's somewhere between five and twelve million."

"You think.It's a speculative estimate for a future event."

"That's what it'll be, believe me." Fernandez looked at him.

"Would you take five million now?" "Yes." "Alternatively, would you take the compensation package he outlined, plus the stock options you would get at the time of the offering?"

Sanders considered that. "Yes." "All right. I'll tell him."

She walked back across the courtyard to Heller. The two spoke briefly. After a moment, Heller turned on his heel and stalked away.

Fernandez came back, grinning. "He didn't go for it." They headed back inside. "But I'll tell you one thing: this is a good sign."

"It is?"

"Yes. If they want to settle before Johnson gives her testimony, it's a very good sign."

In view of the acquisition," Meredith Johnson said, "I felt it wasimportant that I meet with all the division heads on Monday." She spoke calmly and slowly, looking at everyone seated around the table in turn. Sanders had the sense of an executive giving a presentation. "I met with Don Cherry, Mark Lewyn, and Mary Anne Hunter during the afternoon. But Tom Sanders said he had a very busy schedule, and asked if we could meet at the end of the day. At his request, I scheduled the meeting with Tom at six o'clock."

He was amazed at the cool way that she lied. He had expected her to be effective, but he was still astonished to see her in action.

"Tom suggested that we could have a drink as well, and go over old times. That wasn't really my style, but I agreed. I was especially concerned to establish good relations with Tom, because I knew he was disappointed he had not gotten the job, and because we had a past history. I wanted our working relationship to be cordial. For me to refuse a drink with him seemed… I don't know-standoffish, or stiff. So I said yes.

"Tom came to the office at six o'clock. We had a glass of wine, and talked about the problems with the Twinkle drive. However, from the outset he kept making comments of a personal nature that I considered inappropriate for example, comments about my appearance, and about how often he thought about our past relationship. Reference to sexual incidents in the past, and so on."

Son of a bitchSanders's whole body was tense. His hands were clenched. His jaw was tight.

Fernandez leaned over and put her hand on his wrist.

Meredith Johnson was saying, "… had some calls from Garvin and others. I took them at my desk. Then my assistant came in and asked if she could leave early, to deal with some personal matters. I said she could. She left the room. That was when Tom came over and suddenly started kissing me."

She paused for a moment, looking around the room. She met Sanders's eyes with a steady gaze.

"I was taken aback by his sudden and unexpected overture," she said, staring evenly at him. "At first, I tried to protest, and to defuse the situation. But Tom is much larger than I am. Much stronger. He pulled me over onto the couch and started to disrobe, and to take my clothes off as well. As you can imagine, I was horrified and frightened. The situation was out of control, and the fact that it was happening made our future working relationship very difficult. To say nothing of how I felt personally, as a woman. I mean, to be assaulted in this way."

Sanders stared at her, trying desperately to control his anger. He heard Fernandez, at his ear.'Breathe. "He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had not been aware until then that he was holding his breath.

"I kept trying to make light of it," Meredith continued, "to make jokes, to get free. I was trying to say to him, Oh, come on Tom, let's not do this. But he was determined. And when he tore my underwear off, when I heard the sound of the cloth ripping, I realized that I could not get out of this situation in any diplomatic way. I had to acknowledge that Mr. Sanders was raping me and I became very scared and very angry. When he moved away from me on the couch, to free his penis from his trousers, prior to penetration, I kneed him in the groin. He rolled off the couch, onto the floor. Then he got to his feet, and I got to my feet.

"Mr. Sanders was angry that I had refused his advances. He started shouting at me, and then he hit me, knocking me down onto the floor. But by then I was angry; too. I remember saying, `You can't do this to me,' and swearing at him. But I can't say I remember everything that he said or that I said. He came back at me one more time, but by then I had my shoes in my hand, and I hit him in the chest with my high heels, trying to drive him away. I think I tore his shirt. I'm not sure. I was so angry by then, I wanted to kill him. I'm sure I scratched him. I remember I said I wanted to kill him. I was so angry. Here it was my first day in this new job, I was under so much pressure, I was trying to do a good job and this… thisthing had happened that ruined our relationship and was going to cause a lot of trouble for everybody in the company. He went off in an angry rage. After he left, the question for me was how to handle it."

She paused, shaking her head, apparently lost in the emotions of that moment.

Heller said gently, "How did you decide to handle it?"

"Well, it's a problem. Tom's an important employee, and he is not an easy person to replace. Furthermore, in my judgment it would not be wise to make a replacement in the middle of the acquisition. My first impulse was to see if we could forget the whole thing. After all, we're both adults. I was personally embarrassed, but I thought that Tom would probably be embarrassed, too, when he sobered up and had a chance to think it over. And I thought that maybe we could just go on from there. After all, awkward things happen sometimes. People can overlook them.

"So when the meeting time changed, I called his house to tell him. He wasn't there, but I had a very pleasant conversation with his wife. It was clear from our conversation that she did not know that Tom had been meeting me, or that Tom and I knew each other from the past. Anyway, I gave his wife the new meeting time, and asked her to tell Tom.

"The next day, at the meeting, things did not go well. Tom showed up late, and changed his story about the Twinkle drive, minimizing the problems and contradicting me. He was clearly undercutting my authority in a corporate meeting and I could not permit that. I went directly to Phil Blackburn and told him everything that had happened. I said I did not want to press formal charges, but I made it clear that I could not work with Tom and that a change would have to be made. Phil said he would talk to Tom. And eventually it was decided that we would try to mediate a resolution."

She sat back, and placed her hands flat on the table. "That's all, I think. That's everything." She looked around at everyone, meeting their eyes in turn. Very cool, very controlled.

It was a spectacular performance, and in Sanders it produced a quite unexpected effect: he felt guilty. He felt as if he had done the things that she said he had done. He felt sudden shame, and looked down at the table, hanging his head.

Fernandez kicked him in the ankle, hard. He jerked his head up, wincing. She was frowning at him. He sat up.

Judge Murphy cleared her throat. "Evidently," she said, "we are presented with two entirely incompatible reports. Ms. Johnson, I have only a few questions before we go on."

"Yes, Your Honor?"

"You're an attractive woman. I'm sure you've had to fend off your share of unwanted approaches in the course of your business career."

Meredith smiled. "Yes, Your Honor."

"And I'm sure you have developed some skill at it."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"You've said you were aware of tensions from your past relationship with Mr. Sanders. Considering those tensions, I would have thought that a meeting held in the middle of the day, without wine, would have been more professional-would have set a better tone."

"I'm sure that's correct in hindsight," Meredith said. "But at the time, this was all in the context of the acquisition meetings. Everybody was busy. I was just trying to fit the meeting with Mr. Sanders in before the Conley-White sessions the next day. That's all I was thinking about. Schedules."

"I see. And after Mr. Sanders left your office, why didn't you call Mr. Blackburn, or someone else in the company, to report what had happened?"

"As I said, I was hoping it could all be overlooked."

"Yet the episode you describe," Murphy said, "is a serious breach of normal business behavior. As an experienced manager, you must have known the chance of a good working relationship with Mr. Sanders was nil. I would have thought you'd feel obliged to report what happened to a superior at once. And from a practical standpoint, I would have thought you'd want to go on record as soon as possible."

"As I said, I was still hoping." She frowned, thinking. "You know, I guess… I felt responsible for Tom. As an old friend, I didn't want to be the reason why he lost his job."

"On the other hand, you are the reason why he lost his job."

"Yes. Again, in hindsight."

"I see. All right. Ms. Fernandez?"

"Thank you, Your Honor." Fernandez turned in her chair to face Johnson. "Ms. Johnson, in a situation like this, when private behavior occurs behind closed doors, we need to look at surrounding events where we can. So I'll ask you a few questions about surrounding events."

"Fine."

"You've said that when you made the appointment with Mr. Sanders, he requested wine."

"Yes." "Where did the wine come from, that you drank that night?" "I asked my assistant to get it." "This is Ms. Ross?" "Yes." "She's been with you a long time?" "Yes." "She came up with you from Cupertino?" "Yes."

"She is a trusted employee?" "Yes."

"How many bottles did you ask Ms. Ross to buy?" "I don't remember if I specified a particular number." "All right. How many bottles did she get?" "Three, I think." "Three. And did you ask your assistant to buy anything else?" "Like what?" "Did you ask her to buy condoms?"

“No.”

"Do you know if she bought condoms?"

"No, I don't."

"In fact, she did. She bought condoms from the Second Avenue Drugstore."

"Well, if she bought condoms," Johnson said, "it must have been for herself."

"Do you know of any reason why your assistant would say she bought the condoms for you?"

"No," Johnson said, speaking slowly. She was thinking it over. "I can't imagine she would do that."

"Just a moment," Murphy said, interrupting. "Ms. Fernandez, are you alleging that the assistant did say that she bought the condoms for Ms. Johnson?"

"Yes, Your Honor. We are."

"You have a witness to that effect?" Yes, we do."

Sitting beside Johnson, Heller rubbed the bottom of his lip with one finger. Johnson showed no reaction at all. She didn't even blink. She just continued to gaze calmly at Fernandez, waiting for the next question.

"Ms. Johnson, did you instruct your assistant to lock the door to your office when Mr. Sanders was with you?" "I most certainly did not." "Do you know if she locked the door?" "No, I don't." "Do you know why she would tell someone that you ordered her to lock the door?"

“No.”

"Ms. Johnson. Your meeting with Mr. Sanders was at six o'clock. Did you have any appointments later that day?"

"No. His was the last."

"Isn't it true that you had a seven o'clock appointment that you canceled?"

"Oh. Yes, that's true. I had one with Stephanie Kaplan. But I canceled it because I wasn't going to have the figures ready for her to go over. There wasn't time to prepare."

"Are you aware that your assistant told Ms. Kaplan that you were canceling because you had another meeting that was going to run late?"

"I don't know what my assistant said to her," Meredith replied, showing impatience for the first time. "We seem to be talking a great deal about my assistant. Perhaps you should be asking her these questions."

"Perhaps we should. I'm sure it can be arranged. All right. Let's turn to something else. Mr. Sanders said he saw a cleaning woman when he left your office. Did you also see her?"

"No. I stayed in my office after he had gone."

"The cleaning woman, Marian Walden, says she overheard a loud argument prior to Mr. Sanders's departure. She says she heard a man say, `This isn't a good idea, I don't want to do this,' and she heard a woman say, `You fucking bastard, you can't leave me like this.' Do you recall saying anything like that?"

"No. I recall saying, `You can't do this to me."'

"But you don't recall saying, `You can't leave me like this.' "

"No, I do not."

"Ms. Walden is quite clear that was what you said."

"I don't know what Ms. Walden thought she heard," Johnson said. "The doors were closed the entire time."

"Weren't you speaking quite loudly?"

"I don't know. Possibly."

"Ms. Walden said you were shouting. And Mr. Sanders has said you were shouting."

"I don't know."

"All right. Now, Ms. Johnson, you said that you informed Mr. Blackburn that you could not work with Mr. Sanders after the unfortunate Tuesday morning meeting, is that right?"

"Yes. That's right."

Sanders sat forward. He suddenly realized that he had overlooked that, while Meredith was making her original statement. He had been so upset, he hadn't realized that she had lied about when she saw Blackburn. Because Sanders had gone to Blackburn's office right after the meeting-and Blackburn already knew.

"Ms. Johnson, what time would you say you went to see Mr. Blackburn?"

"I don't know. After the meeting."

"About what time?"

"Ten o'clock."

"Not earlier?"

“No.”

Sanders glanced over at Blackburn, who sat rigidly at the end of the table. He looked tense, and bit his lip.

Fernandez said, "Shall I ask Mr. Blackburn to confirm that? I imagine his assistant has a log, if he has difficulty with exact memory."

There was a short silence. She looked over at Blackburn. "No," Meredith said. "No. I was confused. What I meant to say was I talked to Phil after the initial meeting, and before the second meeting."

"The initial meeting being the one at which Sanders was absent? The eight o'clock meeting."

"Yes."

"So Mr. Sanders's behavior at the second meeting, where he contradicted you, could not have been relevant to your decision to speak to Mr. Blackburn. Because you had already spoken to Mr. Blackburn by the time that meeting took place."

"As I say, I was confused."

"I have no more questions of this witness, Your Honor."

Judge Murphy closed her notepad. Her expression was bland and unreadable. She looked at her watch. "It's now eleven-thirty. We will break for lunch for two hours. I'm allowing extra time so that counsel can meet to review the situation and to decide how the parties wish to proceed." She stood up. "I am also available if counsel wish to meet with me for any reason. Otherwise, I'll see you all back here at one-thirty sharp. Have a pleasant and productive lunch." She turned and walked out of the room.

Blackburn stood and said, "Personally, I'd like to meet with opposing counsel, right now."

Sanders glanced over at Fernandez.

Fernandez gave the faintest of smiles. "I'm amenable to that, Mr. Blackburn," she said.

The three lawyers stood beside the fountain. Fernandez was talking animatedly to Heller, their heads close together. Blackburn was a few paces away, a cellular phone pressed to his ear. Across the courtyard, Meredith Johnson talked on another phone, gesturing angrily as she talked.

Sanders stood off to one side by himself, and watched. There was no question in his mind that Blackburn would seek a settlement. Piece by piece, Fernandez had torn Meredith Johnson's version apart: demonstrating that she had ordered her assistant to buy wine, to buy condoms, to lock the door when Sanders was there, and to cancel later appointments. Clearly, Meredith Johnson was not a supervisor surprised by a sexual overture. She had been planning it all afternoon. Her crucial reaction-her angry statement that "You can't leave me"-had been overheard by the cleaning woman. And she had lied about the timing and motivation of her report to Blackburn.

There could be no doubt in anyone's mind that Meredith was lying. The only question now was what Blackburn and DigiCom would do about it. Sanders had sat through enough management sensitivity seminars on sexual harassment to know what the company's obligation was. They really had no choice.

They would have to fire her.

But what would they do about Sanders? That was another question entirely. He had the strong intuition that by bringing this accusation, he had burned his bridges at the company; he would never be welcomed back. Sanders had shot down Garvin's pet bird, and Garvin would not forgive him for it.

So: they wouldn't let him back. They would have to pay him off.

"They're calling it quits already, huh?"

Sanders turned and saw Alan, one of the investigators, coming up from the parking lot. Alan had glanced over at the lawyers and quickly appraised the situation.

"I think so," Sanders said.

Alan squinted at the lawyers. "They should. Johnson has a problem. And a lot of people in the company know about it. Especially her assistant."

Sanders said, "You talked to her last night?"

"Yeah," he said. "Herb found the cleaning woman and got her taped. And I had a late night with Betsy Ross. She's a lonely lady, here in a new town. She drinks too much, and I taped it all."

"Did she know that?"

"She doesn't have to," Alan said. "It's still admissible." He watched the lawyers for a moment. "Blackburn must be shitting staples about now."

Louise Fernandez was stalking across the courtyard, grim-faced, hunched over."Goddamn it," she said, as she came up.

"What happened?" Sanders said.

Fernandez shook her head. "They won't make a deal."

"They won't make a deal?"

"That's right. They just deny every point. Her assistant bought wine? That was for Sanders. Her assistant bought condoms? That was for the assistant. The assistant says she bought them for Johnson? The assistant is an unreliable drunk. The cleaning lady's report? She couldn't know what she heard, she had the radio on. And always the constant refrain, `You know, Louise, this won't stand up in court.' And Bulletproof Betty is on the phone, running the whole thing. Telling everybody what to do." Fernandez swore. "I have to tell you. This is the kind of shit male executives pull. They look you right in the eye and say, `It never happened. It just isn't there. You have no case.' It burns my ass.Damn it!"

"Better get some lunch, Louise," Alan said. To Sanders he said, "She sometimes forgets to eat."

"Yeah, fine. Sure. Eat." They started toward the parking lot. She was walking fast, shaking her head. "I can't understand how they can take this position," she said. "Because I know-I could see it in judge Murphy's eyes that she didn't think there'd be an afternoon session at all. Judge Murphy heard the evidence and concluded it's all over. So did 1. But it's not over. Blackburn and Heller aren't movingone inch. They're not going to settle. They're basically inviting us to sue."

"So we'll sue," Sanders said, shrugging.

"Not if we're smart," Fernandez said. "Notnow. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen. They got a lot of free discovery, and we got nothing. We're back to square one. And they have the next three years to work on that assistant, and that cleaning lady, and anything else we come up with. And let me tell you: in three years we won't even be able tofind that assistant."

"But we have her on tape…"

"She still has to appear in court. And believe me, she never will. Look, DigiCom has huge exposure. If we show that DigiCom didn't respond in a timely and adequate fashion to what they knew about Johnson, they could be liable for extremely large damages. There was a case on point last month in California: nineteen point four milliondollars, found for the plaintiff. With exposure like that, take my word for it: the assistant will be unavailable. She'll be on vacation in Costa Rica for the rest of her life."

"So what do we do?" Sanders said.

"For better or worse, we're committed now. We've taken this line and we have to continue it. Somehow, we have to force them to come to terms," she said. "But we're going to need something else to do that. You got anything else?"

Sanders shook his head. "No, nothing."

"Hell," Fernandez said. "What's going on? I thought DigiCom was worried about this allegation becoming public before they finished the acquisition. I thought they had a publicity problem."

Sanders nodded. "I thought they did, too."

"Then there's something we don't understand. Because Heller and Blackburn both act like they couldn't care less what we do. Now why is that?"

A heavyset man with a mustache walked past them, carrying a sheaf of papers. He looked like a cop.

"Who's he?" Fernandez said.

"Never seen him before."

"They were calling on the phone for somebody. Trying to locate somebody. That's why I ask."

Sanders shrugged. "What do we do now?"

"We eat," Alan said.

"Right. Let's go eat," Fernandez said, "and forget it for a while."

In the same moment, a thought popped into his mind:Forget that phone.It seemed to come from nowhere, like a command:

Forget that phone.

Walking beside him, Fernandez sighed. "We still have things we can develop. It's not over yet. You've still got things, right, Alan?"

"Absolutely," Alan said. "We've hardly begun. We haven't gotten to Johnson's husband yet, or to her previous employer. There's lots of stones left to turn over and see what crawls out."

Forget that phone.

"I better check in with my office," Sanders said, and took out his cellular phone to dial Cindy.

A light rain began to fall. They came to the cars in the parking lot. Fernandez said, "Who's going to drive?"

"I will," Alan said.

They went to his car, a plain Ford sedan. Alan unlocked the doors, and Fernandez started to get in. "And I thought that at lunch today we would be going to have a party," she said.

Going to a party…

Sanders looked at Fernandez sitting in the front seat, behind the rain spattered windshield. He held the phone up to his ear and waited while the call went through to Cindy. He was relieved that his phone was working correctly. Ever since Monday night when it went dead, he hadn't trusted it completely. But it seemed to be fine. Nothing wrong with it at all.

The couple was going to a party and.she made a call on a cellular phone. From the car…

Forget that phone.

Cindy said, "Mr. Sanders's office."

And when she called, she got an answering machine. She left a message on the answering machine. And then.she hung up.

"Hello? Mr. Sanders's office. Hello?"

"Cindy, it's me."

"Oh, hi, Tom." Still reserved.

"Any messages?" he said.

"Uh, yes, let me look at the book. You had a call from Arthur in KL, he wanted to know if the drives arrived. I checked with Don Cherry's team; they got them. They're working on them now. And you had a call from Eddie in Austin; he sounded worried. And you had anothercall from John Levin. He called you yesterday, too. And he said it was important."

Levin was the executive with a hard drive supplier. Whatever was on his mind, it could wait.

"Okay. Thanks, Cindy."

"Are you going to be back in the office today? A lot of people are asking."

"I don't know."

`John Conley from Conley-White called. He wanted to meet with you at four."

"I don't know. I'll see. I'll call you later."

"Okay." She hung up.

He heard a dial tone.

And then she had hung up.

The story tugged at the back of his mind. The two people in the car. Going to the party. Who had told him that story? How did it go?

On her way to the party, Adele had made a call from the car and then.she had hung up.

Sanders snapped his fingers. Of course! Adele! The couple in the car had been Mark and Adele Lewyn. And they had had an embarrassing incident. It was starting to come back to him now.

Adele had called somebody and gotten the answering machine. She left a message, and hung up the phone. Then.she and Mark talked in the car about the person Adele had just called. They made jokes and unflattering comments for about fifteen minutes. And later they were very embarrassed…

Fernandez said, "Are you just going to stand there in the rain?"

Sanders didn't answer. He took the cellular phone down from his ear. The keypad and screen glowed bright green. Plenty of power. He looked at the phone and waited. After five seconds, it clicked itself off; the screen went blank. That was because the new generation of phones had an autoshutdown feature to conserve battery power. If you didn't use the phone or press the keypad for fifteen seconds, the phone shut itself off. So it wouldn't go dead.

But his phone had gone dead in Meredith's office.

Why?

Forget that phone.

Why had his cellular phone failed to shut itself off? What possible explanation could there be? Mechanical problems: one of the keys stuck, keeping the phone on. It had been damaged when he dropped it, when Meredith first kissed him. The battery was low because he forgot to charge it the night before.

No, he thought. The phone was reliable. There was no mechanical fault. And it was fully charged.

No.

The phone had worked correctly.

They made jokes and unflattering comments for about fifteen minutes.

His mind began to race, with scattered fragments of conversation coming back to him.

"Listen, why didn't you call me last night?"

"I did, Mark."

Sanders was certain that he had called Mark Lewyn from Meredith's office. Standing in the parking lot in the rain, he again pressed L-E-W on his keypad. The phone turned itself back on, the little screen flashingLEWYNand Mark's home number.

"There wasn't any message when I got home."

`I talked to your answering machine, about six-fifteen."

`I never got a message. "

Sanders was sure that he had called Lewyn and had talked to his answering machine. He remembered a man's voice saying the standard message, "Leave a message when you hear the tone."

Standing there with the phone in his hand, staring at Lewyn's phone number, he pressed theSENDbutton. A moment later, the answering machine picked up. A woman's voice said, "Hi, you've reached Mark and Adele at home. We're not able to come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, we'll call you back."Beep.

That was a different message.

Hehadn't called Mark Lewyn that night.

Which could only mean he hadn't pressed L-E-W that night. Nervous in Meredith's office, he must have pressed something else. He had gotten somebody else's answering machine.

And his phone had gone dead.

Because…

Forget that phone.

`Jesus Christ," he said. He suddenly put it together. He knew exactly what had happened. And it meant that there was the chance that

"Tom, are you all right?" Fernandez said.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just give me a minute. I think I've got something important."

He hadn't pressed L-E-W.

He had pressed something else. Something very close, probably one letter off: With fumbling fingers, Sanders pushed L-E-L. The screen stayed blank: he had no number stored for that combination. L-E-M. No number stored. L-E-S. No number stored. L-E-V.

Bingo.

Printed across the little screen was:

And a phone number for John Levin.

Sanders had called John Levin's answering machine that night.

John Levin called. He said it was important.

I'll bet he did, Sanders thought.

He remembered now, with sudden clarity, the exact sequence of events in Meredith's office. He had been talking on the phone and she said, "Forget that phone," and pushed his hand down as she started kissing him. He had dropped the phone on the windowsill as they kissed, and left it there.

Later on, when he left Meredith's office, buttoning his shirt, he had picked up the cellular phone from the sill, but by then it was dead. Which could only mean that it had remained constantly on for almost an hour. It had remained on during the entire incident with Meredith.

In the car, when Adele finished the call,.she hung the phone back in the cradle, She didn't press theENDbutton, so the phone line stayed open, and their entire conversation was recorded on the persona answering machine. Fifteen minutes of jokes and personal commentary, all recorded on his answering machine.

And Sanders's phone had been dead because the line stayed open. The whole conversation had been recorded.

Standing in the parking lot, he quickly dialed John Levin's number. Fernandez got out of the car and came over to him. "What's going on?" Fernandez said. "Are we going to lunch, or what?"

`Just a minute."

The call went through. A click of the pickup, then a man's voice: `John Levin."

`John, it's Tom Sanders."

"Well, hey there, Tom boy!" Levin burst out laughing. "My man! Are you having a red-hot sex life these days, or what? I tell you, Tom, my ears were burning."

Sanders said, "Was it recorded?"

`Jesus Christ, Tom, you better believe it. I came in Tuesday morning to check my messages, and I tell you, it went on for half an hour, I mean-"

"John-"

"Whoever said married life was dull-"

"John. Listen.Did you keep it?"

There was a pause. Levin stopped laughing. "Tom, what do you think I am, a pervert? Ofcourse I kept it. I played it for the whole office. They loved it!"

"John. Seriously."

Levin sighed. "Yeah. I kept it. It sounded like you might be having a little trouble, and… I don't know. Anyway, I kept it."

"Good. Where is it?"

"Right here on my desk," Levin said.

"John, I want that tape. Now listen to me: this is what I want you to do.

Driving in the car, Fernandez said, "I'm waiting."

Sanders said, "There's a tape of the whole meeting with Meredith. It was all recorded."

"How?" "It was an accident. I was talking to an answering machine," he said, "and when Meredith started kissing me, I put the phone down but didn't end the call. So the phone stayed connected to the answering machine. And everything we said went right onto the answering machine."

"Hot damn," Alan said, slapping the steering wheel as he drove.

"This is an audio tape?" Fernandez said.

"Yes." "Good quality?"

"I don't know. We'll see. John's bringing it to lunch."

Fernandez rubbed her hands together. "I feel better already." "Yes?"

"Yes," she said. "Because if it's any good at all, we can really draw blood."

John Levin, florid and jovial, pushed away his plate and drained the last of his beer. "Now that's what I call a meal.Excellenthalibut." Levin weighed nearly three hundred pounds, and his belly pressed up against the edge of the table.

They were sitting in a booth in the back room of McCormick and Schmick's on First Avenue. The restaurant was noisy, filled with the lunchtime business crowd. Fernandez pressed the headphones to her ears as she listened to the tape on a Walkman. She had been listening intently for more than half an hour, making notes on a yellow legal pad, her food still uneaten. Finally she got up. "I have to make a call."

Levin glanced at Fernandez's plate. "Uh… do you want that?"

Fernandez shook her head, and walked away.

Levin grinned. "Waste not, want not," he said, and pulled the plate in front of him. He began to eat. "So Tom, are you in shit or what?"

"Deep shit," Sanders said. He stirred a cappuccino. He hadn't been able to eat lunch. He watched Levin wolf down great bites of mashed potatoes.

"I figured that," Levin said. "Jack Kerry over at Aldus called me this morning and said you were suing the company because you refused to jump some woman.

"Kerry is an asshole."

"The worst," Levin nodded. "The absolute worst. But what can you do? After Connie Walsh's column this morning, everybody's been trying to figure out who Mr. Piggy is." Levin took another huge bite of food. "But how'd she get the story in the first place? I mean, she's the one who broke it."

Sanders said, "Maybe you told her, John."

"Are you kidding?" Levin said.

"You had the tape."

Levin frowned. "You keep this up, Tom, you're going to piss me off" He shook his head. "No, you ask me, it was a woman who told her."

"What woman knew? Only Meredith, and she wouldn't tell."

"I'll bet you anything it'll turn out to be a woman," Levin said. "If you ever find out-which I doubt." He chewed thoughtfully. "Swordfish is a little rubbery. I think we should tell the waiter." He looked around the room. "Uh, Tom."

"Yes?"

"There's a guy standing over there, hopping from one foot to the other. I think maybe you know him."

Sanders looked over his shoulder. Bob Garvin was standing by the bar, looking at him expectantly. Phil Blackburn stood a few paces behind.

"Excuse me," Sanders said, and he got up from the table.

Garvin shook hands with Sanders. "Tom. Good to see you. How are you holding up with all this?"

"I'm okay," Sanders said.

"Good, good." Garvin placed his hand in a fatherly way on Sanders's shoulder. "It's nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you too, Bob."

Garvin said, "There's a quiet place in the corner over there. I asked them for a couple of cappuccinos. We can talk for a minute. Is that okay?"

"That's fine," Sanders said. He was well acquainted with the profane, angry Garvin. This cautious, polite Garvin made him uneasy.

They sat in the corner of the bar. Garvin settled into his chair and faced him.

"Well, Tom. We go way back, you and I"

"Yes, we do."

"Those damn trips to Seoul, eating that crappy food, and your ass hurting like hell. You remember all that."

"Yes, I do."

"Yeah, those were the days," Garvin said. He was watching Sanders carefully. "Anyway, Tom, we know each other, so I'm not going to bullshit you. Let me just put all the cards on the table," Garvin said. "We've got a problem here, and it's got to be solved before it turns into a real mess for everybody. I want to appeal to your better judgment about how we proceed from here."

"My better judgment?" Sanders said.

"Yes," Garvin said. "I'd like to look at this thing from all sides."

"How many sides are there?"

"There are at least two," Garvin said, with a smile. "Look, Tom. I'm sure it's no secret that I've supported Meredith inside our company. I've always believed that she's got talent and the kind of executive vision that we want for the future. I've never seen her do anything before thatwould suggest otherwise. I know she's only human, but she's very talented and I support her."

"Uh-huh…"

"Now perhaps in this case… perhaps it is true that she's made a mistake. I don't know."

Sanders said nothing. He just waited, staring at Garvin's face. Garvin was doing a convincing impression of an open-minded man. Sanders didn't buy it.

"In fact, let's say she has," Garvin said. "Let's say she did make a mistake."

"She did, Bob," Sanders said, firmly.

"All right. Let's say she did. An error of judgment, let's call it. An overstepping of bounds. The point is, Tom, faced with a situation like this, I still strongly support her."

"Why?"

"Because she's a woman."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Well, women in business have traditionally been excluded from executive positions, Tom."

"Meredith hasn't been excluded," Sanders said.

"And after all," Garvin said, "she's young."

"She's not that young," Sanders said.

"Sure she is. She's practically a college kid. She just got her MBA a couple of years ago."

"Bob," Sanders said. "Meredith Johnson's thirty-five. She's not a kid at all."

Garvin did not seem to hear that. He looked at Sanders sympathetically. "Tom, I can understand that you were disappointed about the job," he said. "And I can understand that in your eyes, Meredith made a mistake in the way she approached you."

"She didn't approach me, Bob. She jumped me."

Garvin showed a flash of irritation. "You're no kid either, you know."

"That's right, I'm not," Sanders said. "But I am her employee."

"And I know she holds you in the highest regard," Garvin said, settling back in his chair. "As does everybody in the company, Tom. You're vital to our future. You know it, I know it. I want to keep our team together. And I keep coming back to the idea that we have to make allowances for women. We have to cut them a little slack."

"But we're not talking about women," Sanders said. "We're talking about one particular woman."

"Torn-"

"And if a man had done what she did, you wouldn't be talking about cutting him slack. You'd fire him, and throw him out on his ass."

"Possibly so."

"Well, that's the problem," Sanders said.

Garvin said, "I'm not sure I follow you there, Tom." His tone carried a warning: Garvin didn't like being disagreed with. Over the years, as his company grew in wealth and success, Garvin had grown accustomed to deference. Now, approaching retirement, he expected obedience and agreement. "We have an obligation to attain equality," Garvin said.

"Fine. But equality means no special breaks," Sanders said. "Equality means treating people the same. You're asking for inequality toward Meredith, because you won't do what you would do to a man-fire him."

Garvin sighed. "If it was a clear case, Tom, I would. But I understand this particular situation isn't so clear."

Sanders considered telling him about the tape. Something made him hold back. He said, "I think it is."

"But there are always differences of opinion on these matters," Garvin said, leaning across the bar. "That's a fact, isn't it? Always a difference of opinion. Tom. Look: what did she do that was so bad? I mean, really. She made a pass? Fine. You could have decided it was flattering. She's a beautiful woman, after all. There are worse things that could happen. A beautiful woman puts her hand on your knee. Or you could have just said, no thank you. You could have handled it any number of ways. You're a grown-up. But this… vindictiveness. Tom. I have to tell you. I'm surprised at you."

Sanders said, "Bob, she broke the law."

"That really remains to be seen, doesn't it?" Garvin said. "You can throw open your personal life for a jury to inspect, if that's what you want to do. I wouldn't want to do it, myself. And I don't see that it helps anybody to take this into court. It's a no-win situation, all around."

"What're you saying?"

"You don't want to go to court, Tom." Garvin's eyes were narrow, dangerous.

"Why not?"

"You just don't." Garvin took a deep breath. "Look. Let's stay on track here. I've talked to Meredith. She feels as I do, that this thing has gotten out of hand."

"Uh-huh…"

"And I'm talking to you now, too. Because my hope, Tom, is that we can put this to rest, and go back to the way things were now hear me out, please go back to the way things were, before this unfortunate misunderstanding happened. You stay at your job, Meredith stays at hers. You two continue to work together like civilized adults. You move forward and build the company, take it public, and everybody makes a pile of money a year down the line. What's wrong with that?"

Sanders felt something like relief, and a sense of normalcy returning. He longed to escape from the lawyers and from the tension of the last three days. To sink back into the way things were seemed as appealing as a warm bath.

"I mean, look at it this way, Tom. Right after this thing happened on Monday night, nobody blew the whistle. You didn't call anybody. Meredith didn't call anybody. I think you both wanted this thing to go away. Then there was an unfortunate mix-up the next day, and an argument that needn't have happened. If you'd been on time for the meeting, if you and Meredith had been in sync on the story, none of this would have happened. You two would still be working together, and whatever happened between you would remain your private business. Instead, we have this. It's all a big mistake, really. So why not just forget it and go forward? And get rich. Tom? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Sanders said, finally.

"Good."

"Except it won't work," Sanders said.

"Why not?"

A dozen answers flashed through his mind: Because she's not competent. Because she's a snake. Because she's a corporate player, all image, and this is a technical division that has to get out the product. Because she's a liar. Because I have no respect for her. Because she'll do it again. Because she has no respect for me. Because you're not treating me fairly. Because she's your pet. Because you chose her over me. Because…

"Things have gone too far," he said.

Garvin stared at him. "Things can go back."

"No, Bob. They can't."

Garvin leaned forward. His voice dropped. "Listen you little feringi pissant. I know exactly what's going on here. I took you in when you didn't knowbulkogi from bullshit. I gave you your start, I gave you help, I gave you opportunities, all along the line. Now you want to play rough? Fine. You want to see the shit come down? Just fucking wait, Tom." He stood up.

Sanders said, "Bob, you've never been willing to listen to reason on the subject of Meredith Johnson."

"Oh, you think 1 have a problem with Meredith?" Garvin laughed harshly. "Listen, Tom: she was your girlfriend, but she was smart and independent, and you couldn't handle her. You were pissed when she dropped you. And now, all these years later, you're going to pay her back. That's what this is about. It has nothing to do with business ethics or breaking the law or sexual harassment or any other damned thing. It's personal, and it's petty. And you're so full of shit your eyes are brown."

And he stalked out of the restaurant, pushing angrily past Blackburn. Blackburn remained behind for a moment, staring at Sanders, and then hurried after his boss.

As Sanders walked back to his table, he passed a booth with several guys from Microsoft, including two major assholes from systems programming. Someone made a snorting pig sound. "Hey Mr. Piggy," said a low voice. "Suwee! Suwee!" "Couldn't get it up, huh?" Sanders walked on a few paces, then turned back. "Hey, guys," he said. "At least I'm not bending over and grabbing my ankles in latenight meetings with-" and he named a Programming head at Microsoft. They all roared with laughter. "Whoa ho!" "Mr. Piggy speaks!" "Oink oink." Sanders said, "What're you guys doing in town, anyway? They run short on K-Y jelly in Redmond?" "Whoa!" "The Piggy is pissed!" They were doubled over, laughing like college kids. They had a big pitcher of beer on the table. One of them said, "If Meredith Johnson pulled off her pants for me, I sure wouldn't call the police about it." "No way, Jose!" "Service with a smile!" "Hard charger!" "Ladies first!" "Ka-jung! Ka-jung!" They pounded the table, laughing. Sanders walked away.

Outside the restaurant, Garvin paced back and forth angrily on the pavement. Blackburn stood with the phone at his ear.

"Where is that fucking car?" Garvin said.

"I don't know, Bob."

"I told him to wait."

"I know, Bob. I'm trying to get him."

"Christ Almighty, the simplest things. Can't even get the fucking cars to work right."

"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom."

"So? How long does that take? Goddamn Sanders. Could you believe him?"

"No, I couldn't, Bob."

"I just don't understand. He won't deal with me on this. And I'm bending over backward here. I offer him his job back, I offer him his stock back, I offer him everything. And what does he do? Jesus."

"He's not a team player, Bob."

"You got that right. And he's not willing to meet us. We've got to get him to come to the table."

"Yes we do, Bob."

"He's not feeling it," Garvin said. "That's the problem."

"The story ran this morning. It can't have made him happy."

"Well, he's not feeling it."

Garvin paced again.

"There's the car," Blackburn said, pointing down the street. The Lincoln sedan was driving toward them.

"Finally," Garvin said. "Now look, Phil. I'm tired of wasting time on Sanders. We tried being nice, and it didn't work. That's the long and the short of it. So what are we going to do, to make him feel it?"

"I've been thinking about that," Phil said. "What's Sanders doing? I mean really doing? He's smearing Meredith, right?"

"Goddamn right."

"He didn't hesitate to smear her."

"He sure as hell didn't."

"And it's not true, what he's saying about her. But the thing about a smear is that it doesn't have to be true. It just has to be something people are willing to believe is true."

"So?"

"So maybe Sanders needs to see what that feels like."

"Like what feels like? What're you talking about?"

Blackburn stared thoughtfully at the approaching car. "I think that Tom's a violent man."

"Oh hell," Garvin said, "he's not. I've known him for years. He's a pussycat."

"No," Blackburn said, rubbing his nose. "I disagree. I think he's violent. He was a football player in college, he's a rough-and-tumble sort of guy. Plays football on the company team, knocks people around. He has a violent streak. Most men do, after all. Men are violent."

"What kind of shit is this?"

"And you have to admit, he was violent to Meredith," Blackburn continued. "Shouting. Yelling. Pushing her. Knocking her over. Sex and violence. A man out of control. He's much bigger than she is. Just stand them side by side, anybody can see the difference. He's much bigger. Much stronger. All you have to do is look, and you see he is a violent abusive man. That nice exterior is just a cover. Sanders is one of those men who take out their hostility by beating up defenseless women."

Garvin was silent. He squinted at Blackburn. "You'll never make this fly._

"I think I can."

"Nobody in their right mind'll buy it."

Blackburn said, "I think somebody will."

"Yeah? Who?"

"Somebody," Blackburn said.

The car pulled up to the curb. Garvin opened the door. "Well, all I know," he said, "is that we need to get him to negotiate. We need to apply pressure to bring him to the table."

Blackburn said, "I think that can be arranged."

Garvin nodded. "It's in your hands, Phil. Just make sure it happens." He got in the car. Blackburn got in the car after Garvin. Garvin said to the driver, "Where the fuck have you been?"

The door slammed shut. The car drove off.

Sanders drove with Fernandez in Alan's car back to the mediation center. Fernandez listened to Sanders's report of the conversation with Garvin, shaking her head. "You never should have seen him alone. He couldn't have behaved that way if I was there. Did he really say you have to make allowances for women?"

"Yes."

"That's noble of him. He's found a virtuous reason why we should protect a harasser. It's a nice touch. Everyone should sit back and allow her to break the law because she's a woman. Very nice."

Sanders felt stronger hearing her words. The conversation with Garvin had rattled him. He knew that Fernandez was working on him, building him back up, but it worked anyway.

"The whole conversation is ridiculous," Fernandez said. "And then he threatened you?"

Sanders nodded.

"Forget it. It's just bluster."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely," she said. `Just talk. But at least now you know why they say men just don't get it. Garvin gave you the same lines that every corporate guy has been giving for years: Look at it from the harasser's point of view. What did they do that was so wrong. Let bygones be bygones. Everybody just go back to work. We'll be one big happy family again."

"Incredible," Alan said, driving the car.

"It is, in this day and age," Fernandez said. "You can't pull that stuff anymore. How old is Garvin, anyway?"

"Almost sixty."

"That helps explain it. But Blackburn should have told him it'scompletely unacceptable. According to the law, Garvin really _ doesn't have any choice. At a minimum, he has to transfer Johnson, not you. And almost certainly, he should fire her."

"I don't think he will," Sanders said.

"No, of course he won't."

"She's his favorite," Sanders said.

"More to the point, she's his vice president," Fernandez said. She stared out the window as they went up the hill toward the mediation center. "You have to realize, all these decisions are about power. Sexual harassment is about power, and so is the company's resistance to dealing with it. Power protects power. And once a woman gets up in the power structure, she'll be protected by the structure, the same as a man. It's like the way doctors won't testify against other doctors. It doesn't matter if the doctor is a man or a woman. Doctors just don't want to testify against other doctors. Period. And corporate executives don't want to investigate claims against other executives, male or female."

"So it's just that women haven't had these jobs?"

"Yes. But they're starting to get them now. And now they can be as unfair as any man ever was."

"Female chauvinist sows," Alan said.

"Don't you start," Fernandez said.

"Tell him the figures," Alan said.

"What figures?" Sanders said.

"About five percent of sexual harassment claims are brought by men against women. It's a relatively small figure. But then, only five percent of corporate supervisors are women. So the figures suggest that women executives harass men in the same proportion as men harass women. And as more women get corporate jobs, the percentage of claims by men is going up. Because the fact is, harassment is a power issue. And power is neither male nor female. Whoever is behind the desk has the opportunity to abuse power. And women will take advantage as often as men. A case in point being the delightful Ms. Johnson. And her boss isn't firing her."

"Garvin says it's because the situation isn't clear."

"I'd say that tape is pretty damn clear," Fernandez said. She frowned. "Did you tell him about the tape?"

“No.”

"Good. Then I think we can wrap this case up in the next two hours."

Alan pulled into the parking lot and parked the car. They all got out.

"All right," Fernandez said. "Let's see where we are with her significant others. Alan. We've still got her previous employer-"

"Conrad Computer. Right. We're on it.

"And also the one before that."

"Symantec."

"Yes. And we have her husband-"

"I've got a call into CoStar for him."

"And the Internet business? `Afriend'?"

"Working on it."

"And we have her B-school, and Vassar."

"Right."

"Recent history is the most important. Focus on Conrad and the husband."

"Okay," Alan said. "Conrad's a problem, because they supply systems to the government and the CIA. They gave me some song and dance about neutral reference policy and nondisclosure of prior employees."

"Then get Harry to call them. He's good on negligent referral. He can shake them up if they continue to stonewall."

"Okay. He may have to."

Alan got back in the car. Fernandez and Sanders started walking up to the mediation center. Sanders said, "You're checking her past companies?"

"Yes. Other companies don't like to give damaging information on prior employees. For years, they would never give anything at all except the dates of employment. But now there's something called compelled self-publication, and something called negligent referral. A company can be liable now for failing to reveal a problem with a past employee. So we can try to scare them. But in the end, they may not give us the damaging information we want."

"How do you know they have damaging information to give?"

Fernandez smiled. "Because Johnson is a harasser. And with harassers, there's always a pattern. It's never the first time."

"You think she's done this before?"

"Don't sound so disappointed," Fernandez said. "What did you think? That she did all this because she thought you were so cute? I guarantee you she has done it before." They walked past the fountains in the courtyard toward the door to the center building. "And now," Fernandez said, "let's go cut Ms. Johnson to shreds."

Precisely at one-thirty, judge Murphy entered the mediation room. She looked at the seven silent people sitting around the table and frowned. "Has opposing counsel met?"

"We have," Heller said.

"With what result?" Murphy said.

"We have failed to reach a settlement," Heller said.

"Very well. Let's resume." She sat down and opened her notepad. "Is there further discussion relating to the morning session?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Fernandez said. "I have some additional questions for Ms. Johnson."

"Very well. Ms. Johnson?"

Meredith Johnson put on her glasses. "Actually, Your Honor, I would like to make a statement first."

"All right."

"I've been thinking about the morning session," Johnson said, speaking slowly and deliberately, "and Mr. Sanders's account of the events of Monday night. And I've begun to feel that there may be a genuine misunderstanding here."

"I see." Judge Murphy spoke absolutely without inflection. She stared at Meredith. "All right."

"When Tom first suggested a meeting at the end of the day, and when he suggested that we have some wine, and talk over old times, I'm afraid I may have unconsciously responded to him in a way that he might not have intended."

Judge Murphy didn't move. Nobody was moving. The room was completely still.

"I believe it is correct to say that I took him at his word, and began to imagine a, uh, romantic interlude. And to be frank, I was not opposed to that possibility. Mr. Sanders and I had a very special relationship some years ago, and I remembered it as a very exciting relationship. So I believe it is fair to say that I was looking forward to our meeting, and that perhaps I presumed that it would lead to an encounter. Which I was, unconsciously, quite willing to have occur."

Alongside Meredith, Heller and Blackburn sat completely stonefaced, showing no reaction at all. The two female attorneys showed no reaction. This had all been worked out in advance, Sanders realized. What was going on? Why was she changing her story?

Johnson cleared her throat, then continued in the same deliberate way. "I believe it is correct to say that I was a willing participant in all the events of the evening. And it may be that I was too forward, at one point, for Mr. Sanders's taste. In the heat of the moment, I may have overstepped the bounds of propriety and my position in the company. I think that's possible. After serious reflection, I find myself concluding that my own recollection of events and Mr. Sanders's recollection of events are in much closer agreement than I had earlier recognized."

There was a long silence. Judge Murphy said nothing. Meredith Johnson shifted in her chair, took her glasses off, then put them back on again.

"Ms. Johnson," Murphy said finally, "do I understand you to say that you are now agreeing to Mr. Sanders's version of the events on Monday night?"

"In many respects, yes. Perhaps in most respects."

Sanders suddenly realized what had happened:they knew about the tape.

But how could they know? Sanders himself had learned of it only two hours ago. And Levin had been out of his office, having lunch with them. So Levin couldn't have told them. How could they know?

"And, Ms. Johnson," Murphy said, "are you also agreeing to the charge of harassment by Mr. Sanders?"

"Not at all, Your Honor. No."

"Then I'm not sure I understand. You've changed your story. You say you now agree that Mr. Sanders's version of the events is correct in most respects. But you do not agree that he has a claim against you?"

"No, Your Honor. As I said, I think it was all a misunderstanding."

"Amisunderstanding," Murphy repeated, with an incredulous look on her face.

"Yes, Your Honor. And one in which Mr. Sanders played a very active role."

“Ms,.Johnson. According to Mr. Sanders, you initiated kissing over his protests; you pushed him down on the couch over his protests; you unzipped his trousers and removed his penis over his protests; and you removed your own clothing over his protests. Since Mr. Sanders is your employee, and dependent on you for employment, it is difficult for me to comprehend why this is not a clear-cut and indisputable case of sexual harassment on your part."

"I understand, Your Honor," Meredith Johnson said calmly. "And I realize I have changed my story. But the reason I say it is a misunderstanding is that from the beginning, I genuinely believed that Mr. Sanders was seeking a sexual encounter with me, and that belief guided my actions."

"You do not agree that you harassed him."

"No, Your Honor. Because I thought I had clear physical indications that Mr. Sanders was a willing participant. At times he certainly took the lead. So now, I have to ask myself why he would take the lead-and then so suddenly withdraw. I don't know why he did that. But I believe he shares responsibility for what happened. That is why I feel that, at the very least, we had a genuine misunderstanding. And I want to say that I am sorry truly, deeply sorry-for my part in this misunderstanding."

"You're sorry." Murphy looked around the room in exasperation. "Can anyone explain to me what is going on? Mr. Heller?"

Heller spread his hands. "Your Honor, my client told me what she intended to do here. I consider it a very brave act. She is a true seeker after truth."

"Oh, spare me," Fernandez said.

Judge Murphy said, "Ms. Fernandez, considering this radically different statement from Ms. Johnson, would you like a recess before you proceed with your questions?"

"No, Your Honor. I am prepared to go forward now," Fernandez said.

"I see," Murphy said, puzzled. "All right. Fine." Judge Murphy clearly felt that there was something everyone else in the room knew that she didn't.

Sanders was still wondering how Meredith knew about the tape. He looked over at Phil Blackburn, who sat at one end of the table, his cellular phone before him. He was rubbing the phone nervously.

Phone records, Sanders thought. That must be it.

DigiCom would have had somebody-most probably Gary Bosak-going through all of Sanders's records, looking for things to use against him. Bosak would have checked all the calls made on Sanders's cellular phone. When he did that, he would have discovered a call that lasted forty-five minutes on Monday night. It would stand out: a whopping big duration and charge. And Bosak must have looked at the time of the call and figured out what had happened. He'd realize that Sanders hadn't been talking on the phone during that particular forty-five minutes on Monday night. Therefore, there could only be one explanation. The call was running to an answering machine, which meant there was a tape. And Johnson knew it, and had adjusted her story accordingly. That was what had made her change.

"Ms. Johnson," Fernandez said. "Let's clear up a few factual points first. Are you now saying that youdidsend your assistant to buy wine and condoms, that youdidtell her to lock the door, and that youdidcancel your seven o'clock appointment in anticipation of a sexual encounter with Mr. Sanders?"

"Yes, I did."

"In other words, you lied earlier."

"I presented my point of view."

"But we are not talking about a point of view. We are talking about facts. And given this set of facts, I'm curious to know why you feel that Mr. Sanders shares responsibility for what happened in that room Monday night."

"Because I felt… I felt that Mr. Sanders had come to my office with the clear intention of having sex with me, and he later denied any such intention. I felt he had set me up. He led me on, and then accused me, when I had done nothing more than simply respond to him."

"You feel he set you up?"

"Yes."

"And that's why you feel he shares responsibility?"

"Yes."

"In what way did he set you up?"

"Well, I think it's obvious. Things had gone very far along, when he suddenly got off the couch and said he was not going to proceed. I'd say that was a setup."

"Why?"

"Because you can't go so far and then just stop. That's obviously ahostile act, intended to embarrass and humiliate me. I mean… anyone can see that."

"All right. Let's review that particular moment in detail," Fernandez said. "As I understand it, we're talking about the time when you were on the couch with Mr. Sanders, with both of you in a state of partial undress. Mr. Sanders was crouched on his knees on the couch, his penis was exposed, and you were lying on your back with your panties removed and your legs spread, is that correct?"

"Basically. Yes." She shook her head. "You make it sound so… crude."

"But that was the situation at that moment, was it not?"

"Yes. It was."

"Now, at that moment, did you say, `No, no, please,' and did Mr. Sanders reply, `You're right, we shouldn't be doing this,' and then get off the couch?"

"Yes," she said. "That's what he said."

"Then what was the misunderstanding?"

"When I said, `No, no,' I meant, `No, don't wait.' Because he was waiting, sort of teasing me, and I wanted him to go ahead. Instead, he got off the couch, which made me very angry."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted him to do it."

"But Ms. Johnson, you said, `No, no.'"

"I know what I said," she replied irritably, "but in that situation, it's perfectly clear what I was really saying to him."

"Is it?"

"Of course. He knew exactly what I was saying to him, but he chose to ignore it."

"Ms. Johnson, have you ever heard the phrase, `No means no'?"

"Of course, but in this situation-"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Johnson. Does no mean no, or not?"

"Not in this case. Because at that time, lying on that couch, it was absolutely clear what I was really saying to him."

"You mean it was clear to you."

Johnson became openly angry. "It was clear to him, too," she snapped.

"Ms. Johnson. When men are told that `no means no,' what does that mean?"

"I don't know." She threw up her hands in irritation. "I don't know what you're trying to say."

"I'm trying to say that men are being told that they must take women at their literal word. That no means no. That men cannot assume that no means maybe or yes."

"But in this particular situation, with all our clothes off, when things had gone so far-"

"What does that have to do with it?" Fernandez said.

"Oh, come off it,"Johnson said. "When people are getting together, they begin with little touches, then little kisses, then a little petting, then some more petting. Then the clothes come off, and you're touching various private parts, and so on. And pretty soon you have an expectation about what's going to happen. And you don't turn back. To turn back is a hostile act. That's what he did. He set me up."

"Ms. Johnson. Isn't it true that women claim the right to turn back at any point, up to the moment of actual penetration? Don't women claim the unequivocal right to change their minds?"

"Yes, but in this instance"

"Ms. Johnson. If women have the right to change their minds, don't men as well? Can't Mr. Sanders change his mind?"

"It was a hostile act." Her face had a fixed, stubborn look. "He set me up."

"I'm asking whether Mr, Sanders has the same rights as a woman in this situation. Whether he has the right to withdraw, even at the last moment."

“No.”

"Why?"

"Because men are different."

"How are they different?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Johnson said angrily. "What are we talking about here? This is Alice in Wonderland. Men and women aredifferent.Everybody knows that. Men can't control their impulses."

"Apparently Mr. Sanders could."

"Yes. As a hostile act. Out of his desire to humiliate me."

"But what Mr. Sanders actually said at the time was, `I don't feel good about this.' Isn't that true?"

"I don't remember his exact words. But his behavior was very hostile and degrading toward me as a woman."

"Let's consider," Fernandez said, "who was hostile and degrading toward whom. Didn't Mr. Sanders protest the way things were going earlier in the evening?"

"Not really. No."

"I thought he had." Fernandez looked at her notes. "Early on, did you say to Mr. Sanders, `You look good' and `You always had a nice hard tush'?"

"I don't know. I might have. I don't remember."

"And what did he reply?"

"I don't remember."

Fernandez said, "Now, when Mr. Sanders was talking on the phone, did you come up, push it out of his hand, and say, `Forget that phone'?"

"I might have. I don't really remember."

"And did you initiate kissing at that point?"

"I'm not really sure. I don't think so."

"Well, let's see. How else could it have occurred? Mr. Sanders was talking on his cellular phone, over by the window. You were on another phone at your desk. Did he interrupt his call, set down his phone, come over, and start kissing you?"

She paused for a moment. "No."

"Then who initiated the kissing?"

"I guess I did."

"And when he protested and said, `Meredith,' did you ignore him, press on, and say, `God, I've wanted you all day. I'm so hot, I haven't had a decent fuck'?" Fernandez repeated these statements in a flat uninflected monotone, as if reading from a transcript.

"I may have… I think that might be accurate. Yes."

Fernandez looked again at her notes. "And then, when he said, `Meredith, wait,' again clearly speaking in a tone of protest, did you say, `Oh, don't talk, no, no, oh Jesus'?"

"I think… possibly I did."

"On reflection, would you say these comments by Mr. Sanders were protests that you ignored?"

"If they were, they were not very clear protests. No."

"Ms. Johnson. Would you characterize Mr. Sanders as fully enthusiastic throughout the encounter?"

Johnson hesitated a moment. Sanders could almost see her thinking, trying to decide how much the tape would reveal. Finally she said, "He was enthusiastic sometimes, not so much at other times. That's my point."

"Would you say he was ambivalent?"

"Possibly. Somewhat."

"Is that a yes or a no, Ms. Johnson?" Yes.

"All right. So Mr. Sanders was ambivalent throughout the session. He's told us why: because he was being asked to embark on an office affair with an old girlfriend who was now his boss. And because he was now married. Would you consider those valid reasons for ambivalence?"

"I suppose so."

"And in this state of ambivalence, Mr. Sanders was overwhelmed at the last moment with the feeling that he didn't want to go forward. And he told you how he felt, simply and directly. So, why would you characterize that as a `setup'? I think we have ample evidence that it is just the opposite an uncalculated, rather desperate human response to a situation which you entirely controlled. This was not a reunion of old lovers, Ms. Johnson, though you prefer to think it was. This was not a meeting of equals at all. The fact is, you are his superior and you controlled every aspect of the meeting. You arranged the time, bought the wine, bought the condoms, locked the door-and then you blamed your employee when he failed to please you. That is how you continue to behave now."

"And you're trying to put his behavior in a good light," Johnson said. "But what I'm saying is that as a practical matter, waiting to the last minute to stop makes people very angry."

"Yes," Fernandez said. "That's how many men feel, when women withdraw at the last minute. But women say a man has no right to be angry, because a woman can withdraw at any time. Isn't that true?"

Johnson rapped her fingers on the table irritably. "Look," she said. "You're trying to make some kind of federal case here, by trying to obscure basic facts. What did I do that was so wrong? I made him an offer, that's all. If Mr. Sanders wasn't interested, all he had to do was say, `No.' But he never said that. Not once. Because he intended toset me up.He's angry he didn't get the job and he's retaliating the only way he can-by smearing me. This is nothing but guerrilla warfare and character assassination. I'm a successful woman in business, and he resents my success and he's out to get me. You're saying all kinds of things to avoid that central and unavoidable fact."

"Ms. Johnson. The central and unavoidable fact is that you're Mr. Sanders's superior. And your behavior toward him was illegal. And it is in fact a federal case."

There was a short silence.

Blackburn's assistant came into the room and handed him a note. Blackburn read the note and passed it to Heller.

Murphy said, "Ms. Fernandez? Are you ready to explain what's going on to me now?"

"Yes, Your Honor. It turns out there is an audio tape of the meeting."

"Really? Have you heard it?"

"I have, Your Honor. It confirms Mr. Sanders's story."

"Are you aware of this tape, Ms. Johnson?"

"No, I am not."

"Perhaps Ms. Johnson and her attorney would like to hear it, too. Perhaps we should all hear it," Murphy said, looking directly at Blackburn.

Heller put the note in his pocket and said, "Your Honor, I'd like to request a ten-minute recess."

"Very well, Mr. Heller. I'd say this development warrants it."

Outside in the courtyard, black clouds hung low. It was threatening to rain again. Over by the fountains, Johnson huddled with Heller and Blackburn. Fernandez watched them. "I just don't understand this," she said. "There they all are, talking again. What is there to talk about? Their client lied, and then changed her story. There's no question that Johnson's guilty of sexual harassment. We have it recorded on tape. So what are they talking about?"

Fernandez stared for a moment, frowning. "You know, I have to admit it. Johnson's a hell of a smart woman," she said.

"Yes," Sanders said.

"She's quick and she's cool."

"Uh-huh."

"Moved up the corporate ladder fast."

"Yes."

"So… how'd she let herself get into this situation?"

"What do you mean?" Sanders said.

"I mean, what's she doing coming on to you the very first day at work? And coming on so strongly? Leaving herself open to all these problems? She's too smart for that."

Sanders shrugged.

"You think it's just because you're irresistible?" Fernandez said. "With all due respect, I doubt it."

He found himself thinking of the time he first knew Meredith, when she was doing demos, and the way she used to cross her legs whenever she was asked a question she couldn't answer. "She could always use sex to distract people. She's good at that."

"I believe it," Fernandez said. "So what is she distracting us from now?"

Sanders had no answer. But his instinct was that something else was going on. "Who knows how people really are in private?" he said. "I once knew this woman, she looked like an angel, but she liked bikers to beat her up."

"Uh-huh," Fernandez said. "That's fine. I'm not buying it for Johnson. Because Johnson strikes me as very controlled, and her behavior with you was not controlled."

"You said it yourself, there's a pattern."

"Yeah. Maybe. But why the first day? Why right away? I think she had another reason."

Sanders said, "And what about me? Do you think I had another reason?"

"I assume you did," she said, looking at him seriously. "But we'll talk about that later."

Alan came up from the parking lot, shaking his head.

"What've you got?" Fernandez said.

"Nothing good. We're striking out everywhere," he said. He flipped open his notepad. "Okay. Now, we've checked out that Internet address. The message originated in the `U District.' And `Afriend' turns out to be Dr. Arthur A. Friend. He's a professor of inorganic chemistry at the University of Washington. That name mean anything to you?"

"No," Sanders said.

"I'm not surprised. At the moment, Professor Friend is in northern Nepal on a consulting job for the Nepalese government. He's been there for three weeks. He's not expected back until late July. So it probably isn't him sending the messages anyway."

"Somebody's using his Internet address?"

"His assistant says that's impossible. His office is locked while he's away, and nobody goes in there except her. So nobody has access to his computer terminal. The assistant says she goes in once a day and answers Dr. Friend's e-mail, but otherwise the computer is off. And nobody knows the password but her. So I don't know."

"It's a message coming out of a locked office?" Sanders said, frowning.

"I don't know. We're still working on it. But for the moment, it's a mystery."

"All right, fine," Fernandez said. "What about Conrad Computer?"

"Conrad has taken a very hard position. They will only release information to the hiring company, meaning DigiCom. Nothing to us. And they say that the hiring company has not requested it. When we pushed, Conrad called DigiCom themselves, and DigiCom told them they weren't interested in any information Conrad might have."

"Hmmm."

"Next, the husband," Alan said. "I talked to someone who worked in his company, CoStar. Says the husband hates her, has lots of bad things to say about her. But he's in Mexico on vacation with his new girlfriend until next week."

"Too bad."

"Novell," Alan said. "They keep only the last five years current. Prior to that, records are in cold storage at headquarters in Utah. They have no idea what they'll show, but they're willing to get them out if we'll pay for it. It'll take two weeks."

Fernandez shook her head. "Not good."

“No.”

"I have a strong feeling that Conrad Computer is sitting on something," Fernandez said.

"Maybe, but we'll have to sue to get it. And there's no time." Alan looked across the courtyard at the others. "What's happening now?"

"Nothing. They're hanging tough."

"Still?"

"Yeah."

`Jesus," Alan said. "Who's she got behind her?"

"I'd love to know," Fernandez said.

Sanders flipped open his cellular phone and checked in with his office. "Cindy, any messages?"

`Just two, Tom. Stephanie Kaplan asked if she could meet with you today."

"She say why?"

"No. But she said it wasn't important. And Mary Anne has come by twice, looking for you."

"Probably wants to skin me," Sanders said.

"I don't think so, Tom. She's about the only one who-she's very concerned about you, I think."

"Okay. I'll call her."

He started to dial Mary Anne's number when Fernandez nudged him in the ribs. He looked over and saw a slender, middle-aged woman walking up from the parking lot toward them. "Buckle up," Fernandez said. "Why? Who's that?" "That," Fernandez said, "is Connie Walsh."

Connie Walsh was about forty-five years old, with gray hair and a sour expression. "Are you Tom Sanders?"

"That's right."

She pulled out a tape recorder. "Connie Walsh, from the Post Intelligencer. Can we talk for a moment?"

"Absolutely not," Fernandez said.

Walsh looked over at her.

"I'm Mr. Sanders's attorney."

"I know who you are," Walsh said, and turned back to Sanders. "Mr. Sanders, our paper's going with a story on this discrimination suit at DigiCom. My sources tell me that you are accusing Meredith Johnson of sex discrimination, is that correct?"

"He has no comment," Fernandez said, stepping between Walsh and Sanders.

Walsh looked past her shoulder and said, "Mr. Sanders, is it also true that you and she are old lovers, and that your accusation is a way to even the score?"

"He has no comment," Fernandez said.

"It looks to me like he does," Walsh said. "Mr. Sanders, you don't have to listen to her. You can say something if you want to. And I really think you should take this opportunity to defend yourself. Because my sources are also saying that you physically abused Ms. Johnson in the course of your meeting. These are very serious charges people are making against you, and I imagine you'll want to respond. What do you have to say to her allegations? Did you physically abuse her?"

Sanders started to speak, but Fernandez shot him a warning glance, and put her hand on his chest. She said to Walsh, "Has Ms. Johnson made these allegations to you? Because she was the only other one besides Mr. Sanders who was there."

"I'm not free to say. I have the story from very well-informed sources."

"Inside or outside the company?"

"I really can't say."

"Ms. Walsh," Fernandez said, "I am going to forbid Mr. Sanders to talk to you. And you better check with the P-I counsel before you run any of these unsubstantiated allegations."

"They're not unsubstantiated, I have very reliable"

"If there is any question in your counsel's mind, you might have her call Mr. Blackburn and he will explain what your legal position is in this matter."

Walsh smiled bleakly. "Mr. Sanders, do you want to make a comment?"

Fernandez said, `Just check with your counsel, Ms. Walsh."

"I will, but it won't matter. You can't squash this. Mr. Blackburn can't squash this. And speaking personally, I have to say I don't know how you can defend a case like this."

Fernandez leaned close to her, smiled, and said, "Why don't you step over here with me, and I'll explain something to you."

She walked with Walsh a few yards away, across the courtyard.

Alan and Sanders remained where they were. Alan sighed. He said, "Wouldn't you give anything to know what they were saying right now?"

Connie Walsh said, "It doesn't matter what you say. I won't give you my source."

"I'm not asking for your source. I'm simply informing you that your story is wrong-"

"Of course you'd say that-"

"And that there's documentary evidence that it's wrong."

Connie Walsh paused. She frowned. "Documentary evidence?"

Fernandez nodded slowly. "That's right."

Walsh thought it over. "But there can't be," she said. "You said it yourself. They were alone in the room. It's his word against hers. There's no documentary evidence."

Fernandez shook her head, and said nothing.

"What is it? A tape?"

Fernandez smiled thinly. "I really can't say."

"Even if there is, what can it show? That she pinched his butt a little? She made a couple of jokes? What's the big deal? Men have been doing that for hundreds of years."

"That's not the issue in this-"

"Give me a break. So this guy gets a little pinch, and he starts screaming bloody murder. That's not normal behavior in a man. This guy obviously hates and demeans women. That's clear, just to look at him. And there's no question: he hit her, in that meeting. The company had to call a doctor to examine her for a concussion. And I have several reliable sources that tell me he's known to be physically abusive. He and his wife have had trouble for years. In fact, she's left town with the kids and is going to file for divorce." Walsh was watching Fernandez carefully as she said it.

Fernandez just shrugged.

"It's a fact. The wife has left town," Walsh said flatly. "Unexpectedly. She took the kids. And nobody knows where she went. Now, you tell me what that means."

Fernandez said, "Connie, all I can do is advise you in my capacity as Mr. Sanders's attorney that documentary evidence contradicts your sources about this harassment charge."

"Are you going to show me this evidence?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then how do I know it exists?"

"You don't. You only know I have informed you of its existence." "And what if I don't believe you?"

Fernandez smiled. "These are the decisions a journalist must make." "You're saying it'd be reckless disregard."

"If you go with your story, yes."

Walsh stepped back. "Look. Maybe you've got some kind of a technical legal case here, and maybe you don't. But as far as I'm concerned, you're just another minority woman trying to get ahead with the patriarchy by getting down on her knees. If you had any self-respect you wouldn't be doing their dirty work for them."

"Actually, Connie, the person who seems to be caught in the grip of the patriarchy is you."

"That's a lot of crap," Walsh said. "And let me tell you, you're not going to evade the facts here. He led her on, and then he beat her up. He's an ex-lover, he's resentful, and he's violent. He's a typical man. And let me tell you, before I'm through, he'll wish he had never been born."

Ssanders said, "Is she going to run the story?"

"No," Fernandez said. She stared across the courtyard at Johnson, Heller, and Blackburn. Connie Walsh had gone over to Blackburn and was talking to him. "Don't get distracted by this," Fernandez said. "It's not important. The main issue is: what're they going to do about Johnson."

A moment later, Heller came toward them. He said, "We've been going over things on our side, Louise."

"And?"

"We've concluded that we see no purpose to further mediation and are withdrawing, as of now. I've informed judge Murphy that we will not continue."

"Really. And what about the tape?"

"Neither Ms. Johnson nor Mr. Sanders knew they were being taped. Under law, one party must know the interaction is being recorded. Therefore the tape is inadmissible."

"But Ben-"

"We argue that the tape should be disallowed, both from this mediation and from any subsequent legal proceeding. We argue that Ms. Johnson's characterization of the meeting as a misunderstanding between consenting adults is the correct one, and that Mr. Sanders bears a responsibility for that misunderstanding. He was an active participant, Louise, no way around it. He took her panties off. Nobody held a gun to his head. But since there was fault on both sides, the proper thing is for the two parties to shake hands, let go of all animosity, and return to work. Apparently Mr. Garvin has already proposed this to Mr. Sanders, and Mr. Sanders has refused. We believe that under the circumstances Mr. Sanders is acting unreasonably and that if he does not reconsider in a timely manner, he should be fired for his refusal to show up for work."

"Son of a bitch," Sanders said.

Fernandez laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Ben," she said calmly. "Is this a formal offer of reconciliation and return to the company?"

"Yes, Louise."

"And what are the sweeteners?"

"No sweeteners. Everybody just goes back to work."

"The reason I ask," Fernandez said, "is that I believe I can successfully argue that Mr. Sanders was aware the tape was being made, and thus it is indeed admissible. I will argue further that it is admissible under discovery of public records over common carriers as defined inWaller v. Herbst.I willargue further that the company knew of Ms. Johnson's long history of harassment, and has failed to take proper steps to investigate her behavior, either prior to this incident, or now. And I will argue that the company was derelict in protecting Mr. Sanders's reputation when it leaked the story to Connie Walsh."

"Wait a minute here-"

"I will argue that the company had a clear reason for leaking it: they desired to cheat Mr. Sanders out of his well-deserved reward for more than a decade of service to the company. And you've got an employee in Ms. Johnson who has had some trouble before. I will claim defamation and ask for punitive damages of sufficient magnitude to send a message to corporate America. I'll ask for sixty million dollars, Ben. And you'll settle for forty million-the minute I get the judge to allow the jury to hear this tape. Because we both know that when the jury hears that tape, they will take about five seconds to find against Ms. Johnson and the company."

Heller shook his head. "You've got a lot of long shots there, Louise. I don't think they'll ever let that tape be played in court. And you're talking about three years from now."

Fernandez nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "Three years is a long time."

"You're,telling me, Louise. Anything can happen."

"Yes, and frankly, I'm worried about that tape. So many untoward things can happen with evidence that is so scandalous. I can't guarantee somebody hasn't made a copy already. It'd be terrible if one fell into the hands of KQEM, and they started playing it over the radio."

"Christ," Heller said. "Louise, I can't believe you said that."

"Said what? I'm merely expressing my legitimate fears," Fernandez said. "I'd be derelict if I did not let you know my concerns. Let's face facts here, Ben. The cat's out of the bag. The press already has this story. Somebody leaked it to Connie Walsh. And she printed a story that's very damaging to Mr. Sanders's reputation. And it seems that somebody is still leaking, because now Connie is planning to write some unfounded speculation about physical violence by my client. It's unfortunate that someone on your side should have chosen to talk about this case. But we both know how it is with a hot story in the press you never know where the next leak will come from."

Heller was uneasy. He glanced back at the others by the fountain. "Louise, I don't think there's any movement over there."

"Well, just talk to them."

Heller shrugged, and walked back.

"What do we do now?" Sanders said.

"We go back to your office."

“We?”

"Yes," Fernandez said. "This isn't the end. More is going to happen today, and I want to be there when it does."

Driving back, Blackburn talked on the car phone with Garvin.V"The mediation's over. We called it off."

"And?"

"We're pushing Sanders hard to go back to work. But he's not responding so far. He's hanging tough. Now he's threatening punitive damages of sixty million dollars."

"Christ," Garvin said. "Punitive damages on what basis?"

"Defamation from corporate negligence dealing with the fact that we supposedly knew that Johnson had a history of harassment."

"I never knew of any history," Garvin said. "Did you know of any history, Phil?"

"No," Blackburn said.

"Is there any documentary evidence of such a history?"

"No," Blackburn said. "I'm sure there isn't."

"Good. Then let him threaten. Where did you leave it with Sanders?"

"We gave him until tomorrow morning to rejoin the company at his old job or get out."

"All right," Garvin said. "Now let's get serious. What have we got on him?"

"We're working on that felony charge," Blackburn said. "It's early, but I think it's promising."

"What about women?"

"There isn't any record on women. I know Sanders was screwing one of his assistants a couple of years back. But we can't find the records in the computer. I think he went in and erased them."

"How could he? We blocked his access."

"He must have done it some time ago. He's a cagey guy."

"Why the hell would he do it some time ago, Phil? He had no reason to expect any of this."

"I know, but we can't findthe records now." Blackburn paused. "Bob, I think we should move up the press conference."

"To when?"

"Late tomorrow."

"Good idea," Garvin said. "I'll arrange it. We could even do it noon tomorrow. John Marden is flying in in the morning," he said, referring to Conley-White's CEO. "That'll work out fine."

"Sanders is planning to string this out until Friday," Blackburn said. "Let's just beat him to the punch. We've got him blocked as it is. He can't get into the company files. He can't get access to Conrad or anything else. He's isolated. He can't possibly come up with anything damaging between now and tomorrow."

"Fine," Garvin said. "What about the reporter?"

"I think she'll break the story on Friday," Blackburn said. "She already has it, I don't know where from. But she won't be able to resist trashing Sanders. It's too good a story; she'll go with it. And he'll be dead meat when she does."

"That's fine," Garvin said.

Meredith Johnson came off the fifth-floor elevator at DigiCom and ran into Ed Nichols. "We missed you at the morning meetings," Nichols said.

"Yeah, I had some things to take care of," she said.

"Anything I should know?"

"No," she said. "It's boring. Just some technical matters about tax exemptions in Ireland. The Irish government wants to expand local content at the Cork plant and we're not sure we can. This has been going on for more than a year."

"You look a little tired," Nichols said, with concern. "A little pale."

"I'm okay. I'll be happy when this is all over."

"We all will," Nichols said. "You have time for dinner?"

"Maybe Friday night, if you're still in town," she said. She smiled. "But really, Ed. It's just tax stuff."

"Okay, I believe you."

He waved and went down the hallway. Johnson went into her office.

She found Stephanie Kaplan there, working at the computer terminal on Johnson's desk. Kaplan looked embarrassed. "Sorry to use your computer. I was just running over some accounts while I waited for you.

Johnson threw her purse on the couch. "Listen, Stephanie," she said. "Let's get something straight right now. I'm running this division, and nobody's going to change that. And as far as I'm concerned, this is the time when a new vice president decides who's on their side, and who isn't. Somebody supports me, I'll remember. Somebody doesn't, I'll deal with that, too. Do we understand each other?"

Kaplan came around the desk. "Yes, sure, Meredith."

"Don't fuck with me."

"Never entered my mind, Meredith."

"Good. Thank you, Stephanie." "No problem, Meredith." Kaplan left the office. Johnson closed the door behind her and went directly to her computer terminal and stared intently at the screen.

Sanders walked through the corridors of DigiCom with a sense of unreality. He felt like a stranger. The people who passed him in the halls looked away and brushed past him, saying nothing.

"I don't exist," he said to Fernandez.

"Never mind," she said.

They passed the main part of the floor, where people worked in chest-high cubicles. Several pig grunts were heard. One person sang softly, "Because I used to fuck her, but it's all over now…"

Sanders stopped and turned toward the singing. Fernandez grabbed his arm.

"Never mind," she said.

"But Christ…"

"Don't make it worse than it is."

They passed the coffee machine. Beside it, someone had taped up a picture of Sanders. They had used it for a dartboard.

`Jesus."

"Keep going."

As he came to the corridor leading to his office, he saw Don Cherry coming the other way.

"Hi, Don."

"You screwed up bad on this one, Tom." He shook his head and walked on.

Even Don Cherry.

Sanders sighed.

"You knew this was going to happen," Fernandez said.

"Maybe."

"You did. This is the way it works."

Outside his office, Cindy stood up when she saw him. She said, "Tom, Mary Anne asked you to call her as soon as you got in."

"Okay."

"And Stephanie said to say never mind, she found out whatever she needed to know. She said, uh, not to call her."

"Okay."

He went in the office and closed the door. He sat down behind his desk and Fernandez sat opposite him. She took her cellular phone out of her briefcase, and dialed. "Let's get one thing squared away-Ms. Vries's office please… Louise Fernandez calling."

She cupped her hand over the phone. "This shouldn't take- Oh, Eleanor? Hi, Louise Fernandez. I'm calling you about Connie Walsh. Uh-huh… I'm sure you've been going over it with her. Yes, I know she feels strongly. Eleanor, I just wanted to confirm to you that there is a tape of the event, and it substantiates Mr. Sanders's version rather than Ms. Johnson's. Actually, yes, I could do that. Entirely off the record? Yes, I could. Well, the problem with Walsh's source is that the company now has huge liability and if you print a story that's wrong-even if you got it from a source I think they have an action against you. Oh yes, I think absolutely Mr. Blackburn would sue. He wouldn't have any choice. Why don't you-I see. Uh-huh. Well, that could change, Eleanor. Uh-huh. And don't forget that Mr. Sanders is considering defamation right now, based on the Mr. Piggy piece. Yes, why don't you do that. Thank you."

She hung up and turned to Sanders. "We went to law school together. Eleanor is very competent and very conservative. She'd never have allowed the story in the first place, and would never have considered it now, if she didn't place a lot of reliance on Connie's source."

"Meaning?"

"I'm pretty sure I know who gave her the story," Fernandez said. She was dialing again.

"Who?" Sanders said.

"Right now, the important thing is Meredith Johnson. We've got to document the pattern, to demonstrate that she has harassed employees before. Somehow we've got to break this deadlock with Conrad Computer." She turned away. "Harry? Louise. Did you talk to Conrad? Uhhuh. And?" A pause. She shook her head irritably. "Did you explain to them about their liabilities? Uh-huh. Hell. So what's our next move? Because we've got a time problem here, Harry, that's what I'm concerned about."

While she was talking, Sanders turned to his monitor. The e-mail light was flashing. He clicked it.

YOU HAVE 17 MESSAGES WAITING.

Christ. He could only imagine. He clicked theREADbutton. They flashed up in order.

FROM: DON CHERRY, CORRIDOR PROGRAMMING TEAM

TO: ALL SUBJECTS

WE HAVE DELIVERED THE VIE UNIT TO CONLEY-WHITE'S PEOPLE. THE UNIT IS NOW ACTIVE INTO THEIR COMPANY DB SINCE THEY GAVE US THE HOOKS TODAY. JOHN CONLEY ASKED THAT IT BE DELIVERED TO A SUITE AT THE FOUR SEASONS HOTEL BECAUSE THEIR CEO IS ARRIVING THURSDAY MORNING AND WILL SEE IT THEN. ANOTHER PROGRAMMING TRIUMPH BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE SWELL FOLKS AT VIE.

DON THE MAGNIFICENT

Sanders flipped to the next one.

FROM: DIAGNOSTICS GROUP

TO: APG TEAM

ANALYSIS OF TWINKLE DRIVES. THE PROBLEM WITH THE CONTROLLER TIMING LOOP DOES NOT SEEM TO COME FROM THE CHIP ITSELF. WE VERIFIED MICRO-FLUCTUATIONS IN CURRENT FROM THE POWER UNIT WHICH WAS APPARENTLY ETCHED WITH SUBSTANDARD OR INADEQUATE RESISTANCES ON THE BOARD BUT THIS IS MINOR AND DOES NOT EXPLAIN OUR FAILURE TO MEET SPECS. ANALYSIS IS CONTINUING.

Sanders viewed the message with a sense of detachment. It didn't really tell him anything. Just words that concealed the underlying truth: they still didn't know what the problem was. At another time, he'd be on his way down to the Diagnostics team, to ride them hard to get to the bottom of it. But now… He shrugged and went to the next message.

FROM: BASEBALL CENTRAL

TO: ALL PLAYERS

RE: NEW SUMMER SOFTBALL SCHEDULE

DOWNLOAD FILE BB.72 TO GET THE NEW REVISED SUMMER SCHEDULE. SEE YOU ON THE FIELD!

He heard Fernandez say on the phone, "Harry, we've got to crack this one somehow. What time do they close their offices in Sunnyvale?" Sanders went to the next message.

NO MORE GROUP MESSAGES. DO YOU WANT TO READ PERSONAL MESSAGES?

He clicked the icon.

WHY DON'T YOU JUST ADMIT YOU ARE GAY?

(UNSIGNED)

He didn't bother to see where it had come from. They would probably have manually entered it as coming from Garvin's address, or something like that. He could check the real address inside the system, but not without the access privileges they had taken away. He went to the next message.

SHE'S BETTER LOOKING THAN YOUR ASSISTANT, AND YOU DIDN'T SEEM TO MIND SCREWING HER.

(UNSIGNED)

Sanders clicked to the next one.

YOU SLIMY WEASEL - GET OUT OF THIS COMPANY.

YOUR BEST ADVICE

Christ, he thought. The next one:

LITTLE TOMMY HAD A PECKER HE PLAYED WITH EVERY DAY

BUT WHEN A LADY TRIED TO TOUCH IT LITTLE TOMMY SAID GO AWAY.

The verses ran on, down to the bottom of the screen, but Sanders didn't read the rest. He clicked and went on.

IF YOU WEREN'T FUCKING YOUR DAUGHTER SO MUCH YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO

He clicked again. He was clicking faster and faster, going through the messages.

GUYS LIKE YOU GIVE MEN A BAD NAME YOU ASSHOLE.

BORIS

Click.

YOU FILTHY LYING MALE PIG

Click.

HIGH TIME SOMEBODY STUCK IT TO THE WHINING BITCHES. I'M TIRED OF THE WAY THEY BLAME EVERYBODY BUT THEIRSELVES. TITS AND BLAME ARE SEX-LINKED TRAITS. THEY'RE BOTH ON THE XCHROMOSOME.

KEEP ON TRUCKIN'

He went through them, no longer reading. Eventually he was going so fast he almost missed one of the later ones:

JUST RECEIVED WORD THAT MOHAMMED JAFAR IS DYING. HE'S STILL IN THE HOSPITAL, AND NOT EXPECTED TO SURVIVE UNTIL MORNING. I GUESS MAYBE THERE'S SOMETHING TO THIS SORCERY BUSINESS, AFTER ALL.

ARTHUR KAHN

Sanders stared at the screen. A man dying of sorcery? He couldn't begin to imagine what had really happened. The very idea seemed to belong to another world, not his. He heard Fernandez say, "I don't care, Harry, but Conrad has information relevant to the pattern, and somehow we have to get it out of them."

Sanders clicked to the final message.

YOU'RE CHECKING THE WRONG COMPANY.

AFRIEND

Sanders twisted the monitor around so Fernandez could see it. She frowned as she talked on the phone. "Harry, I got to go. Do what you can." She hung up. "What does it mean, we're checking the wrong company? How does this friend even know what we're doing? When did this come in?"

Sanders looked at the message headers. "One-twenty this afternoon."

Fernandez made a note on her legal pad. "That was about the time Alan was talking to Conrad. And Conrad called DigiCom, remember? So this message has to be coming from inside DigiCom."

"But it's on the Internet."

"Wherever it appears to be coming from, it's actually from somebody inside the company trying to help you."

His immediate thought, out of nowhere, wasMax. But that didn't make any sense. Dorfman was tricky, but not in this way. Besides, Max wasn't knowledgeable about the minute-to-minute workings of the company.

No, this was somebody who wanted to help Sanders but who didn't want the help to be traced back.

"You're checking the wrong company…" he repeated aloud.

Could it be someone at Conley-White? Hell, he thought, it could be anybody.

"What does it mean, we're checking the wrong company?" he said. "We're checking all her past employers, and we're having a very difficult-,,

He stopped.

You're checking the wrong company.

"I must be an idiot," he said. He started typing at his computer.

"What is it?" Fernandez said.

"They've restricted my access, but I still should be able to get this," he said, typing quickly.

"Get what?" she said, puzzled.

"You say harassers have a pattern, right?"

"Right."

"It shows up again and again, right?"

"Right."

"And we're checking her past employers, to get information about past episodes of harassment."

"Right. And failing."

"Yes. But the thing is," Sanders said, "she's worked here for the last four years, Louise. We're checking the wrong company."

He watched as the computer terminal flashed:

SEARCHING DATABASE

And then, after a moment, he turned the screen so Fernandez could see:

Digital Communications Data Reference Search Report

DB 4: Human Resources (Sub 5/Employee Records)

Search Criteria:

1. Disposition: Terminated a/o Transferred a/o Resigned

2. Supervisor: Johnson, Meredith

3. Other Criteria: males only

Summary Search Results:

Michael Tate 5/9/89 Terminate Drug Use HR RefMed

Edwin Sheen 7/5/89 Resign Alt Employment D-Silicon

William Rogin 11/9/89 Transfer Own Request Austin

Frederic Cohen 4/2/90 Resign Alt Employment Squire Sx

Robert Ely 6/1/90 Transfer Own Request Seattle

Michael Backes 8/11/90 Transfer Own Request Malaysia

Peter Saltz 1/4/91 Resign Alt Employment Novell

Ross Wald 8/5/91 Transfer Own Request Cork

Richard Jackson 11/14/91 Resign Alt Employment Aldus

James French 2/2/92 Transfer Own Request Austin

Fernandez scanned the list. "Looks like working for Meredith Johnson can be hazardous to your job. You're looking at the classic pattern: people last only a few months, and then resign or ask to be transferred elsewhere. Everything voluntary. Nobody ever fired, because that might trigger a wrongful termination suit. Classic. You know any of these people?"

"No," Sanders said, shaking his head. "But three of them are in Seattle," he said.

"I only see one."

"No, Aldus is here. And Squire Systems is out in Bellevue. So Richard Jackson and Frederic Cohen are up here, too."

"You have any way to get details of termination packages on these people?" she said. "That would be helpful. Because if the company paid anybody off, then we have a de facto case."

"No." Sanders shook his head. "Financial data is beyond minimal access.

"Try anyway."

"But what's the point? The system won't let me."

"Do it," Fernandez said.

He frowned. "You think they're monitoring me?"

"I guarantee it."

"Okay." He typed in the parameters and pressed the search key. The answer came back:

He shrugged. "Just as I thought. No cigar."

"But the point is, we asked the question," Fernandez said. "It'll wake them right up."

Sanders was heading toward the bank of elevators when he saw Meredith coming toward him with three Conley-White executives. He turned quickly, then went to the stairwell and started walking down the four flights to the street level. The stairwell was deserted.

One flight below, the door opened and Stephanie Kaplan appeared and started coming up the stairs. Sanders was reluctant to speak to her; Kaplan was, after all, the chief financial officer and close to both Garvin and Blackburn. In the end, he said casually, "How's it going, Stephanie."

"Hello, Tom." Her nod to him was cool, reserved.

Sanders continued past her, going down a few more steps, when he heard her say, "I'm sorry this is so difficult for you."

He paused. Kaplan was one flight above him, looking down. There was no one else in the stairwell.

He said, "I'm managing."

"I know you are. But still, it must be hard. So much going on at once, and nobody giving you information. It must be confusing to try to figure everything out."

Nobody giving you information?

"Well, yes," he said, speaking slowly. "It is hard to figure things out, Stephanie."

She nodded. "I remember when I first started out in business," she said. "I had a woman friend who got a very good job in a company that didn't usually hire women executives. In her new position, she had a lot of stress and crises. She was proud of the way she was dealing with the problems. But it turned out she'd only been hired because there was a financial scandal in her division, and from the beginning they were setting her up to take the fall. Her job was never about any of the things she thought it was. She was a patsy. And she was looking the wrong way when they fired her."

Sanders stared at her. Why was she telling him this? He said, "That's an interesting story."

Kaplan nodded. "I've never forgotten it," she said.

On the stairs above, a door clanged open, and they heard footsteps descending. Without another word, Kaplan turned and continued up.

Shaking his head, Sanders continued down.

In the newsroom of the SeattlePort-Intelligencer,Connie Walsh looked up from her computer terminal and said, "You've got to be kidding."

"No, I'm not," Eleanor Vries said, standing over her. "I'm killing this story." She dropped the printout back on Walsh's desk.

"But you know who my source is," Walsh said. "And you know Jake was listening in to the entire conversation. We have very good notes, Eleanor. Very complete notes."

"I know."

"So, given the source, how can the company possibly sue?" Walsh said. "Eleanor:I have the fucking story."

"You haveastory. And the paper faces a substantial exposure already."

"Already? From what?"

"The Mr. Piggy column."

"Oh, for Christ's sake. There's no way to claim identification from that column."

Vries pulled out a xerox of the column. She had marked several passages in yellow highlighter. "Company X is said to be a high-tech company in Seattle that just named a woman to a high position. Mr. Piggy is said to be her subordinate. He is said to have brought a sexual harassment action. Mr. Piggy's wife is an attorney with young children. You say Mr. Piggy's charge is without merit, that he is a drunk and a womanizer. I think Sanders can absolutely claim identification and sue for defamation."

"But this is a column. An opinion piece."

"This column alleges facts. And it alleges them in a sarcastic and wildly overstated manner."

"lt's an opinion piece. Opinion is protected."

"I don't think that's certain in this case at all. I'm disturbed that I allowed this column to run in the first place. But the point is, we cannot claim to be absent malice if we allow further articles to go out."

Walsh said, "You have no guts."

"And you're very free with other people's guts," Vries said. "The story's killed and that's final. I'm putting it in writing, with copies to you, Marge, and Tom Donadio."

Fucking lawyers. What a world we live in. This story needs to be told."

"Don't screw around with this, Connie. I'm telling you. Don't."

And she walked away.

Walsh thumbed through the pages of the story. She had been working on it all afternoon, polishing it, refining it. Getting it exactly right. And now she wanted the story to run. She had no patience with legal thinking. This whole idea of protecting rights was just a convenient fiction. Because when you got right down to it, legal thinking was just narrow-minded, petty, self-protective-the kind of thinking that kept the power structure firmly in place. And in the end, fear served the power structure. Fear served men in power. And if there was anything that Connie Walsh believed to be true of herself, it was that she was not afraid.

After a long time, she picked up the phone and dialed a number. "KSEATV, good afternoon."

"Ms. Henley, please."

Jean Henley was a bright young reporter at Seattle's newest independent TV station. Walsh had spent many evenings with Henley, discussing the problems of working in the male-dominated mass media. Henley knew the value of a hot story in building a reporter's career.

This story, Walsh told herself, would be told. One way or another, it would be told.

Robert Ely looked up at Sanders nervously. "What do you want?" he asked. Ely was young, not more than twenty-six, a tense man with a blond mustache. He was wearing a tie and was in his shirtsleeves. He worked in one of the partitioned cubicles at the back of DigiCom's Accounting Department in the Gower Building.

"I want to talk about Meredith," Sanders said. Ely was one of the three Seattle residents on his list.

"Oh God," Ely said. He glanced around nervously. His Adam's apple bobbed. "I don't-I don't have anything to say."

"1 just want to talk," Sanders said.

"Not here," Ely said.

"Then let's go to the conference room," Sanders said. They walked down the hall to a small conference room, but a meeting was being held there. Sanders suggested they go to the little cafeteria in the corner of Accounting, but Ely told him that wouldn't be private. He was growing more nervous by the minute.

"Really, I have nothing to tell you," he kept saying. "There's nothing, really nothing."

Sanders knew he had better find a quiet place at once, before Ely bolted and ran. They ended up in the men's room-white tile, spotlessly clean. Ely leaned against a sink. "I don't know why you are talking to me. I don't have anything I can tell you."

"You worked for Meredith, in Cupertino."

"Yes."

"And you left there two years ago?"

"Yes."

"Why did you leave?"

"Why do you think?" Ely said, in a burst of anger. His voice echoed off the tiles. "You know why, for Christ's sake. Everybody knows why. She made my life hell."

"What happened?" Sanders asked.

"What happened." Ely shook his head, remembering. "Every day, every day. `Robert, would you stay late, we have some things to go over.' After a while, I tried to make excuses. Then she would say, `Robert, I'm not sure you're showing the proper dedication to this company.' And she would put little comments in my performance review. Subtle little negative things. Nothing that I could complain about. But they were there. Piling up. `Robert, I think you need my help here. Why don't you see me after work.' `Robert, why don't you drop by my apartment and we'll discuss it. I really think you should.' I was-it was terrible. The, uh, person I was living with did not, uh… I was in a real bind."

"Did you report her?"

Ely laughed harshly. "Are you kidding? She's practically a member of Garvin's family."

"So you just put up with it…"

Ely shrugged. "Finally, the person I was living with got another job. When he came up here, I transferred, too. I mean, of course I wanted to go. It just worked out all around."

"Would you make a statement about Meredith now?"

"Not a chance."

"You realize," Sanders said, "that the reason she gets away with it is that nobody reports her."

Ely pushed away from the sink. "I have enough problems in my life without going public on this." He went to the door, paused, and turned back. `Just so you're clear: I've got nothing to say on the subject of Meredith Johnson. If anybody asks, I'll say our working relationship was correct at all times. And I'll also say that I never met you."

Meredith Johnson? Of course I remember her," Richard Jackson said. "I worked for her for more than a year." Sanders was in Jackson's office on the second floor of the Aldus Building, on the south side of Pioneer Square. Jackson was a good-looking man of thirty, with the hearty manner of an ex-athlete. He was a marketing manager at Aldus; his office was friendly, cluttered with product boxes for graphics programs: Intellidraw, Freehand, SuperPaint, and Pagemaker.

"Beautiful and charming woman," Jackson said. "Very intelligent. Always a pleasure."

Sanders said, "I was wondering why you left."

"I was offered this job, that's why. And I've never regretted it. Wonderful job. Wonderful company. I've had a great experience here."

"Is that the only reason you left?"

Jackson laughed. "You mean, did Meredith Manmuncher come on to me?" he said. "Hey, is the Pope Catholic? Is Bill Gates rich? Ofcourse she came on to me."

"Did that have anything to do with your leaving?"

"No, no,"Jackson said. "Meredith came on to everybody. She's sort of an equal opportunity employer, in that respect. She chasedeverybody. When I first started in Cupertino, she had this little gay guy she used to chase around the table. Terrorized the poor bastard. Little skinny nervous guy. Christ, she used to make him tremble."

"And you?"

Jackson shrugged. "I was a single guy, just starting out. She was beautiful. It was okay with me."

"You never had any difficulties?"

"Never. Meredith was fabulous. Shitty lay, of course. But you can't have everything. She's a very intelligent, very beautiful woman. Always dressed great. And she liked me, so she took me to all these functions. I met people, made contacts. It was great."

"So you saw nothing wrong?"

"Not a damn thing," Jackson said. "She could get a little bossy. That got old. There were a couple of other women I was seeing, but I always had to be on call for her. Even at the last minute. That could be irritating sometimes. You begin to think your life is not your own. And she's got a mean temper sometimes. But what the hell. You do what you have to do. Now I'm assistant manager here at thirty. I'm doing great. Great company. Great town. Great future. And I owe it to her. She's great."

Sanders said, "You were an employee of the company at the time that you were having your relationship, isn't that right?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Isn't she required by company policy to report any relationship with an employee? Did she report her relationship with you?"

"Christ, no,"Jackson said. He leaned across his desk. "Let's get one thing straight, just between you and me. I think Meredith is great. If you have a problem with her, it's your problem. I don't know what it could be. You used to live with her, for Christ's sake. So there can't be any surprises. Meredith likes to fuck guys. She likes to tell them to do this, do that. She likes to order them around. That's who she is. And I don't see anything wrong with it."

Sanders said, "I don't suppose you'd-"

"Make a statement?" Jackson said. "Get serious. Listen, there's a lot of bullshit around now. I hear things like, `You can't go out with the people you work with.' Christ, if I couldn't go out with the people I worked with, I'd still be a virgin. That's all anybody can go out with the people you work with. That's the only people you get to know. And sometimes those people are your superiors. Big deal. Women screw men and get ahead. Men screw women and get ahead. Everybody's going to screw everybody else anyway, if they can. Because they want to. I mean, women are just as hot as men. They want it just like we do. That's real life. But you get some people who are pissed off, so they file a complaint, and say, `Oh no, you can't do that to me.' I'm telling you, it's all bullshit. Like these sensitivity training seminars we all have to go to. Everybody sits there with their hands in their laps like a fucking Red Guard meeting, learning the correct way to address your fellow workers. But afterward everybody goes out and fucks around, the same as they always did. The assistants go, `Oh, Mr. Jackson, have you been to the gym? You look so.strong.' Batting their eyelashes. So what am I supposed to do? You can't make rules about this. People get hungry, they eat. Doesn't matter how many meetings they attend. This is all a gigantic jerk off. And anybody who buys into it is an asshole."

"I guess you answered my question," Sanders said. He got up to leave. Obviously, Jackson wasn't going to help him.

"Look," Jackson said. "I'm sorry you've got a problem here. But everyone's too damned sensitive these days. I see people now, kids right out of college, and they really think they should never experience an unpleasant moment. Nobody should ever say anything they don't like, or tell a joke they don't like. But the thing is, nobody can make the world be the way they want it to be all the time. Things always happen that embarrass you or piss you off. That's life. I hear women telling jokes about men every day. Offensive jokes. Dirty jokes. I don't get bent out of shape. Life is great. Who has time for this crap? Not me."

Sanders came out of the Aldus Building at five o'clock. Tired and discouraged, he trudged back toward the Hazzard Building. The streets were wet, but the rain had stopped, and the afternoon sunlight was trying to break through the clouds.

He was back in his office ten minutes later. Cindy was not at her desk, and Fernandez was gone. He felt deserted and alone and hopeless. He sat down and dialed the final number on his list.

"Squire Electronic Data Systems, good evening."

Sanders said, "Frederic Cohen's office, please."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cohen has gone for the day."

"Do you know how I could reach him?"

"I'm afraid I don't. Do you want to leave voice mail?"

Damn, he thought. What was the point? But he said, "Yes, please." There was a click. Then, "Hi, this is Fred Cohen. Leave a message at the tone. If it's after hours, you can try me on my car phone at 502-8804 or my home at 505-9943."

Sanders jotted the numbers down. He dialed the car phone first. He heard a crackle of static, then:

"I know, honey, I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm on my way. I just got tied up.),

"Mr. Cohen?"

"Oh." A pause. "Yes. This is Fred Cohen."

"My name is Tom Sanders. I work over at DigiCom, and-"

"I know who you are." The voice sounded tense.

"I understand you used to work for Meredith Johnson."

"Yes. I did."

"I wonder if I could talk to you."

"What about?"

"About your experiences. Working for her."

There was a long pause. Finally, Cohen said, "What would be the point of that?"

"Well, I'm in a sort of a dispute with Meredith now, and-"

"I know you are."

"Yes, and you see, I would like to-"

"Look. Tom. I left DigiCom two years ago. Whatever happened is ancient history now."

"Well, actually," Sanders said, "it's not, because I'm trying to establish a pattern of behavior and-"

"I know what you're trying to do. But this is very touchy stuff, Tom. I don't want to get into it."

"If we could just talk," Sanders said. "Just for a few minutes."

"Tom." Cohen's voice was flat. "Tom, I'm married now. I have a wife. She's pregnant. I don't have anything to say about Meredith Johnson. Nothing at all."

"But "

"I'm sorry. I've got to go."

Click.

Cindy came back in as he was hanging up the phone. She pushed a cup of coffee in front of him. "Everything okay?"

"No," he said. "Everything is terrible." He was reluctant to admit, even to himself, that he had no more moves left. He had approached three men, and they had each refused to establish a pattern of behavior for him. He doubted that the other men on the list would behave differently. He found himself thinking of what his wife, Susan, had said two days before.You have no moves. Now, after all this effort, it turned out to be true. He was finished. "Where's Fernandez?"

"She's meeting with Blackburn."

"What?"

Cindy nodded. "In the small conference room. They've been there about fifteen minutes now."

"Oh, Christ."

He got up from his desk and went down the hall. He saw Fernandez sitting with Blackburn in the conference room. Fernandez was making notes on her legal pad, head bent deferentially. Blackburn was running his hands down his lapels and looking upward as he spoke. He seemed to be dictating to her.

Then Blackburn saw him, and waved him over. Sanders went into the conference room. "Tom," Blackburn said, with a smile. "I was just coming to see you. Good news: I think we've been able to resolve this situation. I mean, really resolve it. Once and for all."

"Uh-huh," Sanders said. He didn't believe a word of it. He turned to Fernandez.

Fernandez looked up from her legal pad slowly. She appeared dazed. "That's the way it looks."

Blackburn stood and faced Sanders. "I can't tell you how pleased I am, Tom. I've been working on Bob all afternoon. And he's finally come to face reality. The plain fact is, the company has a problem, Tom. And we owe you a debt of gratitude for bringing it so clearly to our attention. This can't go on. Bob knows he has to deal with it. And he will."

Sanders just stared. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. But there was Fernandez, nodding and smiling.

Blackburn smoothed his tie. "But as Frank Lloyd Wright once said, `God is in the details.' You know, Tom, we have one small immediate problem, a political problem, having to do with the merger. We're asking your help with the briefing tomorrow for Marden, Conley's CEO. But after that… well, you've been badly wronged, Tom. This company has wronged you. And we recognize that we have an obligation to make it up to you, whatever way we can."

Still disbelieving it, Sanders said harshly, "What exactly are we talking about?"

Blackburn's voice was soothing. "Well, Tom, at this point, that's really up to you," he said. "I've given Louise the parameters of a potential deal, and all the options that we would agree to. You can discuss it with her and get back to us. We'll sign any interim papers you require, of course. All that we ask in return is that you attend the meeting tomorrow and help us to get through the merger. Fair enough?"

Blackburn extended his hand and held it there.

Sanders stared.

"From the bottom of my heart, Tom, I'm sorry for all that has happened."

Sanders shook his hand.

"Thank you, Tom," Blackburn said. "Thank you for your patience, and thank you on behalf of this company. Now, sit down and talk with Louise, and let us know what you decide."

And Blackburn left the room, closing the door softly behind him. He turned to Fernandez. "What the hell is this all about?" Fernandez gave a long sigh. "It's called capitulation," she said. "Total and complete capitulation. DigiCom just folded."

Sanders watched Blackburn walk down the hallway away from the conference room. He was filled with confused feelings. Suddenly, he was being told it was all over, and over without a fight. Without blood being spilled.

Watching Blackburn, he had a sudden image of blood in the bathroom sink of his old apartment. And this time, he remembered where it came from. A part of the chronology fell into place.

Blackburn was staying at his apartment during his divorce. He was on edge, and drinking too much. One day he cut himself so badly while shaving that the sink was spattered with blood. Later on, Meredith saw the blood in the sink and on the towels, and she said, "Did one of you guys fuck her while she was having her period?" Meredith was always blunt that way. She liked to startle people, to shock them.

And then, one Saturday afternoon, she walked around the apartment in white stockings and a garter belt and a bra while Phil was watching television. Sanders said to her, "What are you doing that for?"

`Just cheering him up," Meredith replied. She threw herself back on the bed. "Now why don't you cheer me up?" she said. And she pulled her legs back, opening-

"Tom? Are you listening to me?" Fernandez was saying. "Hello? Tom? Are you there?"

"I'm here," Sanders said.

But he was still watching Blackburn, thinking about Blackburn. Now he remembered another time, a few years later. Sanders had started dating Susan, and Phil had dinner with the two of them one night. Susan went to the bathroom. "She's great," Blackburn said. "She's terrific. She's beautiful and she's great."

"But?"

"But…" Blackburn had shrugged. "She's a lawyer."

“So?”

"You can never trust a lawyer," Blackburn had said, and laughed. One of his rueful, wise laughs.

You can never trust a lawyer.

Now, standing in the DigiCom conference room, Sanders watched as Blackburn disappeared around a corner. He turned back to Fernandez.

“.. really had no choice," Fernandez was saying. "The whole situation finally became untenable. The fact situation with Johnson is bad. And the tape is dangerous they don't want it played, and they're afraid it will get out. They have a problem about prior sexual harassment by Johnson; she's done it before, and they know it. Even though none of the men you talked to has agreed to talk, one of them might in the future, and they know it. And of course they've got their chief counsel revealing company information to a reporter."

Sanders said, "What?"

She nodded. "Blackburn was the one who gave the story to Connie Walsh. He acted in flagrant violation of all rules of conduct for an employee of the company. He's a major problem for them. And it all just became too much. These things could bring down the entire company. Looking at it rationally, they had to make a deal with you."

"Yeah," Sanders said. "But none of this is rational, you know?"

"You're acting like you don't believe it," Fernandez said. "Believe it. It just got too big. They couldn't sit on it anymore."

"So what's the deal?"

Fernandez looked at her notes. "You got your whole shopping list. They'll fire Johnson. They'll give you her job, if you want that. Or they'll reinstate you at your present position. Or they'll give you another position in the company. They'll pay you a hundred thousand in pain and suffering and they'll pay my fees. Or they'll negotiate a termination agreement, if you want that. In any case, they'll give you full stock options if and when the division goes public. Whether you choose to remain with the company or not."

`Jesus Christ."

She nodded. "Total capitulation."

"You really believe Blackburn means it?"

You can never trust a lawyer.

"Yes," she said. "Frankly, it's the first thing that has made any sense to me all day. They had to do this, Tom. Their exposure is too great, and the stakes are too high."

"And what about this briefing?"

"They're worried about the merger-as you suspected when all this began. They don't want to blow it with any sudden changes now. So they want you to participate in the briefing tomorrow with Johnson, as if everything was normal. Then early next week, Johnson will have a physical exam as part of her insurance for the new job. The exam will uncover serious health problems, maybe even cancer, which will force a regrettable change in management."

"I see."

He went to the window and looked out at the city. The clouds were higher, and the evening sun was breaking through. He took a deep breath.

"And if I don't participate in the briefing?"

"It's up to you, but I would, if I were you," Fernandez said. "At this point, you really are in a position to bring down the company. And what good is that?"

He took another deep breath. He was feeling better all the time.

"You're saying this is over," he said, finally.

"Yes. It's over, and you've won. You pulled it off: Congratulations, Tom."

She shook his hand.

`Jesus Christ," he said.

She stood up. "I'm going to draw up an instrument outlining my conversation with Blackburn, specifying these options, and send it to him for his signature in an hour. I'll call you when I have it signed. Meanwhile, I recommend you do whatever preparation you need for this meeting tomorrow, and get some much deserved rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay,"

It was slowly seeping into him, the realization that it was over. Really over. It had happened so suddenly and so completely, he was a little dazed.

"Congratulations again," Fernandez said. She folded her briefcase and left.

He was back in his office at about six. Cindy was leaving; she asked if he needed her, and he said he didn't. Sanders sat at his desk and stared out the window for a while, savoring the conclusion of the day. Through his open door, he watched as people left for the night, heading down the hall. Finally he called his wife in Phoenix to tell her the news, but her line was busy.

There was a knock at his door. He looked up and saw Blackburn standing there, looking apologetic. "Got a minute?"

"Sure."

"I just wanted to repeat to you, on a personal level, how sorry I am about all this. In the press of complex corporate problems like this, human values may get lost, despite the best of intentions. While we intend to be fair to everyone, sometimes we fail. And what is a corporation if not a human group, a group of human beings? We're all people, underneath it all. As Alexander Pope once said, `We're all just human.' So recognizing your own graciousness through all this, I want to say to you…

Sanders wasn't listening. He was tired; all he really heard was that Phil realized he had screwed up, and now was trying to repair things in his usual manner, by sucking up to someone he had earlier bullied.

Sanders interrupted, saying, "What about Bob?" Now that it was over, Sanders was having a lot of feelings about Garvin. Memories going back to his earliest days with the company. Garvin had been a kind of father to Sanders, and he wanted to hear from Garvin now. He wanted an apology. Or something.

"I imagine Bob's going to take a couple of days to come around," Blackburn said. "This was a very difficult decision for him to arrive at. I had to work very hard on him, on your behalf. And now he's got to figure out how to break it to Meredith. All that."

"Uh-huh."

"But he'll eventually talk to you. I know he will. Meanwhile, I wanted to go over a few things about the meeting tomorrow," Blackburn said. "It's for Marden, their CEO, and it's going to be a bit more formal than the way we usually do things. We'll be in the big conference room on the ground floor. It'll start at nine, and go to ten. Meredith will chair the meeting, and she'll call on all the division heads to give a summary of progress and problems in their divisions. Mary Anne first, then Don, then Mark, then you. Everyone will talk three to four minutes. Do it standing. Wear a jacket and tie. Use visuals if you have them, but stay away from technical details. Keep it an overview. In your case, they'll expect to hear mostly about Twinkle."

Sanders nodded. "All right. But there isn't really much new to report. We still haven't figured out what's wrong with the drives."

"That's fine. I don't think anybody expects a solution yet. Just emphasize the success of the prototypes, and the fact that we've overcome production problems before. Keep it upbeat, and keep it moving. If you have a prototype or a mock-up, you might want to bring it along."

"Okay."

"You know the stuff-bright rosy digital future, minor technical glitches won't stand in the way of progress."

"Meredith's okay with that?" he said. He was slightly disturbed to hear that she was chairing the meeting.

"Meredith is expecting all the heads to be upbeat and non-technical. There won't be a problem."

"Okay," Sanders said.

"Call me tonight if you want to go over your presentation," Blackburn said. "Or in the morning, early. Let's just finesse this session, and then we can move on. Start making changes next week."

Sanders nodded.

"You're the kind of man this company needs," Blackburn said. "I appreciate your understanding. And again, Tom, I'm sorry."

He left.

Sanders called down to the Diagnostics Group, to see if they had any further word. But there was no answer. He went out to the closet behind Cindy's desk and took out the AV materials: the big schematic drawing of the Twinkle drive, and the schematic of the production line in Malaysia. He could prop these on easels while he talked.

But as he thought about it, it occurred to him that Blackburn was right. A mock-up or a prototype would be good to have. In fact, he should probably bring one of the drives that Arthur had sent from KL. It reminded him that he should call Arthur in Malaysia. He dialed the number.

"Mr. Kahn's office."

"It's Tom Sanders calling."

The assistant sounded surprised. "Mr. Kahn is not here, Mr. Sanders."

"When is he expected back?"

"He's out of the office, Mr. Sanders. I don't know when he'll be back."

"I see." Sanders frowned. That was odd. With Mohammed Jafar missing, it was unlike Arthur to leave the plant without supervision.

The assistant said, "Can I give him a message?"

"No message, thanks."

He hung up, went down to the third floor to Cherry's programming group, and put his card in the slot to let himself in. The card popped back out, and the LED blinked oooo. It took him a moment to realize that they had cut off his access. Then he remembered the other card he had picked up earlier. He pushed it in the slot, and the door opened. Sanders went inside.

He was surprised to find the unit deserted. The programmers all kept strange hours; there was almost always somebody there, even at midnight.

He went to the Diagnostics room, where the drives were being studied. There were a series of benches, surrounded by electronic equipment and blackboards. The drives were set out on the benches, all covered in white cloth. The bright overhead quartz lights were off.

He heard rock-and-roll music from an adjacent room, and went there. A lone programmer in his early twenties was sitting at a console typing. Beside him, a portable radio blared.

Sanders said, "Where is everybody?"

The programmer looked up. "Third Wednesday of the month."

“So?”

"OOPS meets on the third Wednesday."

"Oh." The Object Oriented Programmer Support association, or OOPS, was an association of programmers in the Seattle area. It was started by Microsoft some years earlier, and was partly social and partly trade talk.

Sanders said, "You know anything about what the Diagnostics team found?"

"Sorry." The programmer shook his head. "I just came in."

Sanders went back to the Diagnostics room. He flicked on the lights and gently removed the white cloth that covered the drives. He saw that only three of the CD-ROM drives had been opened, their innards exposed to powerful magnifying glasses and electronic probes on the tables. The remaining seven drives were stacked to one side, still in plastic.

He looked up at the blackboards. One had a series of equations and hastily scribbled data points. The other had a flowchart list that read:

A. Contr. Incompat. VLSI? pwr?

B. Optic Dysfunct-? voltage reg?/arm?/servo?

C. Laser R/O (a,b,c)

D. E Mechanical J J

E. Gremlins

It didn't mean much to Sanders. He turned his attention back to the tables, and peered at the test equipment. It looked fairly standard, except that there were a series of large-bore needles lying on the table, and several white circular wafers encased in plastic that looked like camera filters. There were also Polaroid pictures of the drives in various stages of disassembly; the team had documented their work. Three of the Polaroids were placed in a neat row, as if they might be significant, but Sanders couldn't see why. They just showed chips on a green circuit board.

He looked at the drives themselves, being careful not to disturb anything. Then he turned to the stack of drives that were still wrapped in plastic. But looking closely, he noticed fine, needle-point punctures in the plastic covering four of the drives.

Nearby was a medical syringe and an open notebook. The notebook showed a column of figures:

And at the bottom someone had scrawled, "Fucking Obvious!" But it wasn't obvious to Sanders. He decided that he'd better call Don Cherry later tonight, to have him explain it. In the meantime, he took one of the extra drives from the stack to use in the presentation the following morning.

He left the Diagnostics room carrying all his presentation materials, the easel boards flapping against his legs. He headed downstairs to the ground floor conference room, which had an AV closet where speakers stored visual material before a presentation. He could lock his material away there.

In the lobby, he passed the receptionist's desk, now manned by a black security guard, who watched a baseball game and nodded to Sanders. Sanders went back toward the rear of the floor, moving quietly on the plush carpeting. The hallway was dark, but the lights were on in the conference room; he could see them shining from around the corner.

As he came closer, he heard Meredith Johnson say, "And then what?" And a man's voice answered something indistinct.

Sanders paused.

He stood in the dark corridor and listened. From where he stood, he could see nothing of the room.

There was a moment of silence, and then Johnson said, "Okay, so will Mark talk about design?"

The man said, "Yes, he'll cover that."

"Okay," Johnson said. "Then what about the…"

Sanders couldn't hear the rest. He crept forward, moving silently on the carpet, and cautiously peered around the corner. He still could not see into the conference room itself, but there was a large chrome sculpture in the hallway outside the room, a sort of propeller shape, and in the reflection of its polished surface he saw Meredith moving in the room. The man with her was Blackburn.

Johnson said, "So what if Sanders doesn't bring it up?"

"He will," Blackburn said.

"You're sure he doesn't-that the-" Again, the rest was lost.

"No, he-no idea."

Sanders held his breath. Meredith was pacing, her image in the reflection, twisting and distorted. "So when he does-I will say that this is a-is that-you mean?"

"Exactly," Blackburn said.

"And if he-"

Blackburn put his hand on her shoulder. "Yes, you have to-"

"-So-want me to-"

Blackburn said something quiet in reply, and Sanders heard none of it, except the phrase "-must demolish him."

"-Can do that-"

"-Make sure counting on you-"

There was the shrill sound of a telephone. Both Meredith and Blackburn reached for their pockets. Meredith answered the call, and the two began to move toward the exit. They were heading toward Sanders.

Panicked, Sanders looked around, and saw a men's room to his right. He slipped inside the door as they came out of the conference room and started down the hallway.

"Don't worry about this, Meredith," Blackburn said. "It'll go fine." "I'm not worried," she said.

"It should be quite smooth and impersonal," Blackburn said. "There's no reason for rancor. After all, you have the facts on your side. He's clearly incompetent."

"He still can't get into the database?" she said.

"No. He's locked out of the system."

"And there's no way he can get into Conley-White's system?"

Blackburn laughed. "No way in hell, Meredith."

The voices faded, moving down the hallway. Sanders strained to listen, finally heard the click of a door closing. He stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway.

The hallway was deserted. He stared toward the far door.

His own telephone rang in his pocket, the sound so loud it made him jump. He answered it. "Sanders."

"Listen," Fernandez said. "I sent the draft of your contract to Blackburn's office, but it came back with a couple of added statements that I'm not sure about. I think we better meet to discuss them." "In an hour," Sanders said. "Why not now?" "I have something to do first," he said.

Ah, Thomas." Max Dorfman opened the door to his hotel roomand immediately wheeled away, back toward the television set.

"You have finally decided to come."

"You've heard?"

"Heard what?" Dorfman said. "I am an old man. No one bothers with me anymore. I'm cast by the wayside. By everyone including you." He clicked off the television set and grinned.

Sanders said, "What have you heard?"

"Oh, just a few things. Rumors, idle talk. Why don't you tell me yourself?"

"I'm in trouble, Max."

"Of course you are in trouble," Dorfman snorted. "You have been in trouble all week. You only noticed now?"

"They're setting me up."

"They?"

"Blackburn and Meredith."

"Nonsense."

"It's true."

"You believe Blackburn can set you up? Philip Blackburn is a spineless fool. He has no principles and almost no brains. I told Garvin to fire him years ago. Blackburn is incapable of original thought."

"Then Meredith."

"Ali. Meredith. Yes. So beautiful. Such lovely breasts."

"Max, please."

"You thought so too, once."

"That was a long time ago," Sanders said.

Dorfman smiled. "Times have changed?" he said, with heavy irony. "What does that mean?"

"You are looking pale, Thomas."

"I can't figure anything out. I'm scared."

"Oh, you're scared. A big man like you is scared of this beautiful woman with beautiful breasts."

"Max-"

"Of course, you are right to be scared. She has done all these many terrible things to you. She has tricked you and manipulated you and abused you, yes?"

"Yes," Sanders said.

"You have been victimized by her and Garvin."

"Yes."

"Then why were you mentioning to me the flower, hmm?"

He frowned. For a moment he didn't know what Dorfman was talking about. The old man was always so confusing and he liked to be-

"Theflower," Dorfman said irritably, rapping his knuckles on the wheelchair arm. "The stained-glass flower in your apartment. We were speaking of it the other day. Don't tell me you have forgotten it?"

The truth was that he had, until that moment. Then he remembered the image of the stained-glass flower, the image that had come unbidden to his mind a few days earlier. "You're right. I forgot."

"You forgot." Dorfman's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Max, I did, I-"

He snorted. "You are impossible. I cannot believe you will behave so transparently. You didn't forget, Thomas. You merely chose not to confront it."

"Confront what?"

In his mind, Sanders saw the stained-glass flower, in bright orange and purple and yellow. The flower mounted in the door of his apartment. Earlier in the week, he had been thinking about it constantly, almost obsessing about it, and yet today

"I cannot bear this charade," Dorfman said. "Of course you remember it all. But you aredetermined not to think of it."

Sanders shook his head, confused.

"Thomas. You told it all to me, ten years ago," Dorfman said, waving his hand."You confided in me. Blubbering. You were very upset at the time. It was the most important thing in your life, at the time. Now you say it is all forgotten?" He shook his head. "You told me that you would take trips with Garvin to Japan and Korea. And when you returned, she would be waiting for you in the apartment. In some erotic costume, or whatever. Some erotic pose. And you told me that sometimes, when you got home, you would see her first through the stained glass. Isn't that what you told me, Thomas? Or do I have it wrong?"

He had it wrong.

It came back to Sanders in a rush then, like a picture zooming large and bright before his eyes. He saw everything, almost as if he was there once again: the steps leading up to his apartment on the second floor, and the sounds he heard as he went up the steps in the middle of the afternoon, sounds he could not identify at first, but then he realized what he was hearing as he came to the landing and looked in through the stained glass and he saw

"I came back a day early," Sanders said.

"Yes, that's right. You came backunexpectedly."

The glass in patterns of yellow and orange and purple. And through it, her naked back, moving up and down. She was in the living room, on the couch, moving up and down.

"And what did you do?" Dorfman said. "When you saw her?"

"I rang the bell."

"That's right. Very civilized of you. Very non-confrontational and polite. You rang the bell."

In his mind he saw Meredith turning, looking toward the door. Her tangled hair falling across her face. She brushed the hair away from her eyes. Her expression changed as she saw him. Her eyes widened.

Dorfman prodded: "And then what? What did you do?"

"I left," Sanders said. "I went back to the… I went to the garage and got in my car. I drove for a while. A couple of hours. Maybe more. It was dark when I got back."

"You were upset, naturally."

He came back up the stairs, and again looked in through the stained glass. The living room was empty. He unlocked the door and entered the living room. There was a bowl of popcorn on the couch. The couch was creased. The television was on, soundless. He looked away from the couch and went into the bedroom, calling her name. He found her packing, her open suitcase on the bed. He said, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," she said. She turned to face him. Her body was rigid, tense. "Isn't that what you want me to do?"

"I don't know," he said.

And then she burst into tears. Sobbing, reaching for a kleenex, blowing her nose loudly, awkwardly, like a child. And somehow in her distress he held his arms out, and she hugged him and said she was sorry, repeating the words, again and again, through her tears. Looking up at him. Touching his face.

And then somehow…

Dorfman cackled. "Right on the suitcase, yes? Right there on the suitcase, on her clothes that were being packed, you made your reconciliation."

"Yes," Sanders said, remembering.

"She aroused you. You wanted her back. She excited you. She challenged you. You wanted to possess her."

"Yes…"

"Love is wonderful," Dorfman sighed, sarcastic again. "So pure, so innocent. And then you were together again, is that right?"

"Yes. For a while. But it didn't work out."

It was odd, how it had finally ended. He had been so angry with her at first, but he had forgiven her, and he thought that they could go on. They had talked about their feelings, they had expressed their love, and he had tried to go on with the best will in the world. But in the end, neither of them could; the incident had fatally ruptured the relationship, and something vital had been torn from it. It didn't matter how often they told themselves that they could go on. Something else now ruled. The core was dead. They fought more often, managing in this way to sustain the old energy for a while. But finally, it just ended.

"And when it was over," Dorfman said, "that was when you came and talked to me."

"Yes," Sanders said.

"And what did you come to talk to me about?" Dorfman asked. "Or have you `forgotten' that, too?"

"No. I remember. I wanted your advice."

He had gone to Dorfman because he was considering leaving Cupertino. He was breaking up with Meredith, his life was confused, everything was in disarray, and he wanted to make a fresh start, to go somewhere else. So he was considering moving to Seattle to head the Advanced Projects Division. Garvin had offered him the job in passing one day, and Sanders was thinking about taking it. He had asked Dorfman's advice.

"You were quite upset," Dorfman said. "It was an unhappy ending to a love affair."

"Yes."

"So you might say that Meredith Johnson is the reason you are here in Seattle," Dorfman said. "Because of her, you changed your career, your life. You made a new life here. And many people knew this fact of your past. Garvin knew. And Blackburn knew. That is why he was so careful to ask you if you could work with her. Everyone was so worried about how it would be. But you reassured them, Thomas, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And your reassurances were false."

Sanders hesitated. "I don't know, Max."

"Come, now. You know exactly. It must have been like a bad dream, a nightmare from your past, to hear that this person you had run away from was now coming to Seattle, pursuing you up here, and that she would be your superior in the company. Taking the job that you wanted. That you thought you deserved."

"I don't know…"

"Don't you? In your place, I would be angry. I would want to be rid of her, yes? She hurt you once very badly, and you would not want to be hurt again. But what choice did you have? She had the job, and she was Garvin's protege. She was protected by Garvin's power, and he would not hear a word against her. True?"

"True."

"And for many years you had not been close to Garvin, because Garvin didn't really want you to take the Seattle job in the first place. He had offered it to you, expecting you to turn it down. Garvin likes proteges. He likes admirers at his feet. He does not like his admirers to pack up and leave for another city. So Garvin was disappointed with you. Things were never the same. And now suddenly here was this woman out of your past, a woman with Garvin's backing. So, what choice did you have? What could you do with your anger?"

His mind was spinning, confused. When he thought back to the events of that first day-the rumors, the announcement by Blackburn, the first meeting with her-he did not remember feeling anger. His feelings had been so complicated on that day, but he had not felt anger, he was sure of it…

"Thomas, Thomas. Stop dreaming. There is no time for it."

Sanders was shaking his head. He couldn't think clearly.

"Thomas, youarranged all this. Whether you admit it or not, whether you are aware of it or not. On some level, what has happened is exactly what you intended. And you made sure it would happen."

He found himself remembering Susan. What had she said at the restaurant?

Why didn't you tell me? I could have belped you.

And she was right, of course. She was an attorney; she could have advised him if he had told her what happened the first night. She would have told him what to do. She could have gotten him out of it. But he hadn't told her.

There's not mucb we can do now.

"You wanted this confrontation, Thomas."

And then Garvin:She was your girlfriend, and you didn't like it when she dropped you. So now you want to pay her back.

"You worked all week to ensure this confrontation."

"Max-"

"So don't tell me you are a victim here. You're not a victim. You call yourself a victim because you don't want to take responsibility for your life. Because you are sentimental and lazy and naive. You think other people should take care of you."

"Jesus, Max," Sanders said.

"You deny your part in this. You pretend to forget. You pretend to be unaware. And now you pretend to be confused."

"Max-"

"Oh! I don't know why I bother with you. How many hours do you have until this meeting? Twelve hours? Ten? Yet you waste your time talking to a crazy old man." He spun in his wheelchair. "If I were you, I would get to work."

"Meaning what?"

"Well, we know what your intentions are, Thomas. But what areher intentions, hmmm? She is solving a problem, too. She has a purpose here. So: what is the problem she is solving?"

"I don't know," Sanders said.

"Clearly. But how will you find out?"

Lost in thought, he walked the five blocks to 11 Terrazzo. Fernandez was waiting for him outside. They went in together.

"Oh Christ," Sanders said, as he looked around.

"All the usual suspects," Fernandez said.

In the far section straight ahead, Meredith Johnson was having dinner with Bob Garvin. Two tables away, Phil Blackburn was eating with his wife, Doris, a thin bespectacled woman who looked like an accountant. Near them, Stephanie Kaplan was having dinner with a young man in his twenties-probably her son at the university, Sanders thought. And over to the right, by the window, the Conley-White people were in the midst of a working dinner, their briefcases open at their feet, papers scattered all over the table. Ed Nichols sat with John Conley to his right, and Jim Daly to his left. Daly was speaking into a tiny dictating machine.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else," Sanders said.

"No," Fernandez said. "They've already seen us. We can sit in the corner over there."

Carmine came over. "Mr. Sanders," he said with a formal nod.

"We'd like a table in the corner, Carmine."

"Yes of course, Mr. Sanders."

They sat to one side. Fernandez was staring at Meredith and Garvin. "She could be his daughter," she said.

"Everybody says so."

"It's quite striking."

The waiter brought menus. Nothing on it appealed to Sanders, but they ordered anyway. Fernandez was looking steadily at Garvin. "He's a fighter, isn't he."

"Bob? Famous fighter. Famous tough guy."

"She knows how to play him." Fernandez turned away and pulled papers out of her briefcase. "This is the contract that Blackburn sent back. It is all in order, except for two clauses. First, they claim the right to terminate you if you are shown to have committed a felony on the job.

"Uh-huh." He wondered what they might mean.

"And this second clause claims the right to terminate you if you have `failed to demonstrate satisfactory performance in the job as measured by industry standards.' What does that mean?"

He shook his head. "They must have something in mind." He told her about the conversation he had overheard in the conference room.

As usual, Fernandez showed no reaction. "Possible," she said.

"Possible? They're going to do it."

"I meant legally. It's possible that they intend something of this sort. And it would work."

"Why?"

"A harassment claim brings up the entire performance of an employee. If there is dereliction, even a very old or minor dereliction, it may be used to dismiss the claim. I had one client who worked for a company for ten years. But the company was able to demonstrate that the employee had lied on the original application form, and the case was dismissed. The employee was fired."

"So this comes down to my performance."

"It may. Yes."

He frowned. What did they have on him?

She is solving a problem, too. So: wbat is the problem she is solving?

Beside him, Fernandez pulled the tape recorder out of her pocket. "There's a couple of other things I want to go over," she said. "There's something that happens early on in the tape."

"Okay."

"I want you to listen."

She gave the player to him. He held it close to his ear.

He heard his own voice saying clearly, "… we'll face that later. I've given her your thoughts, and she's talking to Bob now, so presumably we'll go into the meeting tomorrow taking that position. Well, anyway, Mark, if there is a significant change in all this, I'll contact you before the meeting tomorrow, and"

"Forget that phone," Meredith's voice said loudly, and then there was the sound of rustling, like fabric, and a sort of hissing sound, and a dullthunk as the phone was dropped. The momentary sharp crackle of static.

More rustling. Then silence.

A grunt. Rustling.

As he listened, he tried to imagine the action in the room. They must have moved over to the couch, because now the voices were lower, less distinct. He heard himself say, "Meredith, wait-"

"Oh God," she said, "I've wanted you all day."

More rustling. Heavy breathing. It was hard to be certain what was happening. A little moan from her. More rustling.

She said, "Oh God, you feel so good, I can't stand the bastard touching me. Those stupid glasses. Oh! I'm sohot, I haven't had a decent fuck-"

More rustling. Static crackle. Rustling. More rustling. Sanders listened with a sense of disappointment. He could not really create images for what was going on-and he had been there. This tape would not be persuasive to someone else. Most of it sounded like obscure noise. With long periods of silence.

"Meredith-"

"Oooh. Don't talk. No! No…" He heard her gasping, in little breaths. Then more silence.

Fernandez said, "That's enough."

Sanders put the player down and shut it off. He shook his head.

"You can't tell anything from this. About what was really going on." "You can tell enough," Fernandez said. "And don't you start worrying about the evidence. That's my job. But you heard her first statements?" She consulted her notepad. "Where she says, `I've wanted you all day'? And then she says, `Oh God you feel so good, I can't stand the bastard touching me. Those stupid glasses, oh I'm so hot, I haven't had a decent fuck.' You heard that part?"

"Yes. I heard it."

"Okay. Who is she talking about?"

"Talking about?"

"Yes. Who is the bastard she can't stand touching her?"

"I assume her husband," Sanders said. "We were talking about him earlier. Before the tape."

"Tell me what was said earlier."

"Well, Meredith was complaining about having to pay alimony to her husband, and then she said her husband was terrible in bed. She said, `I hate a man who doesn't know what he's doing.' "

"So you think `I can't stand the bastard touching me' refers to her husband?"

"Yes."

"I don't," Fernandez said. "They were divorced months ago. The divorce was bitter. The husband hates her. He has a girlfriend now; he's taken her to Mexico. I don't think she means the husband."

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

Sanders said, "I suppose it could be anybody."

"I don't think it's just anybody. Listen again. Listen to how she sounds."

He rewound the tape, held the player to his ear. After a moment, he put the player down. "She sounds almost angry."

Fernandez nodded. "Resentful is the term I'd use. She's in the midst of this episode with you, and she's talking about someone else. `The bastard.' It's as if she wants to pay somebody back. Right at that moment, she's getting even."

Sanders said, "I don't know. Meredith's a talker. She always talked about other people. Old boyfriends, that stuff. She's not what you'd call a romantic."

He remembered one time when they were lying on the bed in the apartment in Sunnyvale, feeling a sort of relaxed glow. A Sunday afternoon. Listening to kids laughing in the street outside. His hand resting on her thigh, feeling the sweat. And in this thoughtful way she said, "You know, I once went out with this Norwegian guy, and he had a curved dick. Curved like a sword, sort of bent over to the side, and he-”

“Jesus, Meredith."

"What's the matter? It's true. He really did."

"Not now."

Whenever this sort of thing happened, she'd sigh, as if she was obliged to put up with his excessive sensitivity. "Why is it that guys always want to think they're the only ones?"

"We don't. We know we're not. Just not now, okay?"

And she'd sigh again…

Sitting in the restaurant, Fernandez said, "Even if it's not unusual for her to talk during sex-even if she is indiscreet or distancing-who is she talking about here?"

Sanders shook his head. "I don't know, Louise."

"And she says she can't stand him touching her… as if she has no choice. And she mentions his silly glasses." She looked over at Meredith, who was eating quietly with Garvin. "Him?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Everybody says no. Everybody says Bob isn't screwing her."

"Everybody could be wrong."

Sanders shook his head. "It'd be incest."

"You're probably right."

The food came. Sanders poked at his pasta puttanesca, picking out the olives. He wasn't feeling hungry. Beside him, Fernandez ate heartily. They had ordered the same thing.

Sanders looked over at the Conley-White people. Nichols was holding up a clear plastic sheet of 35-millimeter transparencies. Slides. Of what? he wondered. His half-frame glasses were perched on his nose. He seemed to be taking a long time. Beside him, Conley glanced at his watch and said something about the time. The others nodded. Conley glanced over at Johnson, then turned back to his papers.

Daly said something."… have that figure?"

"It's here," Conley said, pointing to the sheet.

"This is really very good," Fernandez said. "You shouldn't let it get cold."

"Okay." He took a bite. It had no taste. He put the fork down.

She wiped her chin with her napkin. "You know, you never really told me why you stopped. At the end."

"My friend Max Dorfman says I set it all up."

"Uh-huh," Fernandez said.

"Do you think that, too?"

"I don't know. I was just asking what you were feeling, at the time. At the time you pulled away."

He shrugged. "I just didn't want to."

"Uh-huh. Didn't feel like it when you got there, huh?"

"No, I didn't." Then he said, "You really want to know what it was? She coughed."

"She coughed?" Fernandez said.

Sanders saw himself again in the room, his trousers down around his knees, bent over Meredith on the office couch. He remembered think ing, What the hell am I doing? And she had her hands on his shoulders, tugging him toward her. "Oh please… No… No…"

And then she turned her head aside and coughed.

That cough was what did it. That was when he sat back, and said, "You're right," and got off the couch.

Fernandez frowned. "I have to say," Fernandez said. "A cough doesn't seem like a big deal."

"It was." He pushed his plate away. "I mean, you can't cough at a time like that."

"Why? Is this some etiquette I don't know about?" Fernandez said. "No coughing in the clinch?"

"It's not that at all," Sanders said. "It's just what it means."

"I'm sorry, you've lost me. What does a cough mean?"

He hesitated. "You know, women always think that men don't know what's going on. There's this whole idea that men can't find the place, they don't know what to do, all that stuff. How men are stupid about sex.

"I don't think you're stupid. What does a cough mean?"

"A cough means you're not involved."

She raised her eyebrows. "That seems a little extreme."

"It's just a fact."

"I don't know. My husband has bronchitis. He coughs all the time."

"Not at the last moment, he doesn't."

She paused, thinking about it. "Well, he certainly does right afterward. He breaks out in a fit of coughing. We always laugh about how he does that."

"Right after is different. But at the moment, right in the intense moment, I'm telling you nobody coughs."

More images flashed through his mind. Her cheeks turn red. Her neck is blotchy, or her upper chest. Nipples no longer hard. They were hard at first, but not now. The eyes get dark, sometimes purple below. Lips swollen. Breathing changes. Sudden surging heat. Shift in the hips, shifting rhythm, tension but something else, something liquid. Forehead frowning. Wincing. Biting. So many different ways, but

"Nobody coughs," he said again.

And then he felt a kind of sudden embarrassment, and pulled his plate back, and took a bite of pasta. He wanted a reason not to say more, because he had the feeling that he had overstepped the rules, that there was still this area, this kind of knowledge, this awareness that everyone pretended didn't exist…

Fernandez was staring at him curiously. "Did you read about this somewhere?"

He shook his head, chewing.

"Do men discuss it? Things like this?"

He shook his head, no.

"Women do."

"I know." He swallowed. "But anyway, she coughed, and that was why I stopped. She wasn't involved, and I was very-angry about it, I guess. I mean she was lying there panting and moaning, but she was really uninvolved. And I felt…"

"Exploited?"

"Something like that. Manipulated. Sometimes I think maybe if she hadn't coughed right then…" Sanders shrugged.

"Maybe I should ask her," Fernandez said, nodding her head in Meredith's direction.

Sanders looked up and saw that she was coming over to their table. "Oh, hell."

"Calmly, calmly. Everything's fine."

Meredith came over, a big smile on her face. "Hello, Louise. Hello, Tom." Sanders started to get up. "Don't get up, Tom, please." She rested her hand on his shoulder, gave it a little squeeze. "I just came by for a moment." She was smiling radiantly. She looked exactly like the confident boss, stopping to say hello to a couple of colleagues. Back at her table, Sanders saw Garvin paying the bill. He wondered if he would come over, too.

"Louise, I just wanted to say no hard feelings," Meredith said. "Everybody had a job to do. I understand that. And I think it served a purpose, clearing the air. I just hope we can go on productively from here."

Meredith was standing behind Sanders's chair as she talked. He had to twist his head and crane his neck to look at her.

Fernandez said, "Don't you want to sit down?"

"Well, maybe for a minute."

Sanders stood to get her a chair. He was thinking that to the Conley people, all this would look exactly right. The boss not wanting to intrude, waiting to be pressed by her co-workers to join them. As he brought the chair, he glanced over and saw that Nichols was looking at them, peering over his glasses. So was young Conley.

Meredith sat down. Sanders pushed the chair in for her. "You want anything?" Fernandez said solicitously.

"I just finished, thanks."

"Coffee? Anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

Sanders sat down. Meredith leaned forward. "Bob's been telling me about his plans to take this division public. It's very exciting. It looks like full speed ahead."

Sanders watched her with astonishment.

"Now, Bob has a list of names for the new company. When we spin it off next year. See how these sound to you: SpeedCore, SpeedStar, PrimeCore, Talisan, and Tensor. I think SpeedCore makes racing parts for stock cars. SpeedStar is right on the money but maybe too right on. PrimeCore sounds like a mutual fund. How about Talisan or Tensor?"

"Tensor is a lamp," Fernandez said.

"Okay. But Talisan is pretty good, I think."

"The Apple-IBM joint venture is called Taligent," Sanders said.

"Oh. You're right. Too close. How about MicroDyne? That's not bad. Or ADG, for Advanced Data Graphics? Do either of those work, do you think?"

"MicroDyne is okay."

"I thought so, too. And there was one more… AnoDyne."

"That's a painkiller," Fernandez said.

"What is?"

"An anodyne is a painkiller. A narcotic."

"Oh. Forget that. Last one, SynStar."

"Sounds like a drug company."

"Yeah, it does. But we've got a year to come up with a better one. And MicroDyne isn't bad, to start. Sort of combining micro with dynamo. Good images, don't you think?"

Before they could answer, she pushed her chair back. "I've got to go. But I thought you'd like to hear the thinking. Thanks for your input. Good night, Louise. And Tom, I'll see you tomorrow." She shook hands with them both and crossed the room to Garvin. Together she and Garvin went over to the Conley table to say hello.

Sanders stared at her. " `Good images,' " he repeated. "Christ. She's talking about names for a company, but she doesn't even know what the company is."

"It was quite a show."

"Sure," Sanders said. "She's all show. But it had nothing to do with us. It's for them." He nodded toward the Conley-White people, sitting across the restaurant. Garvin was shaking hands all around, and Meredith was talking to Jim Daly. Daly made a joke and she laughed, throwing her head back, showing her long neck.

"The only reason she talked to us was so that when I get fired tomorrow, she won't be seen as having planned it."

Fernandez was paying the bill. "You want to go?" she said. "I still have some things to check."

"Really? What do you have to check?"

"Alan may have gotten something more for us. There's a possibility."

At the Conley table, Garvin was saying good-bye. He gave a final wave, then crossed the room to talk to Carmine.

Meredith remained at the Conley-White table. She was standing behind John Conley, with her hands resting on his shoulders while she talked to Daly and Ed Nichols. Ed Nichols said something, peering over his glasses, and Meredith laughed, and came around to look over his shoulder at a sheet of figures he was holding. Her head was very close to Nichols. She nodded, talked, pointed to the sheet.

You're cbecking the wrong company.

Sanders stared at Meredith, smiling and joking with the three men from Conley-White. What had Phil Blackburn said to him yesterday?

The thing is, Tom, Meredith Johnson is very well connected in this company. She bas impressed a lot of important people.

Like Garvin.

Not only Garvin. Meredith bas built a power base in several areas.

Conley- White?

Yes. Tbere, too.

Alongside him, Fernandez stood up. Sanders stood and said, "You know what, Louise?"

"What?"

"We've been checking the wrong company."

Fernandez frowned, then looked over at the Conley-White table. Meredith was nodding with Ed Nichols and pointing with one hand, her

other hand flat on the table for balance. Her fingers were touching Ed Nichols. He was peering at the sheets of data over his glasses.

"Stupid glasses…" Sanders said.

No wonder Meredith wouldn't press harassment charges against him. It would have been too embarrassing for her relationship with Ed Nichols. And no wonder Garvin wouldn't fire her. It made perfect sense. Nichols was already uneasy about the merger-his affair with Meredith might be all that was holding it in place.

Fernandez sighed. "You think so? Nichols?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

Fernandez shook her head. "Even if it's true, it doesn't help us. They can argue paramour preference, they can argue lots of things-if there's even an argument that needs to be made. This isn't the first merger made in the sack, you know. I say, forget it."

"You mean to tell me," he said, "that there's nothing improper with her having an affair with someone at Conley-White and being promoted as a result?"

"Nothing at all. At least, not in the strict legal sense. So forget it."

Suddenly he remembered what Kaplan had said.She was looking in the wrong direction when they fired her.

"I'm tired," he said.

"We all are. They look tired, too."

Across the room, the meeting was breaking up. Papers were being put back into briefcases. Meredith and Garvin were chatting with them. They all started leaving. Garvin shook hands with Carmine, who opened the front door for his departing guests.

And then it happened.

There was the sudden harsh glare of quartz lights, shining in from the street outside. The group huddled together, trapped in the light. They cast long shadows back into the restaurant.

"What's going on?" Fernandez said.

Sanders turned to look, but already the group was ducking back inside, closing the door. There was a moment of sudden chaos. They heard Garvin say,"Goddamn it," and spin to Blackburn.

Blackburn stood, a stricken look on his face, and rushed over to Garvin. Garvin was shifting from foot to foot. He was simultaneously trying to reassure the Conley-White people and chew out Blackburn.

Sanders went over. "Everything okay?"

"It's the goddamned press," Garvin said. "KSEA-TV is out there." "This is an outrage," Meredith said.

"They're asking about some harassment suit," Garvin said, looking darkly at Sanders.

Sanders shrugged.

"I'll speak to them," Blackburn said. "This is just ridiculous."

"I'll say it's ridiculous," Garvin said. "It's an outrage, is what it is."

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, agreeing that it was an outrage. But Sanders saw that Nichols looked shaken. Now Meredith was leading them out of the restaurant the back way, onto the terrace. Blackburn went out the front, into the harsh lights. He held up his hands, like a man being arrested. Then the door closed.

Nichols was saying, "Not good, not good."

"Don't worry, I know the news director over there," Garvin was saying. "I'll put this one away."

Jim Daly said something about how the merger ought to be confidential.

"Don't worry," Garvin said grimly. "It's going to be confidential as hell by the time I get through."

Then they were gone, out the back door, into the night. Sanders went back to the table, where Fernandez was waiting.

"A little excitement," Fernandez said calmly.

"More than a little," Sanders said. He glanced across the room at Stephanie Kaplan, still having dinner with her son. The young man was talking, gesturing with his hands, but Kaplan was staring fixedly at the back door, where the Conley-White people had departed. She had a curious expression on her face. Then, after a moment, she turned back and resumed her conversation with her son.

The evening was black, damp, and unpleasant. He shivered as he walked back to his office with Fernandez.

"How did a television crew get the story?"

"Probably from Walsh," Fernandez said. "But maybe another way. It's really a small town. Anyway, never mind that. You've got to prepare for the meeting tomorrow."

"I've been trying to forget that."

"Yeah. Well, don't."

Ahead they saw Pioneer Square, with windows in the buildings still brightly lit. Many of the companies here had business with Japan, and stayed open to overlap with the first hours of the day in Tokyo.

"You know," Fernandez said, "watching her with those men, I noticed how cool she was."

"Yes. Meredith is cool."

"Very controlled."

"Yes. She is."

"So why did she approach you so overtly-and on her first day? What was the rush?"

What is the problem she is trying tosolve? Max had said. Now Fernandez was asking the same thing. Everyone seemed to understand except Sanders.

You're not a victim.

So, solve it, he thought.

Get to work.

He remembered the conversation when Meredith and Blackburn were leaving the conference room.

It should be quite smooth andimpersonal. After all,you have thefactson your side.He's clearly incompetent.

He still can't get into the database?

No. He 's locked out ofthesystem.

And there’s no way he can get into Conley -Whiter system?

No way in hell, Meredith.

They were right, of course. He couldn't get into the system. But what difference would it make if he could?

Solve the problem,Max had said.Do whatyou dobest.

Solve the problem.

"Hell," Sanders said.

"It'll come," Fernandez said.

It was nine-thirty. On the fourth floor, cleaning crews worked in the central partition area. Sanders went into his office with Fernandez. He didn't really know why they were going there. There wasn't anything he could think to do, now.

Fernandez said, "Let me talk to Alan. He might have something." She sat down and began to dial.

Sanders sat behind his desk, and stared at the monitor. On the screen, his email message read:

YOU'RE STILL CHECKING THE WRONG COMPANY.

AFRIEND

"I don't see how," he said, looking at the screen. He felt irritable, playing with a puzzle that everyone could solve except him.

Fernandez said, "Alan? Louise. What have you got? Uh-huh. Uhhuh. Is that… Well, that's very disappointing, Alan. No, I don't know, now. If you can, yes. When would you be seeing her? All right. Whatever you can." She hung up. "No luck tonight."

"But we've only got tonight."

"Yes."

Sanders stared at the message on the computer screen. Somebody inside the company was trying to help him. Telling him he was checking the wrong company. The message seemed to imply that there was a way for him to check the other company. And presumably, whoever knew enough to send this message also knew that Sanders had been cut out of the DigiCom system, his privileges revoked.

What could he do?

Nothing.

Fernandez said, "Who do you think this `Afriend' is?"

"I don't know."

"Suppose you had to guess."

"I don't know."

"What comes into your mind?" she said.

He considered the possibility that `Afriend' was Mary Anne Hunter. But Mary Anne wasn't really a technical person; her strength was marketing. She wasn't likely to be sending routed messages over the Internet. She probably didn't know what the Internet was. So: not Mary Anne.

And not Mark Lewyn. Lewyn was furious at him.

Don Cherry? Sanders paused, considering that. In a way, this was just like Cherry. But the only time that Sanders had seen him since this began, Cherry had been distinctly unfriendly.

Not Cherry.

Then who else could it be? Those were the only people with executive sysop access in Seattle. Hunter, Lewyn, Cherry. A short list.

Stephanie Kaplan? Unlikely. At heart, Kaplan was plodding and unimaginative. And she didn't know enough about computers to do this.

Was it somebody outside the company? It could be Gary Bosak, he thought. Gary probably felt guilty about having turned his back on Sanders. And Gary had a hacker's devious instincts-and a hacker's sense of humor.

It might very well be Gary.

But it still didn't do Sanders any good.

You were always good at technical problems. That was always your strength.

He pulled out the Twinkle CD-ROMdrive, still in plastic. Why would they want it wrapped that way?

Never mind, he thought. Stay focused.

There was something wrong with the drive. If he knew what, he would have the answer. Who would know?

Wrapped in plastic.

It was something to do with the production line. It must be. He fumbled with the material on his desk and found the DAT cartridge. He inserted it into the machine.

It came up, showing his conversation with Arthur Kahn. Kahn was on one side of the screen, Sanders on the other.

Behind Arthur, the brightly lit assembly line beneath banks of fluorescent lights. Kahn coughed, and rubbed his chin. "Hello, Tom. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Arthur," he said.

"Well, good. I'm sorry about the new organization."

But Sanders wasn't listening to the conversation. He was looking at Kahn. He noticed now that Kahn was standing very close to the camera, so close that his features were slightly blurred, out of focus. His face was large, and blocked any clear view of the production line behind him. "You know how I feel personally," Kahn was saying, on the screen.

His face was blocking the line.

Sanders watched a moment more, and then switched the tape off. "Let's go downstairs," he said.

"You have an idea?"

"Call it a last-ditch hope," he said.

The lights clicked on, harsh lights shining on the tables of the Diagnostic team. Fernandez said, "What is this place?"

"This is where they check the drives."

"The drives that don't work?"

"Right."

Fernandez gave a little shrug. "I'm afraid I'm not-"

"Me neither," Sanders said. "I'm not a technical person. I can just read people."

She looked around the room. "Can you read this?"

He sighed. "No."

Fernandez said, "Are they finished?" "I don't know," he said.

And then he saw it. Theywerefinished. They had to be. Because otherwise the Diagnostics team would be working all night, trying to get ready for the meeting tomorrow. But they had covered the tables up and gone to their professional association meeting because they were finished. The problem was solved. Everybody knew it but him. That was why they had only opened three drives. They didn't need to open the others. And they had asked for them to be sealed in plastic… Because… The punctures… "Air," he said. "Air?" "They think it's the air." "What air?" she said. "The air in the plant." "The plant in Malaysia?" "Right."

"This is about air in Malaysia?"

"No. Air in the plant."

He looked again at the notebook on the table. "PPU" followed by a row of figures. PPU stood for "particulates per unit." It was the standard measure of air cleanliness in a plant. And these figures, ranging from two to eleven they were way off. They should be running zero particulates… one, at most. These figures were unacceptable.

The air in the plant was bad.

That meant that they would be getting dirt in the split optics, dirt in the drive arms, dirt in the chip joins…

He looked at the chips attached to the board.

"Christ," he said.

"What is it?"

"Look."

"I don't see anything."

"There's a space between the chips and the boards. The chips aren't seated."

"It looks okay to me."

"It's not."

He turned to the stacked drives. He could see at a glance that all the chips were seated differently. Some were tight, some had a gap of a few millimeters, so you could see the metal contacts.

"This isn't right," Sanders said. "This should never happen." The fact was that the chips were inserted on the line by automated chip pressers. Every board, every chip should look exactly the same coming off the line. But they didn't. They were all different. Because of that, you could get voltage irregularities, memory allocation problems-all kinds of random stuff. Which was exactly what they were getting.

He looked at the blackboard, the list of the flowchart. One item caught his eye.

D.? Mechanicalvv

The Diagnostics team had put two checks beside "Mechanical." The problem with the CD-ROMdrives was a mechanical problem. Which meant it was a problem in the production line.

And the production line was his responsibility.

He'd designed it, he'd set it up. He'd checked all the specs on that line, from beginning to end.

And now it wasn't working right.

He was sure that it wasn't his fault. Something must have happened after he had set up the line. Somehow it had been changed around, and it didn't work anymore. But what had happened?

To find out, he needed to get onto the databases.

But he was locked out.

There wasn't any way to get online.

Immediately, he thought of Bosak. Bosak could get him on. So, for that matter, could one of the programmers on Cherry's teams. These kids were hackers: they would break into a system for a moment of minor amusement the way ordinary people went out for coffee. But there weren't any programmers in the building now. And he didn't know when they would be back from their meeting. Those kids were so unreliable. Like the kid that had thrown up all over the walker pad. That was the problem. They were just kids, playing with toys like the walker pad. Bright creative kids, fooling around, no cares at all, and

"Oh,Jesus." He sat forward. "Louise."

"Yes?"

"There's a way to do this."

"Do what?"

"Get into the database." He turned and hurried out of the room. He was rummaging through his pockets, looking for the second electronic passcard.

Fernandez said, "Are we going somewhere?"

Yes, we are."

"Do you mind telling me where?"

"New York," Sanders said.

The lights flicked on one after another, in long banks. Fernandez stared at the room. "What is this? The exercise room from hell?"

"It's a virtual reality simulator," Sanders said.

She looked at the round walker pads, and all the wires, the cables hanging from the ceiling. "This is how you're going to get to New York?"

"That's right."

Sanders went over to the hardware cabinets. There were large hand-painted signs reading, "Do Not Touch" and "Hands Off, You Little Wonk." He hesitated, looking for the control console.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Fernandez said. She stood by one of the walker pads, looking at the silver headset. "Because I think somebody could get electrocuted with this."

"Yeah, I know." Sanders lifted covers off monitors and put them back on again, moving quickly. He found the master switch. A moment later, the equipment hummed. One after another, the monitors began to glow. Sanders said, "Get up on the pad."

He came over and helped her stand on the walker pad. Fernandez moved her feet experimentally, feeling the balls roll. Immediately, there was a green flash from the lasers. "What was that?"

"The scanner. Mapping you. Don't worry about it. Here's the headset." He brought the headset down from the ceiling and started to place it over her eyes.

`Just a minute." She pulled away. "What is this?"

"The headset has two small display screens. They project images right in front of your eyes. Put it on. And be careful. These things are expensive."

"How expensive?"

"A quarter of a million dollars apiece." He fitted the headset over her eyes and put the headphones over her ears.

"I don't see any images. It's dark in here."

"That's because you're not plugged in, Louise." He plugged in her cables.

"Oh," she said, in a surprised voice. "What do you know… I can see a big blue screen, like a movie screen. Right in front of me. At the bottom of the screen there are two boxes. One says`ON'and one says ‘OFF’.

'Just don't touch anything. Keep your hands on this bar," he said, putting her fingers on the walker handhold. "I'm going to mount up."

"This thing on my head feels funny."

Sanders stepped up onto the second walker pad and brought the headset down from the ceiling. He plugged in the cable. "I'll be right with you," he said.

He put on the headset.

Sanders saw the blue screen, surrounded by blackness. He looked to his left and saw Fernandez standing beside him. She looked entirely normal, dressed in her street clothes. The video was recording her appearance, and the computer eliminated the walker pad and the headset.

"I can see you," she said, in a surprised voice. She smiled. The part of her face covered by the headset was computer animated, giving her a slightly unreal, cartoonlike quality.

"Walk up to the screen."

"How?"

`Just walk, Louise." Sanders started forward on the walker pad. The blue screen became larger and larger, until it filled his field of vision. He went over to theONbutton, and pushed it with his finger.

The blue screen flashed. In huge lettering, stretching wide in front of them, it said:

Beneath that was listed a column of oversize menu items. The screen looked exactly like an ordinary DigiCom monitor screen, the kind on everybody's office desk, now blown up to enormous size.

"A gigantic computer terminal," Fernandez said. "Wonderful. Just what everybody has been hoping for."

“Just wait." Sanders poked at the screen, selecting menu items. There was a kind ofwhooshand the lettering on the screen curved inward, pulling back and deepening until it formed a sort of funnel that stretched away from them into the distance. Fernandez was silent.

That shut her up, he thought.

Now, as they watched, the blue funnel began to distort. It widened, became rectangular. The lettering and the blue color faded. Beneath his feet, a floor emerged. It looked like veined marble. The walls on both sides became wood paneling. The ceiling was white.

"It's a corridor," she said, in a soft voice.

The Corridor continued to build itself, progressively adding more detail. Drawers and cabinets appeared in the walls. Pillars formed along its length. Other hallways opened up, leading down to other corridors. Large light fixtures emerged from the walls and turned themselves on. Now the pillars cast shadows on the marble floors.

"It's like a library," she said. "An old-fashioned library."

"This part is, yes."

"How many parts are there?"

"I'm not sure." He started walking forward.

She hurried to catch up to him. Through his earphones, he heard the sound of their feet clicking on the marble floor. Cherry had added that-a nice touch.

Fernandez asked, "Have you been here before?"

"Not for several weeks. Not since it was finished."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm not exactly sure. But somewhere in here there's a way to get into the Conley-White database."

She said, "Where are we now?"

"We're in data, Louise. This is all just data."

"This corridor is data?"

"There is no corridor. Everything you see is just a bunch of numbers. It's the DigiCom company database, exactly the same database that people access every day through their computer terminals. Except it's being represented for us as a place."

She walked alongside him. "I wonder who did the decorating."

"It's modeled on a real library. In Oxford, I think."

They came to the junction, with other corridors stretching away. Big signs hung overhead. One said "Accounting." Another said "Human Resources." A third said "Marketing."

"I see," Fernandez said. "We're inside your company database."

"That's right."

"This is amazing."

"Yeah. Except we don't want to be here. Somehow, we have to get into Conley-White."