Disclosure

"How do we do that?"

"I don't know," Sanders said. "I need help."

"Help is here," said a soft voice nearby. Sanders looked over and saw an angel, about a foot high. It was white, and hovered in the air near his head. It held a flickering candle in its hands.

"Goddamn," Louise said.

"1 am sorry," the angel said. "Is that a command? I do not recognize `Goddamn.' "

"No," Sanders said quickly. "It's not a command." He was thinking that he would have to be careful or they would crash the system.

"Very well. I await your command."

"Angel: I need help."

"Help is here."

"How do I enter the Conley-White database?"

"I do not recognize `the Conley-White database.' "

That made sense, Sanders thought. Cherry's team wouldn't have programmed anything about Conley-White into the Help system. He would have to phrase the question more generally. Sanders said, "Angel: I am looking for a database."

"Very well. Database gateways are accessed with the keypad."

"Where is the keypad?" Sanders said.

"Make a fist with your hand."

Sanders made a fist and a gray pad formed in the air so that he appeared to be holding it. He pulled it toward him and looked at it.

"Pretty neat," Fernandez said.

"I also know jokes," the angel said. "Would you like to hear one?" "No," Sanders said.

"Very well. I await your command."

Sanders stared at the pad. It had a long list of operator commands, with arrows and push buttons. Fernandez said, "What is that, the world's most complicated TV remote?"

`Just about."

He found a push button markedOTHER1311.That seemed likely. He pressed it.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again.

"The gateway is opening," the angel announced.

"Where? I don't see anything."

"The gateway is opening."

Sanders waited. Then he realized that the DigiCom system would have to connect to any remote database. The connection was going through; that was causing a delay.

"Connecting… now," the angel said.

The wall of the Corridor began to dissolve. They saw a large gaping black hole, and nothing beyond it.

"That's creepy," Fernandez said.

White wire-frame lines began to appear, outlining a new corridor. The spaces filled, one by one, creating the appearance of solid shapes.

"This one looks different," Fernandez said.

"We're connecting over a T-1 high-speed data line," Sanders said. "But even so, it's much slower."

The Corridor rebuilt itself as they watched. This time the walls were gray. They faced a black-and-white world.

"No color?"

"The system's trying to generate a simpler environment. Color means more data to push around. So this is black and white."

The new corridor added lights, a ceiling, a floor. After a moment, Sanders said, "Shall we go in?"

"You mean, the Conley-White database is in there?"

"That's right," Sanders said.

"I don't know," she said. She pointed: "What about this?"

Directly in front of them was a kind of flowing river of black-and white static. It ran along the floor, and also along the walls. It made a loud hissing sound.

"I think that's just static off the phone lines."

"You think it's okay to cross?"

"We have to."

He started forward. Immediately, there was a growl. A large dog blocked their path. It had three heads that floated above its body, looking in all directions.

"What's that?"

"Probably a representation of their system security." Cherry and his sense of humor, he thought.

"Can it hurt us?"

"For God's sake, Louise. It's just a cartoon." Somewhere, of course, there was an actual monitoring system running on the Conley-White database. Perhaps it was automatic, or perhaps there was a real person who actually watched users come and go on the system. But now it was nearly one o'clock in the morning in New York. The dog was most likely just an automatic device of some kind.

Sanders walked forward, stepping through the flowing river of static. The dog growled as he approached. The three heads swiveled, watching him as he passed with cartoon eyes. It was a strange sensation. But nothing happened.

He looked back at Fernandez. "Coming?"

She moved forward tentatively. The angel remained behind, hovering in the air.

"Angel, are you coming?"

It didn't answer.

"Probably can't cross a gateway," Sanders said. "Not programmed."

They walked down the gray corridor. It was lined with unmarked drawers on all sides.

"It looks like a morgue," Fernandez said.

"Well, at least we're here."

"This is their company database in New York?"

"Yes. I just hope we can find it."

"Find what?"

He didn't answer her. He walked over to one file cabinet at random and pulled it open. He scanned the folders.

"Building permits," he said. "For some warehouse in Maryland, looks like."

"Why aren't there labels?"

Even as she said it, Sanders saw that labels were slowly emerging out of the gray surfaces. "I guess it just takes time." Sanders turned and looked in all directions, scanning the other labels. "Okay. That's better. HR records are on this wall, over here."

He walked along the wall. He pulled open a drawer.

"Uh-oh," Fernandez said.

"What?"

"Somebody's coming," she said, in an odd voice.

At the far end of the corridor, a gray figure was approaching. It was still too distant to make out details. But it was striding directly toward them.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know," Sanders said.

"Can he see us?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"We can see him, but he can't see us?"

"I don't know." Sanders was trying to figure it out. Cherry had installed another virtual system in the hotel. If someone was on that system, then he or she could probably see them. But Cherry had said that his system represented other users as well, such as somebody accessing the database from a computer. And somebody using a computer wouldn't be able to see them. A computer user wouldn't know who else was in the system.

The figure continued to advance. It seemed to come forward in jerks, not smoothly. They saw more detail; they could start to see eyes, a nose, a mouth.

"This is really creepy," Fernandez said.

The figure was still closer. The details were filling in.

"No kidding," Sanders said.

It was Ed Nichols.

Up close, they saw that Nichols's face was represented by a black and-white photograph wrapped crudely around an egg-shaped head, atop a gray moving body that had the appearance of a mannequin or a puppet. It was a computer-generated figure. Which meant that Nichols wasn't on the virtual system. He was probably using his notebook computer in his hotel room. Nichols walked up to them and continued steadily past them.

"He can't see us."

Fernandez said, "Why does his face look that way?"

"Cherry said that the system pulls a photo from the file and pastes it on users."

The Nichols-figure continued on walking down the corridor, away from them.

"What's he doing here?"

"Let's find out."

They followed him back down the corridor until Nichols stopped at one file cabinet. He pulled it open and began to go through the records. Sanders and Fernandez came up and stood by his shoulder, and watched what he was doing.

The computer-generated figure of Ed Nichols was thumbing through his notes and e-mail. He went back two months, then three months, then six months. Now he began to pull out sheets of paper, which seemed to hang in the air as he read them. Memos. Notations. Personal and Confidential. Copies to File.

Sanders said, "These are all about the acquisition."

More notes came out. Nichols was pulling them quickly, one after another.

"He's looking for something specific."

Nichols stopped. He had found what he was looking for. His gray computer image held it in his hand and looked at it. Sanders read it over his shoulder, and said certain phrases aloud to Fernandez: "Memo dated December 4, last year. `Met yesterday and today with Garvin and Johnson in Cupertino re possible acquisition of DigiCom…' bla bla… `Very favorable first impression… Excellent grounding in critical areas we seek to acquire…' bla bla… `Highly capable and aggressive executive staff at all levels. Particularly impressed with competence of Ms. Johnson despite youth.' I'll bet you were impressed, Ed."

The computer-generated Nichols moved down the hall to another drawer and opened it. He didn't find what he wanted and closed it. He went on to another drawer.

Then he began reading again, and Sanders read this one, too: " `Memo to John Marden. Cost issues re DigiCom acquisition'… bla bla… `Concern for high-technology development costs in new company'… bla bla… Here we are. `Ms. Johnson has undertaken to demonstrate her fiscal responsibility in new Malaysia operation… Suggests savings can be made… Expected cost savings…' How the hell could she do that?"

"Do what?" Fernandez said.

"Demonstrate fiscal responsibility in the Malaysia operation? That was my operation."

"Uh-oh," Fernandez said. "You're not going to believe this."

Sanders glanced over at her. Fernandez was staring down the corridor. He turned to look.

Someone else was coming toward them.

"Busy night," he said.

But even from a distance, he could see that this figure was different. The head was more lifelike, and the body was fully detailed. The figure walked smoothly, naturally. "This could be trouble," he said. Sanders recognized him, even from a distance.

"It's John Conley," Fernandez said.

"Right. And he's on the walker pad."

"Which means?"

Conley abruptly stopped in the middle of the corridor, and stared. "He can see us," Sanders said.

"He can? How?"

"He's on the system we installed in the hotel. That's why he's so detailed. He's on the other virtual system, so he can see us, and we can see him."

"Uh-oh."

"You said it."

Conley moved forward, slowly. He was frowning. He looked from Sanders to Fernandez to Nichols and back to Sanders. He seemed uncertain what to do.

Then he held his finger to his lips, a gesture for silence.

"Can he hear us?" Fernandez whispered.

"No," Sanders said, in a normal voice.

"Can we talk to him?"

“No.”

Conley seemed to make a decision. He walked over to Sanders and Fernandez, until he was standing very close. He looked from one to the other. They could see his expression perfectly.

Then he smiled. He extended his hand.

Sanders reached out, and shook it. He didn't feel anything, but through the headset he saw what looked like his hand gripping Conley's.

Then Conley shook Fernandez's hand.

"This is extremely weird," Fernandez said.

Conley pointed toward Nichols. Then he pointed to his own eyes. Then to Nichols again.

They crossed the gateway, past the barking dog, and came back into the Victorian library. Fernandez sighed. "It feels good to be home again, doesn't it?"

Conley was walking along, showing no surprise. But then, he had seen the Corridor before. Sanders walked quickly. The angel floated alongside them.

"But you realize," Fernandez said, "that none of this makes any sense. Because Nichols is the one who's been opposed to the acquisition, and Conley is the one pushing for it."

"That's right," Sanders said. "It's perfect. Nichols is having it off with Meredith. He promotes her behind the scenes as the new head of the division. And how does he hide that fact? By continuously bitching and moaning to anybody who will listen."

"You mean, it's a cover."

"Sure. That's why Meredith never answered his complaints in any of the meetings. She knew he wasn't a real threat."

"And Conley?" she said.

Conley was still walking alongside them.

"Conley genuinely wants the acquisition. And he wants it to work well. Conley's smart, and I think he realizes that Meredith isn't competent for the job. But Conley sees Meredith as the price of Nichols's support. So Conley has gone along with the choice of Meredith-at least for the time being."

"And what are we doing now?"

"Finding out about the last missing piece."

"Which is?"

Sanders was looking down the hallway markedOPERATIONS.This wasn't really his area of the database, except in specific places of overlap. The files were marked alphabetically. He went down the row until he foundDIGICOM/MALAYSIA SA.

He opened it up and searched the file section markedSTARTUP…He found his own memos, feasibility studies, site reports, government negotiations, first set specifications, memos from their Singapore suppliers, more government negotiations, all stretching back two years.

"What are you looking for?"

"Building plans."

He expected to see the thick sheets of blueprints and inspection summaries, but instead there was just a thin file. He opened the first sheet, and a three dimensional image of the factory floated in the air in front of him. It was just an outline at first, but it rapidly filled in and became solid-looking. Sanders, Fernandez, and Conley stood on three sides of it, looking at it. It was like a very large, detailed doll's house. They peered in through the windows.

Sanders pushed a button. The model became transparent, then turned into a cutaway; now they could see the assembly line, the physical plant. A green line the conveyor belt-started moving, and the machines and workers assembled the CD-ROM drives as the parts came down the line.

"What are you looking for?"

"Revisions." He shook his head. "This is the first set of plans."

The second sheet was marked "Revisions 1/First Set" with the date. He opened it up. The model of the plant seemed to shimmer for a moment, but it remained the same.

"Nothing happened."

The next sheet was marked "Revisions 2/Detail Only." Again, when he opened it, the plant shimmered briefly but was unchanged.

"According to these records, the plant was never revised," Sanders said. "But we know it was."

"What's he doing?" Fernandez said. She was looking at Conley.

Sanders saw that Conley was slowly mouthing words, his facial movements exaggerated.

"He's trying to tell us something," she said to Sanders. "Can you see whatit is?"

"No." Sanders watched a moment, but the cartoonlike quality of Conley's face made it impossible to read his lips. Finally Sanders shook his head.

Conley nodded, and took the keypad out of Sanders's hand. He pushed a button markedRELATEDand Sanders saw a list of related databases flash up in the air. It was an extensive list, including the permits from the Malay government, the architect's notes, the contractor agreements, health and medical inspections, and more. All together, there were about eighty items on the list. Sanders felt sure he would have overlooked the one in the middle of the list that Conley was now pointing to:

"What's that?" Fernandez said.

Sanders pressed the name and a new sheet fluttered up. He pushed a button markedSUMMARYand read the sheet aloud: " `The Operations Review Unit was formed four years ago in Cupertino by Philip Blackburn to address problems not normally within Operations Management purview. The mission of the Review Unit was to improve management efficiency within DigiCom. Over the years, the Operations Review Unit has successfully resolved a number of management problems at DigiCom.' "

"Uh-huh," Fernandez said.

" `Nine months ago, the Operations Review Unit, then headed by Meredith Johnson of Cupertino Operations, undertook a review of the proposed manufacturing facility in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The immediate stimulus for the review was a conflict with the Malay government over the number and ethnic composition of workers employed at the proposed facility.' "

"Uh-oh," Fernandez said.

" `Led by Ms. Johnson, with legal assistance from Mr. Blackburn, the Operations Review Unit had outstanding success in resolving the many problems facing DigiCom's Malaysian operation.' "

"What is this, a press release?" Fernandez said.

"Looks like it," Sanders said. He read on: " `Specific issues concerned the number and ethnic composition of workers employed at the facility. The original plans called for seventy workers to be employed. Responding to the requests of the Malay government, Operations Review was able to increase the number of workers to eighty-five by reducing the amount of automation at the plant, thus making the facility more suitable to the economy of a developing country.' " Sanders looked over at Fernandez. "And screwing us completely," he said.

"Why?

He continued: " `In addition, a cost-savings review generated important fiscal benefits in a number of areas. Costs were reduced with no detriment to product quality at the plant. Air-handling capacity was revised to more appropriate levels, and outsourcing supplier contracts were reallocated, with substantial savings benefit to the company.' " Sanders shook his head. "That's it," he said. "That's the whole ball game.

"I don't understand," Fernandez said. "This makes sense to you?" "You're damned right it does."

He pushed theDETAILbutton for more pages.

"I am sorry," the angel said, "there is no more detail."

"Angel, where are the supporting memos and files?" Sanders knew that there had to be massive paperwork behind these summary changes. The renegotiations with the Malay government alone would fill drawers of files.

The angel said, "I am sorry. There is no more detail available."

"Angel, show me the files."

"Very well."

After a moment, a sheet of pink paper flashed up:

"Hell," Sanders said.

"What does that mean?"

"Somebody cleaned up," Sanders said. `Just a few days ago. Who knew all this was going to happen? Angel, show me all communications between Malaysia and DC for the past two weeks."

"Do you wish telephone or video links?"

"Video."

"Press V."

He pushed a button, and a sheet uncurled in the air:

Date Linking To Duration Auth

6/1 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 0812-0814 ACSS

6/1 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 1343-1346 ADSS

6/2 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 1801-1804 DCSC

6/2 A. Kahn» T. Sanders 1822-1826 DOSE

6/3 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 0922-0924 ADSC

6/4 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 0902-0912 ADSC

6/5 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 0832-0832 ADSC

6/7 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 0904-0905 ACSS

6/11 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 2002-2004 ADSC

6/13 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 0902-0932 ADSC

6/14 A. Kahn» M. Johnson 1124-1125 ACSS

6/15 A. Kahn» T. Sanders 1132-1134 DCSE

"Burning up the satellite links," Sanders said, staring at the list. "Arthur Kahn and Meredith Johnson talked almost every day until June fourteenth. Angel, show me these video links."

"The links are not available for viewing except for 6/is."

That had been his own transmission to Kahn, two days earlier. "Where are the others?"

A message flashed up:

THE VIDEO FILES ON OPERATIONS REVIEW UNIT/MALAYSIA HAVE BEEN DELETED SUNDAY 6/14 AUTHORIZATION DC/C/5905

Scrubbed again. He was pretty sure who had done it, but he had to be sure. "Angel, how do I check deletion authorization?"

"Press the data you desire," the Angel said.

Sanders pressed the authorization number. A small sheet of paper came upward out of the top sheet and hung in the air:

AUTHORIZATION DC/C/5905 IS DIGITAL COMMUNICATIONS CUPERTINO/OPERATIONS EXECUTIVE SPECIAL PRIVILEGES NOTED

(NO OPERATOR ID NECESSARY)

"It was done by somebody very high up in Operations in Cupertino, a few days ago."

"Meredith?"

"Probably. And it means I'm screwed."

"Why?"

"Because now I know what was done at the Malaysia plant. I know exactly what happened: Meredith went in and changed the specs. But she's erased the data, right down to her voice transmissions to Kahn. Which means I can't prove any of it."

Standing in the corridor, Sanders poked the sheet, and it fluttered back down, dissolving into the top sheet. He closed his file, put it back in the drawer, and watched the model dissolve and disappear.

He looked over at Conley. Conley gave a little resigned shrug. He seemed to understand the situation. Sanders shook his hand, gripping air, and waved good-bye. Conley nodded and turned to leave.

"Now what?" Fernandez said.

"It's time to go," Sanders said.

The angel began to sing: "It's time to go, so long again till next week's show"

"Angel, be quiet." The angel stopped singing. He shook his head. `Just like Don Cherry."

"Who's Don Cherry?" Fernandez asked.

"Don Cherry is a living god," the angel said.

They walked back to the entrance to the Corridor and then climbed out of the blue screen.

Back in Cherry's lab, Sanders took off the headset and, after a moment of disorientation, stepped off the walker pad. He helped Fernandez remove her equipment. "Oh," she said, looking around. "We're back in the real world."

"If that's what you call it," he said. "I'm not sure it's that much more real." He hung up her headset and helped her down from the walker pad. Then he turned off the power switches around the room.

Fernandez yawned and looked at her watch. "It's eleven o'clock. What are you going to do now?"

There was only one thing he could think of. He picked up the receiver on one of Cherry's data modem lines and dialed Gary Bosak's number. Sanders couldn't retrieve any data, but perhaps Bosak couldif he could talk him into it. It wasn't much of a hope. But it was all he could think to do.

An answering machine said, "Hi, this is NE Professional Services. I'm out of town for a few days, but leave a message." And then a beep.

Sanders sighed. "Gary, it's eleven o'clock on Wednesday. I'm sorry I missed you. I'm going home." He hung up.

His last hope.

Gone.

Out of town for a few days.

"Shit," he said.

"Now what?" Fernandez said, yawning.

"I don't know," he said. "I've got half an hour to make the last ferry. I guess I'll go home and try to get some sleep."

"And the meeting tomorrow?" she asked. "You said you need documentation."

Sanders shrugged. "Louise, I've done all that I can do. I know what I'm up against. I'll manage somehow."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he said. "See you tomorrow."

He felt less sanguine on the ferry going home, looking back at the lights of the city in the rippling black water. Fernandez was right; he ought to be getting the documentation he needed. Max would criticize him, if he knew. He could almost hear the old man's voice: "Oh, so you're tired? That's a good reason, Thomas."

He wondered if Max would be at the meeting tomorrow. But he found he couldn't really think about it. He couldn't imagine the meeting. He was too tired to concentrate. The loudspeaker announced that they were five minutes from Winslow, and he went below decks to get into his car.

He unlocked the door and slipped behind the wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw a dark silhouette in the backseat.

"Hey," Gary Bosak said.

Sanders started to turn.

"Just keep looking forward," Bosak said. "I'll get out in a minute. Now listen carefully. They're going to screw you tomorrow. They're going to pin the Malaysia fiasco on you."

"I know."

"And if that doesn't work, they're going to hit you with employing me. Invasion of privacy. Felonious activity. All that crap. They've talked to my parole officer. Maybe you've seen him-a fat guy with a mustache?"

Sanders vaguely remembered the man walking up to the mediation center the day before. "I think so, yes. Gary, listen, I need some documents-"

"Don't talk. There's no time. They pulled all the documents relating to the plant off the system. Nothing's there anymore. It's gone. I can't help you." They heard the sound of the ferry horn. All around them, drivers were starting their engines. "But I'm not going down for this felony crap. And you're not, either. Take this." He reached forward, and handed Sanders an envelope.

"What's this?"

"Summary of some work I did for another officer of your company. Garvin. You might want to fax it to him in the morning."

"Why don't you?"

"I'm crossing the border tonight. I have a cousin in BC, I'll stay there for a while. You can leave a message on my machine if it turns out okay."

"All right."

"Stay cool, guy. The shit's really going to hit the fan tomorrow. Lots of changes coming."

Up ahead, the ramp went down with a metallic clang. The traffic officers were directing cars off the ferry.

"Gary. You've been monitoring me?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that. They told me I had to."

"Then who's `Afriend'?"

Bosak laughed. He opened the door and got out. "I'm surprised at you, Tom. Don't you know who your friends are?"

The cars were beginning to pull out. Sanders saw brake lights on the car ahead of him flash red, and the car began to move.

"Gary" he said, turning. But Bosak was gone.

He put the car in gear and drove off the ferry.

A the top of the driveway, he stopped to pick up his mail. There was a lot of it; he hadn't checked the mailbox for two days. He drove down to the house and left the car outside the garage. He unlocked the front door and went in. The house seemed empty and cold. It had a lemony odor. Then he remembered that Consuela had probably cleaned up.

He went into the kitchen and set up the coffeemaker for the morning. The kitchen was clean and the children's toys had been picked up; Consuela had definitely been there. He looked at the answering machine.

A red numeral was blinking:14.

Sanders replayed the calls. The first was from John Levin, asking him to call, saying it was urgent. Then Sally, asking if the kids could arrange a play date. But then the rest were all hang-ups. And as he listened, they all seemed to sound exactly the same the thin hissing background static of an overseas call and then the abrupt click of disconnection. Again and again.

Someone was trying to call him.

One of the later calls was apparently placed by an operator, because a woman's lilting voice said, "I'm sorry, there is no answer. Do you wish to leave a message?" And then a man's voice replied, "No." And then disconnection.

Sanders played it back, listening to that "No."

He thought it sounded familiar. Foreign, but still familiar.

“No.”

He listened several times but could not identify the speaker.

"No."

One time, he thought the man sounded hesitant. Or was it hurried? He couldn't tell.

"Do you wish to leave a message?"

“No."

Finally he gave up, rewound the machine, and went upstairs to his office. He'd had no faxes. His computer screen was blank. No further help from "Afriend" tonight.

He read through the paper that Bosak had given him in the car. It was a single sheet, a memo addressed to Garvin, containing a report summary on a Cupertino employee whose name was blanked out. There was also a xerox of a check made out to NE Professional Services signed by Garvin.

It was after one when Sanders went into the bathroom and took a shower. He turned the water up hot, held his face close to the nozzle, and felt the stinging spray on his skin. With the sound of the shower roaring in his ears, he almost missed hearing the telephone ringing. He grabbed a towel and ran into the bedroom.

"Hello?"

He heard the static hiss of an overseas connection. A man's voice said, "Mr. Sanders, please."

"This is Mr. Sanders speaking."

"Mr. Sanders, sir," the voice said, "I do not know if you will remember me. This is Mohammed Jafar."

The morning was clear. Sanders took an early ferry to work and got to his office at eight. He passed the downstairs receptionist and saw a sign that said "Main Conference Room in Use." For a horrified moment he thought that he had again mistaken the time for his meeting, and hurried to look in. But it was Garvin, addressing the Conley-White executives. Garvin was speaking calmly, and the executives were nodding as they listened. Then as he watched, Garvin finished and introduced Stephanie Kaplan, who immediately launched into a financial review with slides. Garvin left the conference room, and immediately his expression turned grim as he walked down the hallway toward the espresso bar at the end of the corridor, ignoring Sanders.

Sanders was about to head upstairs when he heard Phil Blackburn say, "I really feel I have a right to protest the way this matter has been handled."

"Well, you don't," Garvin said angrily. "You don't have any rights at all."

Sanders moved forward, toward the espresso bar. From his position across the hallway, he was able to see into the bar. Blackburn and Garvin were talking by the coffee machines.

"But this is extremely unfair," Blackburn said.

"Fuck unfair," Garvin said. "She named you as the source, you stupid asshole."

"But Bob, you told me-"

"I told you what?" Garvin said, eyes narrowing.

"You told me to handle it. To put pressure on Sanders."

"That's right, Phil. And you told me that you were going to take care of it.'

But you knew I talked to-"

"I knew you had done something," Garvin said. "But I didn't know what. Now she's named you as a source."

Blackburn hung his head. "I just think it's extremely unfair."

"Really? But what do you expect me to do? You're the fucking lawyer, Phil. You're the one always sweating about how things look. You tell me. What do I do?"

Blackburn was silent for a moment. Finally he said, "I'll get John Robinson to represent me. He can work out the settlement agreement."

"Okay, fine." Garvin nodded. "That's fine."

"But I just want to say to you, on a personal level, Bob, that I feel my treatment in this matter has been very unfair."

"Goddamn it, Phil, don't talk to me about your feelings. Your feelings are for sale. Now listen with both ears: Don't go upstairs. Don't clean out your desk. Go right to the airport. I want you on a plane in the next half hour. I want you fucking out of here, right now. Is that clear?"

"I just think you should acknowledge my contribution to the company."

"I am, you asshole," Garvin said. "Now get the fuck out of here, before I lose my temper."

Sanders turned and hurried upstairs. It was hard for him to keep from cheering. Blackburn was fired! He wondered if he should tell anybody; perhaps Cindy, he thought.

But when he got to the fourth floor, the hallways were buzzing; everyone was out of their offices, talking in the corridors. Obviously, rumors of the firing had already leaked. Sanders was not surprised that staffers were in hallways. Even though Blackburn was disliked, his firing would cause widespread uneasiness. Such a sudden change, involving a person so close to Garvin, conveyed to everyone a sense of peril. Everything was at risk.

Outside his office, Cindy said, "Tom, can you believe it? They say Garvin is going to fire Phil."

"You're kidding," Sanders said.

Cindy nodded. "Nobody knows why, but apparently it had something to do with a news crew last night. Garvin's been downstairs explaining it to the Conley-White people."

Behind him, somebody shouted, "It's on the e-mail!" The hallway was instantly deserted; everyone vanished into their offices. Sanders stepped behind his desk and clicked the e-mail icon. But it was slow coming up, probably because every employee in the building was clicking at exactly the same time.

Fernandez came in and said, "Is it true about Blackburn?" "I guess so," Sanders said. "It's just coming over the e-mail now."

FROM: ROBERT GARVIN, PRESIDENT AND CEO

TO: ALL THE DIGICOM FAMILY

IT IS WITH GREAT SADNESS AND A DEEP SENSE OF PERSONAL LOSS THAT I TODAY ANNOUNCE THE RESIGNATION OF OUR VALUED AND TRUSTED CHIEF CORPORATE COUNSEL, PHILIP A. BLACKBURN. PHIL HAS BEEN AN OUTSTANDING OFFICER OF THIS COMPANY FOR NEARLY FIFTEEN YEARS, A WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING, AND A CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND AND ADVISOR AS WELL. I KNOW THAT LIKE ME, MANY OF YOU WILL MISS HIS WISE COUNSEL AND GOOD HUMOR PROFOUNDLY IN THE DAYS AND WEEKS TO COME. AND I AM SURE THAT YOU WILL ALL JOIN ME IN WISHING HIM THE BEST OF GOOD FORTUNE IN HIS NEW ENDEAVORS. A HEARTY THANK YOU, PHIL. AND GOOD LUCK.

THIS RESIGNATION IS EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. HOWARD EBERHARDT WILL SERVE AS ACTING COUNSEL UNTIL SUCH TIME AS A NEW PERMANENT APPOINTMENT IS MADE.

ROBERT GARVIN

Fernandez said, "What does it say?" "It says, `I fired his sanctimonious ass.' " "It had to happen," Fernandez said. "Especially since he was the source on the Connie Walsh story." Sanders said, "How did you know that?" "Eleanor Vries." "She told you?" "No. But Eleanor Vries is a very cautious attorney. All those media attorneys are. The safest way to keep your job is to refuse to let things run. When in doubt, throw it out. So I had to ask myself, why did she let the Mr. Piggy story run, when it's clearly defamatory. The only possible reason is that she felt Walsh had an unusually strong source inside the company-a source that understood the legal implications. A source that, in giving the story, was in essence also saying, we won't sue if you print it. Since high-ranking corporate officers never know anything about law, it means the source could only be a high-ranking lawyer."

"Phil."

"Yes."

".Jesus."

"Does this change your plans?" Fernandez said.

Sanders had been considering that. "I don't think so," he said. "I think Garvin would have fired him later in the day, anyway."

"You sound confident."

"Yeah. I got some ammunition last night. And I hope more today."

Cindy came in and said, "Are you expecting something from KL? A big file?"

"Yes."

"This one's been coming in since 7 a.m. It must be a monster." She put a DAT cartridge on his desk. It was exactly like the DAT cartridge that had recorded his video link with Arthur Kahn.

Fernandez looked at him. He shrugged.

At eight-thirty, he transmitted Bosak's memo to Garvin's private fax machine. Then he asked Cindy to make copies of all the faxes that Mohammed Jafar had sent him the previous night. Sanders had been up most of the night, reading the material that Jafar had sent him. And it made interesting reading.

Jafar of course was not ill; he had never been ill. That had been a little story that Kahn had contrived with Meredith.

He pushed the DAT videocassette into the machine, and turned to Fernandez.

"You going to explain?" she said.

"I hope it'll be self-explanatory," Sanders said.

On the monitor, the following appeared:

5 SECONDS TO DIRECT VIDEO LINKUP: DC/M-DC/C

On the screen, he saw Kahn at the factory, and then a moment later the screen split and he saw Meredith at her office in Cupertino.

"What is this?" Fernandez said.

"A recorded video communication. From last Sunday."

"I thought the communications were all erased."

"They were, here. But there was still a record in KL. A friend of mine sent it to me."

On the screen, Arthur Kahn coughed. "Uh, Meredith. I'm a little concerned."

"Don't be," Meredith said.

"But we still aren't able to manufacture to specs. We have to replace the air handlers, at the very least. Put in better ones."

"Not now."

"But we have to, Meredith."

"Not yet."

"But those handlers are inadequate, Meredith. We both thought they'd be okay, but they aren't."

"Never mind."

Kahn was sweating. He rubbed his chin nervously. "It's only a matter of time before Tom figures it out, Meredith. He's not stupid, you know."

"He'll be distracted."

"So you say."

"And besides, he's going to quit."

Kahn looked startled. "He is? I don't think he-"

"Trust me. He'll quit. He's going to hate working for me."

Sitting in Sanders's office, Fernandez leaned forward, staring at the screen. She said, "No shit."

Kahn said, "Why will he hate it?"

Meredith said, "Believe me. He will. Tom Sanders will be out in my first forty-eight hours."

"But how can you be sure-"

"What choice does he have? Tom and I have a history. Everybody in the company knows that. If any problem comes up, nobody will believe him. He's smart enough to understand that. If he ever wants to work again, he'll have no choice but to take whatever settlement he's offered and leave."

Kahn nodded, wiping the sweat from his cheek. "And then we say Sanders made the changes at the plant? He'll deny that he did."

"He won't even know. Remember. He'll be gone by then, Arthur."

"And if he isn't?"

"Trust me. He'll be gone. He's married, has a family. He'll go."

"But if he calls me about the production line-"

"Just evade it, Arthur. Be mystified. You can do that, I'm sure. Now, who else does Sanders talk to there?"

"The foreman, sometimes. Jafar. Jafar knows everything, of course. And he's one of those honest sorts. I'm afraid if-"

"Make him take a vacation."

"He just took one."

"Make him take another one, Arthur. I only need a week here."

"Jesus," Kahn said. "I'm not sure-"

She cut in: "Arthur."

"Yes, Meredith."

"This is the time when a new vice president counts favors that will be repaid in the future."

"Yes, Meredith."

"That's all."

The screen went blank. There were white streaking video lines, and then the screen was dark.

"Pretty cut and dried," Fernandez said.

Sanders nodded. "Meredith didn't think the changes would matter, because she didn't know anything about production. She was just cutting costs. But she knew that the changes at the plant would eventually be traced back to her, so she thought she had a way to get rid of me, to make me quit the company. And then she would be able to blame me for the problems at the plant."

"And Kahn went along with it."

Sanders nodded.

"And they got rid of Jafar."

Sanders nodded. "Kahn told Jafar to go visit his cousin in Johore for a week to get out of town. To make it impossible for me to reach Jafar. But he never thought that Jafar would call me." He glanced at his watch. "Now, where is it?"

"What?"

On the screen, there was a series of tones, and they saw a handsome, dark skinned newscaster at a desk, facing a camera and speaking rapidly in a foreign language.

"What's this?" Fernandez said.

"The Channel Three evening news, from last December." Sanders got up and pushed a button on the tape machine. The cassette popped out.

"What does it show?"

Cindy came back from the copying machine with wide eyes. She carried a dozen stacks of paper, each neatly clipped. "What're you going to do with this?"

"Don't worry about it," he said.

"But this is outrageous, Tom. What she's done."

"I know," he said.

"Everybody is talking," she said. "The word is that the merger is off."

"We'll see," Sanders said.

With Cindy's help, he began arranging the piles of paper in identical manila folders.

Fernandez said, "What exactly are you going to do?"

"Meredith's problem is that she lies," Sanders said. "She's smooth, and she gets away with it. She's gotten away with it her whole life. I'm going to see if I can get her to make a single, very big lie."

He looked at his watch. It was eight forty-five.

The meeting would start in fifteen minutes.

The conference room was packed. There were fifteen Conley-White executives down one side of the table, with John Marden in the middle, and fifteen DigiCom executives down the other side, with Garvin in the middle.

Meredith Johnson stood at the head of the table and said, "Next, we'll hear from Tom Sanders. Tom, I wonder if you could review for us where we stand with the Twinkle drive. What is the status of our production there."

"Of course, Meredith." Sanders stood, his heart pounding. He walked to the front of the room. "By way of background, Twinkle is our code name for a stand-alone CD-ROMdrive player which we expect to be revolutionary." He turned to the first of his charts. "CD-ROMis a small laser disk used to store data. It is cheap to manufacture, and can hold an enormous amount of information in any form-words, images, sound, video, and so on. You can put the equivalent of six hundred books on a single small disk, or, thanks to our research here, an hour and a half of video. And any combination. For example, you could make a textbook that combines text, pictures, short movie sequences, animated cartoons, and so on. Production costs will soon be at ten cents a unit."

He looked down the table. The Conley-White people were interested. Garvin was frowning. Meredith looked tense.

"But for CD-ROMto be effective, two things need to happen. First, we need a portable player. Like this." He held up the player, and then passed it down the Conley-White side.

"A five-hour battery, and an excellent screen. You can use it on a train, a bus, or in a classroom-anywhere you can use a book."

The executives looked at it, turned it over in their hands. Then they looked back at Sanders.

"The other problem with CD-ROM technology," Sanders said, "is that it's slow. It's sluggish getting to all that wonderful data. But the Twinkle drives that we have successfully made in prototype are twice as fast as any other drive in the world. And with added memory for our packing and unpacking images, it is as quick as a small computer. We expect to get the unit cost for these drives down to the price of a video-game unit within a year. And we are manufacturing the drives now. We have had some early problems, but we are solving them."

Meredith said, "Can you tell us more about that? I gather from talking to Arthur Kahn that we're still not clear on why the drives have problems."

"Actually, we are," Sanders said. "It turns out that the problems aren't serious at all. I expect them to be entirely resolved in a matter of days."

"Really." She raised her eyebrows. "Then we've found what the trouble is?"

"Yes, we have."

"That's wonderful news."

"Yes, it is."

"Very good news indeed," Ed Nichols said. "Was it a design problem?"

"No," Sanders said. "There's nothing wrong with the design we made here, just as there was nothing wrong with the prototypes. What we have is a fabrication problem involving the production line in Malaysia."

"What sort of problems?"

"It turns out," Sanders said, "that we don't have the proper equipment on the line. We should be using automatic chip installers to lock the controller chips and the RAM cache on the board, but the Malays on the line have been installing chips by hand. Literally pushing them in with their thumbs. And it turns out that the assembly line is dirty, so we're getting particulate matter in the split optics. We should have level-seven air handlers, but we only have level-five handlers installed. And it turns out that we should be ordering components like hinge rods and clips from one very reliable Singapore supplier, but the components are actually coming from another supplier. Less expensive, less reliable."

Meredith looked uneasy, but only for a moment. "Improper equipment, improper conditions, improper components…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you set up that line, Tom?"

"Yes, I did," Sanders said. "I went out to Kuala Lumpur last fall and set it up with Arthur Kahn and the local foreman, Mohammed Jafar."

"Then how is it that we have so many problems?"

"Unfortunately, there was aseries of bad judgment calls in setting up the line."

Meredith looked concerned. "Tom, we all know that you're extremely competent. How could this have happened?"

Sanders hesitated.

This was the moment.

"It happened because the line was changed," he said. "The specifications were altered."

"Altered? How?"

"I think that's something for you to explain to this group, Meredith," he said. "Since you ordered the changes."

"I ordered them?"

"That's right, Meredith."

"Tom, you must be mistaken," she said coolly. "I haven't had anything to do with that Malaysia line."

"Actually, you have," Sanders said. "You made two trips there, in November and December of last year."

"Two trips to Kuala Lumpur, yes. Because you mishandled a labor dispute with the Malaysian government. I went there and resolved the dispute. But I had nothing to do with the actual production line."

"I'd say you're mistaken, Meredith."

"I assure you," she said coldly. "I am not. I had nothing to do with the line, and any so-called changes."

"Actually, you went there and inspected the changes you ordered."

"I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't. I'venever even seen the actual line."

On the screen behind her, the videotape of the newscast began to play silently with the sound off. The newscaster in coat and tie speaking to the camera.

Sanders said, "You never went to the plant itself?"

"Absolutely not, Tom. I don't know who could have told you such a thing or why you would say it now."

The screen behind the newscaster showed the DigiCom building in Malaysia, then the interior ofthe plant. The camera showed the production lines and an official inspection tour taking place. They saw Phil Blackburn, and alongside him, Meredith Johnson. The camera moved in on her as she chatted with one

ofthe workers.

There was a murmur in the room.

Meredith spun around and looked. "This is outrageous. This is out of context. I don't know where this could have come from-"

"Malaysia Channel Three. Their version ofthe BBC. I'm sorry, Meredith." The newscast segment finished and the screen went blank. Sanders made a gesture, and Cindy began moving around the table, handing a manila folder to each person.

Meredith said, "Wherever this so-called tape came from-"

Sanders said, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you will openyour packets, you will find the first ofa series of memosfrom the Operations Review Unit, which was under the directionof Ms. Johnson in the period in question. I direct your attention to the first memo, dated November eighteenth of last year. You will notice that it has been signed by Meredith Johnson, and it stipulates that the line will be changed to accommodate the labor demands ofthe Malay government. In particular, this first memo states that automated chip installers will not be included, but that this work will be done by hand. That made the Malay government happy, but it meant we couldn't manufacture the drives."

Johnson said, "But you see, what you are overlooking is that the Malays gave us no choice-"

"In that case, we should never have built the plant there," Sanders said, cutting her off. "Because we can't manufacture the intended product at those revised specifications. The tolerances are inadequate."

Johnson said, "Well, that may be your own opinion-"

"The second memo, dated December third, indicates that a cost-savings review diminished air-handling capacities on the line. Again, this is a variance in the specifications that I established. Again, it is critical-we can't manufacture high-performance drives under these conditions. The long and the short of it is that these decisions doomed the drives to failure."

"Now look," Johnson said. "Ifanybody believes that the failure of these drives is anything but your-"

"The third memo," Sanders said, "summarizes cost savings from the Operations Review Unit. You'll see that it claims an eleven percent reduction in operating costs. That savings has already been wiped out by fabrication delays, not counting our time-to-market delay costs. Even if we immediately restore the line, this eleven percent savings translates into a production cost increase, over the run, of nearly seventy percent. First year, it's a hundred and ninety percent increase.

"Now the next memo," Sanders said, "explains why this cost-cutting was adopted in the first place. During acquisition talks between Mr. Nichols and Ms. Johnson in the fall of last year, Ms. Johnson indicated she would demonstrate that it was possible to reduce high-technology development costs, which were a source of concern to Mr. Nichols when they were meeting at-"

"OhChrist," Ed Nichols said, staring at the paper.

Meredith pushed forward, stepping in front of Sanders. "Excuse me, Tom," she said, speaking firmly, "but I really must interrupt you. I'm sorry to have to say this, but no one here is fooled by this little charade." She swept her arm wide, encompassing the room. "Or by your so-called evidence." She spoke more loudly. "You weren't present when these management decisions were carefully taken by the best minds in this company. You don't understand the thinking that lies behind them. And the false postures you are striking now, the so-called memos that you are holding up to convince us… No one here is persuaded." She gave him a pitying look. "It's all empty, Tom. Empty words, empty phrases. When it comes right down to it, you're all show and no substance. You think you can come in here and second-guess the management team? I'm here to tell you that you can't."

Garvin stood abruptly, and said, "Meredith-"

"Let me finish," Meredith said. She was flushed, angry. "Because this is important, Bob. This is the heart of what is wrong with this division. Yes, there were some decisions taken that may be questionable in retrospect. Yes, we tried innovative procedures which perhaps went too far. But that hardly excuses the behavior we see today. This calculated, manipulative attitude by an individual who will do anything-anything at all-to get ahead, to make a name for herself at the expense of others, who will savage the reputation of anyone who stands in her path-I mean, that stands inhis path-this ruthless demeanor that we are seeing… No one is fooled by this, Tom. Not for a minute. We're being asked to accept the worst kind of fraudulence. And we simply won't do it. It's wrong. This is all wrong. And it is bound to catch up with you.

I'm sorry. You can't come here and do this. It simply won't work-it hasn't worked. That's all."

She stopped to catch her breath and looked around the table. Everyone was silent, motionless. Garvin was still standing; he appeared to be in shock. Slowly, Meredith seemed to realize that something was wrong. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

"I hope that I have… that I have accurately expressed the sentiments of everyone here. That's all I intended to do."

There was another silence. Then Garvin said, "Meredith, I wonder if you would leave the room for a few minutes."

Stunned, she stared at Garvin for a long moment. Then she said, "Of course, Bob."

"Thank you, Meredith."

Walking very erect, she left the room. The door clicked shut behind her.

John Marden sat forward and said, "Mr. Sanders, please continue with your presentation. In your view, how long will it be until the line is repaired and fully functioning?"

It was noon. Sanders sat in his office with his feet on his desk and stared out the window. The sun was shining brightly on the buildings around Pioneer Square. The sky was clear and cloudless. Mary Anne Hunter, wearing a business suit, came in and said, "I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"That news tape. Meredith must have known about it. Because she was there when they were shooting it."

"Oh, she knew about it, all right. But she never thought I'd get it. And she never thought she'd appear in it. She thought they'd only show Phil. You know-a Muslim country. In a story about executives, they usually just show the men."

"Uh-huh. So?"

"But Channel Three is the government station," Sanders said. "And the story that night was that the government had been only partially successful in negotiating changes in the DigiCom plant-that the foreign executives had been intransigent and uncooperative. It was a story intended to protect the reputation of Mr. Sayad, the finance minister. So the cameras focused on her."

"Because…"

"Because she was a woman."

"Foreign she-devil in a business suit? Can't make a deal with aferingiwoman?"

"Something like that. Anyway, the story focused on her."

"And you got the tape."

"Yeah."

Hunter nodded. "Well," she said, "it's fine with me." She left the room, and Sanders was alone again, staring out the window.

After a while, Cindy came in and said, "The latest word is the acquisition is off."

Sanders shrugged. He was flat, drained. He didn't care.

Cindy said, "Are you hungry? I can get you some lunch."

"I'm not hungry. What are they doing now?"

"Garvin and Marden are talking."

"Still? It's been more than an hour."

"They just brought in Conley."

"Only Conley? Nobody else?"

"No. And Nichols has left the building."

"What about Meredith?"

"Nobody's seen her."

He leaned back in his chair. He stared out the window. His computer gave three beeps.

30 SECONDS TO DIRECT VIDEO LINKUP: DC/M-DC/S

SEN: A. KAHN

REC: T. SANDERS

Kahn was calling. Sanders smiled grimly. Cindy came in and said, "Arthur's going to call."

"I see that."

15 SECONDS TO DIRECT VIDEO LINKUP: DC/M-DC/S

Sanders adjusted his desk lamp and sat back. The screen blossomed, and he saw the shimmering image resolve. It was Arthur, in the plant.

"Oh, Tom. Good. I hope it's not too late," Arthur said.

"Too late for what?" Sanders said.

"I know there's a meeting today. There's something I have to tell you.

"What's that, Arthur?"

"Well, I'm afraid I haven't been entirely straightforward with you, Tom. It's about Meredith. She made changes in the line six or seven months ago, and I'm afraid she intends to blame that on you. Probably in the meeting today."

"I see."

"I feel terrible about this, Tom," Arthur said, hanging his head. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything, Arthur," Sanders said.

Kahn smiled apologetically. "I wanted to tell you earlier. I really did. But Meredith kept saying that you would be out. I didn't know what to

do. She said there was a battle coming, and I had better pick the winner."

"You picked wrong, Arthur," Sanders said. "You're fired." He reached up and snapped off the television camera in front of him.

"What're you talking about?"

"You're fired, Arthur."

"But you can't do this to rue…," Kahn said. His image faded, began to shrink. "You can't-"

The screen was blank.

Fifteen minutes later, Mark Lewyn came by the office. He tugged at the neck of his black Armani T-shirt. "I think I'm an asshole," he said.

"Yeah. You are."

"It's just… I didn't understand the situation," he said.

"That's right, you didn't."

"What're you going to do now?"

"I just fired Arthur."

`Jesus. And what else?"

"I don't know. We'll see how it shakes out."

Lewyn nodded and went away nervously. Sanders decided to let him be nervous for a while. In the end, their friendship would be repaired. Adele and Susan were good friends. And Mark was too talented to replace in the company. But Lewyn could sweat for a while; it'd do him good.

At one o'clock, Cindy came in and said, "The word is Max Dorfman just went into the conference with Garvin and Marden."

"What about John Conley?"

"He's gone. He's with the accountants now."

"Then that's a good sign."

"And the word is Nichols was fired."

"Why do they think that?"

"He flew home an hour ago."

Fifteen minutes later, Sanders saw Ed Nichols walking down the hallway. Sanders got up and went out to Cindy's desk. "I thought you said Nichols went home."

"Well, that's what I heard," she said. "It's crazy. You know what they're saying about Meredith now?"

"What?"

"They say she's staying on."

"I don't believe it," Sanders said.

"Bill Everts told Stephanie Kaplan's assistant that Meredith Johnson is not going to be fired, that Garvin is backing her one hundred percent. Phil is going to take the rap for what happened in Malaysia but Garvin still believes Meredith is young and this shouldn't be held against her. So she's staying in her job."

"I don't believe it."

Cindy shrugged. "That's what they say," she said.

He went back to his office and stared out the window. He told himself it was just a rumor. After a while, the intercom buzzed. "Tom? Meredith Johnson just called. She wants to see you in her office right away."

Bright sunlight streamed in through the big windows on the fifth floor. The assistant outside Meredith's office was away from her desk. The door was ajar.

He knocked.

"Come in," Meredith Johnson said.

She was standing, leaning back against the edge of her desk, her arms folded across her chest. Waiting.

"Hello, Tom," she said.

"Meredith."

"Come in. I won't bite."

He came in, leaving the door open.

"I must say that you outdid yourself this morning, Tom. I was surprised at how much you were able to learn in a short time. And it was really quite resourceful, the approach you took in the meeting."

He said nothing.

"Yes, it was a really excellent effort. You feeling proud of yourself?" she said, staring hard at him.

"Meredith…"

"You think you've finally paid me back? Well, I have news for you, Tom. You don't knowanythingabout what's really going on."

She pushed away from the desk, and as she moved away, he saw a cardboard packing box on the desktop beside the telephone. She walked around behind the desk, and began putting pictures and papers and a pen set into the box.

"This whole thing was Garvin's idea. For three years, Garvin's been looking for a buyer. He couldn't find one. Finally he sent me out, and I found him one. I went through twenty-seven different companies until I got to Conley-White. They were interested, and I sold them hard. I put in the hours. I did whatever I had to do to keep the deal moving forward.Whatever Ihad to do." She pushed more papers into the box angrily.

Sanders watched her.

"Garvin was happy as long as I was delivering Nichols to him on a platter," Johnson said. "He wasn't fussy about how I was doing it. He wasn't even interested. He just wanted it done. I busted my ass for him. Because the chance to get this job was a big break for me, a real career opportunity. Why shouldn't I have it? I did the work. I put the deal together. I earned this job. I beat you fairly."

Sanders said nothing.

"But that's not how it turns out, is it? Garvin won't support me when the going gets tough. Everybody said he was like a father to me. But he was just using me. He was just making a deal, any way he could. And that's all he's doing now. Just another fucking deal, and who cares who gets hurt. Everybody moves on. Now I've got to find an attorney to negotiate my severance package. Nobody gives a damn."

She closed the box and leaned on it. "But I beat you, fair and square, Tom. I don't deserve this. I've been screwed by the damned system."

"No you haven't," Sanders said, staring her straight in the eye. "You've been fucking your assistants for years. You've been taking every advantage of your position that you could. You've been cutting corners. You've been lazy. You've been living on image and every third word out of your mouth is a lie. Now you're feeling sorry for yourself. You think the system is what's wrong. But you know what, Meredith? The system didn't screw you. The system revealed you, and dumped you out. Because when you get right down to it, you're completely full of shit." He turned on his heel. "Have a nice trip. Wherever you're going."

He left the room, and slammed the door behind him.

He was back in his office five minutes later, still angry, pacing back and forth behind his desk.

Mary Anne Hunter came in, wearing a sweatshirt and exercise tights. She sat down, and put her running shoes up on Sanders's desk. "What're you all worked up about? The press conference?"

"What press conference?"

"They've scheduled a press conference for four o'clock."

"Who says?"

"Marian in PR. Swears it came from Garvin himself. And Marian's assistant has been calling the press and the stations."

Sanders shook his head. "It's too soon." Considering all that had happened, the press conference should not be held until the following day.

"I think so," Hunter said, nodding. "They must be going to announce that the merger has fallen through. You heard what they're saying about Blackburn?"

"No, what?"

"That Garvin made him a million-dollar settlement."

"I don't believe it."

"That's what they say."

"Ask Stephanie."

"Nobody's seen her. Supposedly she went back to Cupertino, to deal with finances now that the merger is off." Hunter got up and walked to the window. "At least it's a nice day."

"Yeah. Finally."

"I think I'll go for a run. I can't stand this waiting."

"I wouldn't leave the building."

She smiled. "Yeah, I guess not." She stood at the window for a while. Finally she said, "Well, what do you know…"

Sanders looked up. "What?"

Hunter pointed down toward the street. "Minivans. With antennas on the top. I guess there is going to be a press conference, after all."

They held the press conference at four, in the main downstairs conference room. Strobes flashed as Garvin stood before the microphone, at the end of the table.

"I have always believed," he said, "that women must be better represented in high corporate office. The women of America represent our nation's most important underutilized resource as we go into the twenty-first century. And this is true in high technology no less than in other industries. It is therefore with great pleasure that I announce, as part of our merger with Conley-White Communications, that the new Vice President at Digital Communications Seattle is a woman of great talent, drawn from within the ranks in our Cupertino headquarters. She has been a resourceful and dedicated member of the DigiCom team for many years, and I am sure she will be even more resourceful in the future. I am pleased to introduce now the new Vice President for Advanced Planning, Ms. Stephanie Kaplan."

There was applause, and Kaplan stepped to the microphone and brushed back her shock of gray hair. She wore a dark maroon suit and smiled quietly. "Thank you, Bob. And thanks to everyone who has worked so hard to make this division so great. I want to say particularly that I look forward to working with the outstanding division heads we have here, Mary Anne Hunter, Mark Lewyn, Don Cherry, and, of course, Tom Sanders. These talented people stand at the center of our company, and I intend to work hand in hand with them as we move into the future. As for myself, I have personal as well as professional ties here in Seattle, and I can say no more than that I am delighted, just delighted, to be here. And I look forward to a long and happy time in this wonderful city."

Back in his office, Sanders got a call from Fernandez. "I finally heard from Alan. Are you ready for this? Arthur A. Friend is on sabbatical in Nepal. Nobody goes into his office except his assistant and a couple of his most trusted students. In fact, there's only one student who has been there during the time he is away. A freshman in the chemistry department named Jonathan-"

"Kaplan," Sanders said.

"That's right. You know who he is?" Fernandez said.

"He's the boss's son. Stephanie Kaplan's just been named the new head of the division."

Fernandez was silent for a moment. "She must be a very remarkable woman," she said.

Garvin arranged a meeting with Fernandez at the Four Seasons Hotel. They sat in the small, dark bar off Fourth Avenue in the late afternoon.

"You did a hell of a job, Louise," he said. "But justice was not served, I can tell you that. An innocent woman took the fall for a clever, scheming man."

"Come on, Bob," she said. "Is that why you called me over here? To complain?"

"Honest to God, Louise, this harassment thing has gotten out of hand. Every company I know has at least a dozen of these cases now. Where will it end?"

"I'm not worried," she said. "It'll shake out."

"Eventually, maybe. But meanwhile innocent people-"

"I don't see many innocent people in my line of work," she said. "For example, it's come to my attention that DigiCom's board members were aware of Johnson's problem a year ago and did nothing to address it."

Garvin blinked. "Who told you that? It's completely untrue."

She said nothing.

"And you could never have proved it."

Fernandez raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

"Who said that?" Garvin said. "I want to know."

"Look, Bob," she said. "The fact is, there's a category of behavior that no one condones anymore. The supervisor who grabs genitals, who squeezes breasts in the elevator, who invites an assistant on a business trip but books only one hotel room. All that is ancient history. If you have an employee behaving like that, whether that employee is male or female, gay or straight, you are obliged to stop it."

"Okay, fine, but sometimes it's hard to know-"

"Yes," Fernandez said. "And there's the opposite extreme. An employee doesn't like a tasteless remark and files a complaint. Somebody has to tell her it's not harassment. By then, her boss has been accused, and everybody in the company knows. He won't work with her anymore; there's suspicion, and bad feelings, and it's all a big mess at the company. I see that a lot. That's unfortunate, too. You know, my husband works in the same firm I do."

"Uh-huh."

"After we first met, he asked me out five times. At first I said no, but finally I said yes. We're happily married now. And the other day he said to me that, given the climate now, if we met today, he probably wouldn't ask me out five times. He'd just drop it."

"See? That's what I'm talking about."

"I know. But those situations will settle out eventually. In a year or two, everybody will know what the new rules are."

"Yes, but-"

"But the problem is that there's that third category, somewhere in the middle, between the two extremes," Fernandez said. "Where the behavior is gray. It's not clear what happened. It's not clear who did what to whom. That's the largest category of complaints we see. So far, society's tended to focus on the problems of the victim, not the problems of the accused. But the accused has problems, too. A harassment claim is a weapon, Bob, and there are no good defenses against it. Anybody can use the weapon-and lots of people have. It's going to continue for a while, I think."

Garvin sighed.

"It's like that virtual reality thing you have," Fernandez said. "Those environments that seem real but aren't really there. We all live every day in virtual environments, defined by our ideas. Those environments are changing. It's changed with regard to women, and it's going to start changing with regard to men. The men didn't like it when it changed before, and the women aren't going to like it changing now. And some people will take advantage. But in the final analysis, it'll all work out."

"When? When will it all end?" Garvin said, shaking his head.

"When women have fifty percent of the executive positions," she said. "That's when it will end."

"You know I favor that."

"Yes," Fernandez said, "and I gather you have just appointed an outstanding woman. Congratulations, Bob."

Mary Anne Hunter was assigned to drive Meredith Johnson to the airport, to take a plane back to Cupertino. The two women sat in silence for fifteen minutes, Meredith Johnson hunched down in her trench coat, staring out the window.

Finally, when they were driving past the Boeing plant, Johnson said, "I didn't like it here, anyway."

Choosing her words carefully, Hunter said, "It has its good and bad points."

There was another silence. Then Johnson asked, "Are you a friend of Sanders?"

"Yes."

"He's a nice guy," Johnson said. "Always was. You know, we used to have a relationship."

"I heard that," Hunter said.

"Tom didn't do anything wrong, really," Johnson said. "He just didn't know how to handle a passing remark."

"Uh-huh," Hunter said.

"Women in business have to be perfect all the time, or they just get murdered. One little slip and they're dead."

"Uh-huh."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Yes," Hunter said. "I know."

There was another long silence. Johnson shifted in her seat.

She stared out the window.

"The system," Johnson said. "That's the problem. I was raped by the fucking system."

Sanders was leaving the building, on his way to the airport to pick up Susan and the kids, when he ran into Stephanie Kaplan. He congratulated her on the appointment. She shook his hand and said without smiling, "Thank you for your support."

He said, "Thank you for yours. It's nice to have a friend."

"Yes," she said. "Friendships are nice. So is competence. I'm not going to keep this job very long, Tom. Nichols is out as CFO of Conley, and their number-

two man is a modest talent at best. They'll be looking for someone in a year or so. And when I go over there, someone will have to take over the new company here. I imagine it should be you."

Sanders bowed slightly.

"But that's in the future," Kaplan said crisply. "In the meantime, we have to get the work here back on track. This division is a mess. Everyone's been distracted by this merger, and the product lines have been compromised by Cupertino's ineptitude. We've got a lot to do to turn this around. I've set the first production meeting with all the division heads for seven a.m. tomorrow morning. I'll see you then, Tom."

And she turned away.

Sanders stood at the arrivals gate at Sea-Tac and watched the passengers come off the Phoenix plane. Eliza came running up to him, shouting "Daddy!" as she leapt into his arms. She had a suntan.

"Did you have a nice time in Phoenix?"

"It was great, Dad! We rode horses and ate tacos, and guess what?" "What?"

"I saw a snake."

"A real snake?"

"Uh-huh. A green one. It was this big," she said, stretching her hands. "That's pretty big, Eliza."

"But you know what? Green snakes don't hurt you."

Susan came up, carrying Matthew. She had a suntan, too. He kissed her, and Eliza said, "I told Daddy about the snake."

"How are you?" Susan said, looking at his face.

"I'm fine. Tired."

"Is it finished?"

"Yes. It's finished."

They walked on. Susan slipped her arm around his waist. "I've been thinking. Maybe I'm traveling too much. We ought to spend more time together."

"That'd be nice," he said.

They walked toward the baggage claim. Carrying his daughter, feeling her small hands on his shoulder, he glanced over and saw Meredith Johnson standing at the check-in counter of one of the departure gates. She was wearing a trench coat. Her hair was pulled back. She didn't turn and see him.

Susan said, "Somebody you know?"

"No," he said. "It's nobody."

Constance Walsh was fired by the SeattlePost-Intelligencerand sued the paper for wrongful termination and sexual discrimination under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. The paper settled out of court.

Philip Blackburn was named chief counsel at Silicon Holographics of Mountain View, California, a company twice as large as DigiCom. He was later elected Chairman of the Ethics Panel of the San Francisco Bar Association.

Edward Nichols took early retirement from Conley-White Communications and moved with his wife to Nassau, Bahamas, where he worked part-time as a consultant to offshore firms.

Elizabeth "Betsy" Ross was hired by Conrad Computers in Sunnyvale, California, and soon after joined Alcoholics Anonymous.

John Conley was named Vice President for Planning at Conley-White Communications. He died in an automobile accident in Patchogue, New York, six months later.

Mark Lewyn was charged with sexual harassment under Title VII by an employee of the Design Group. Although Lewyn was cleared of the charge, his wife filed for divorce not long after the investigation was concluded.

Arthur Kahn joined Bull Data Systems in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

Richard Jackson of Aldus was charged with sexual harassment under Title VII by an employee of American DataHouse, a wholesale distributor for Aldus. After an investigation, Aldus fired Jackson.

Gary Bosak developed a data encryption algorithm, which he licensed to IBM, Microsoft, and Hitachi. He became a multi- millionaire.

Louise Fernandez was appointed to the federal bench. She delivered a lecture to the Seattle Bar Association in which she argued that sexual harassment suits had become increasingly used as a weapon to resolve corporate disputes. She suggested that in the future there might be a need to revise laws or to limit the involvement of attorneys in such matters. Her speech was received coolly.

Meredith Johnson was named Vice President for Operations and Planning at IBM's Paris office. She subsequently married the United States Ambassador to France, Edward Harmon, following his divorce. She has since retired from business.