Legacies

* * *

Jack didn't have to wait long or go far. Sean presented Alicia's asking price of ten million dollars, Haffner expressed shock—genuine, Jack was sure—then tried to bargain her down. But Alicia held firm and finally Haffner said, Thenk-yew-veddy-much, and the room emptied out.

Jack gave them a few minutes, and was about to crawl back toward Haffner's office when he heard the conference door open.

"You can have the room as long as you want," Haffner said. "I'll be in my office should you need me."

Jack wedged himself into the duct in time to see the door close, leaving Thomas and the Middle East guy together. Neither sat down.

"Ten million," Thomas said, shaking his head in what might have been admiration. "Christ, she's got balls." He glanced at his companion. "Well, Kemel, what's it going to be? Are your people going to go for it?"

"I do not see that we have a choice," the guy called Kemel said. His accent was definitely Middle East, but his English had a faintly British accent. He spoke rapidly, clipping his words.

"You've got to be kidding! You heard Haffner. He's sure he can get the will set aside. Ten million for that place? That's crazy."

Jack too was shocked. He'd hauled that asking price out of the air, never dreaming they'd even consider it.

"My people want this matter settled. It has dragged on too long. And after all, what is ten million against what we will gain by keeping it out of the wrong hands? A pittance."

The wrong hands? Jack thought, mentally rubbing his own hands together. He was hot, sweaty, and cramped, but suddenly that no longer mattered. Now we're getting to the good stuff. Keep going.

"A pittance to you, maybe. But a hell of a lot of money for something that might not be there."

"If it is not, it is of no loss to you. It is not your money."

"Yeah, but then Alicia will be a millionaire and I'll have zilch. Less than zilch. I quit my job to help you with this."

"You are being well compensated. And don't forget that you will have the house—after all, we are buying it in your name."

"Yeah…the house," Thomas said. "What's left of it. I mean, we've turned the insides upside down—at least as upside down as you can without making it obvious—and we've come up empty-handed. We push it much further and we risk getting arrested for trespassing and vandalism."

"There is something there," Kemel said. "Perhaps not the plans and diagrams themselves, but if not, then I believe it is reasonable to assume that your father left some clue as to their whereabouts."

"That's becoming an expensive assumption."

"The will all but says so. One cannot ignore your father's message to that ecology group—what is it called?"

"Greenpeace."

"Yes. Greenpeace. Such a strange concept. We have no such groups in my land. But your father, he said, 'This house holds the key that points the way to all you wish to achieve. Sell it and you lose everything you've worked for.' That to me is proof enough that the house is hiding something."

"Fine. But we've got to find it."

"Have no fear. We will find it. As soon as the house is ours, we will begin a most thorough search, breaking down the walls if necessary. And if we still have not found it, we will dismantle the house brick by brick, beam by beam, until we succeed."

"And if we don't?"

"At least we will have prevented others from finding it and using it."

"Yeah, but then I don't get my payday."

"Well, certainly you would not expect us to buy something that you do not have. Would you?"

Thomas shrugged. "What's our next step?"

"I contact my superiors to approve the purchase price—a mere formality, I assure you—and then we let Mr. Haffner arrange the details."

"Ten million bucks," Thomas said, shaking his head as he'd done when this little tete-a-tete started. "Well, I guess I should be thankful my dear sister has no inkling what we're after. If she did, she'd be asking ten million per brick."

"Yes," Kemel said. "And that would still be a bargain."

He's got to be exaggerating, Jack thought. But somehow he doubted it.

As he lay there wondering what the hell could be worth so damn much and be small enough to hide in a house, he noticed Thomas and Kemel heading for the door.

Jack felt like singing that old Peggy Lee song, "Is That All There Is?"

What had he learned here?

Well, he'd seen Kemel. That was something. And he'd learned that whatever was in the Clayton house was damn near priceless to some very rich folks from the Middle East. And he'd learned that Thomas's people weren't the only ones interested in it. They were concerned about it falling into "the wrong hands." Whose hands were the "wrong" hands? He didn't think they meant Alicia's. Another Middle East power? Israel? Or someone else?

But he'd hoped for more, especially after risking his butt in an elevator shaft, sweating and crawling through filthy heating ducts, and wedging himself into spaces where he could barely breathe.

He cursed them for being so damn oblique. What was this mysterious it? Why couldn't they just come out and say what was in the house? He grinned—hell, it wasn't as if anybody was listening in on them.

But maybe the it they were after was so important, so valuable, that they instinctively avoided referring to it by name.

As Jack wiped some sweat from his eyes, his overall sleeve caught the lens on his headlamp and knocked it off. He snatched at it but it slipped from his fingers and landed with a clunk on the floor of the duct.

Jack froze as Kemel stopped at the threshold and whirled.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Thomas said, poking his head back in from the hall.

"That noise." Kemel was moving around the conference table and heading for Jack's position. "It came from over there. From that heating vent, I think."

Jack grabbed the lens and slid back as far as he could without completely withdrawing from the duct. He didn't think he could do that without making more noise, so he lay silent and waited.

He held his breath as a bearded face popped into view beyond the louvers.

"It came from in here," Kemel said. "I am sure of it."

"So?" Thomas said from somewhere behind Kemel. "Probably a mouse or something."

"This was not a mouse." Kemel tried to force his fingers between the louvers but the spaces were too small. "Quick. Give me something to remove this grate."

Jack inched back a little farther. If that vent plate started to come loose, he'd have to take off.

"You've got to be kidding," Thomas said. "What do you think you're going to find?"

"Perhaps someone has been listening."

"From in there?" Thomas laughed. "Look, Kemel, I don't know about the level of espionage technology in Saudi Arabia, but over here if we want to eavesdrop on someone, we don't stuff a midget into a vent. We do it electronically: We plant a bug."

He's right, Kemel, Jack thought. Don't be a jerk. Listen to the man.

"I know what I heard," Kemel said. "Get me a screwdriver."

"I didn't think you Moslems drank."

"This is not a matter for joking! I want to look in here!"

"All right, all right. Here. It's my nail clipper. You can use the back end there as a screwdriver."

Jack knew this was his signal to chuck caution and vamoose. He backed into the larger duct and began his return trip.

Behind him, Kemel's voice rose in pitch and volume.

"There! Do you hear that? Someone is in there, I tell you! Call Mr. Haffner. Tell him to call security. Someone has been spying on us!"

Jack paused to turn on his headlamp and replace the lens, then he resumed his crawl. He followed Milkdud's red return arrows and didn't stop until he reached the big vertical shaft.

Sweating and panting, he clung to the ladder to catch his breath and cool off. He unzipped the front of his overall to let in some air—damn thing must be insulated.

This was not good. Depending on the size of the building's security force and whether or not they called in the city cops, this little jaunt might well end with Jack's arrest. The charge would be piddly—what could they hold him for besides trespassing?

But the charge would be irrelevant. The arrest itself would do all the damage. Arrest meant photos and fingerprints and giving an address. Suddenly he'd be Citizen Jack. Officialdom would have a record of his existence. They'd want to fill in all the blanks on their forms, and so they'd start prying at his doors and chipping away at his walls, bringing down all the barriers he'd spent his whole adult life erecting between his world and. theirs.

He needed out of here. Now.

Jack pulled out the cell phone and speed-dialed Milkdud.

"Yeah," Dud's voice said after the second ring.

"It's me," Jack said in a low voice. "They know I'm in here. What's the quickest way out?"

"The quickest? Jump out a window."

"That's not a big help right now, Dud."

"Sorry. The quickest way out is to go through the door from the HVAC area into the building proper, then take the stairs down. But the door's alarmed, and that'll let them know where you are and give them a chance to cut you off. Best way out is exactly the way you came in. Climb up to the HVAC area ASAP, get back into that business suit, and wait by the door to the elevator shaft. I'm on my way now, moving as we speak. When I have the left elevator all to myself on the top floor, I'll call you. Got it?"

"Got it."

Jack hit end and left the cell phone's power on, but he switched off the ringer and activated the vibration option. When Milkdud called back, Jack would feel it rather than hear it.

He climbed up the ladder and exited the duct system into the HVAC area. At last—someplace cool. He stripped off the sneakers and dusty coverall, stuffed them back into the briefcase, then wriggled back into his suit and wing tips.

At least he didn't have to retie the tie.

When he looked like a lawyer again, he buckled the briefcase into his belt, turned off the room lights, stepped over to the door to the elevator shaft, and waited for Milk-dud's call.

But a couple of maintenance guys arrived first.

Jack heard their voices on the far side of the other HVAC door, the alarmed one that led into the building proper. He opened his door, swung out into the elevator shaft, and closed the door behind him.

"Here I am, Dud," he whispered. "Now where the hell are you?"

He looked down. All three elevators seemed to be at the lower end of the shaft at the moment, and it looked like one godawful long way down. Jack pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear what the maintenance men were saying.

"Y'ever hear anyt'ing so fuckin' stupid?" said a faint voice. "A guy crawling t'rough d' heating ducts? I mean, what's dat all about?"

"Yeah. I think maybe someone's been hittin' the nose candy a little hard, if y'know what I'm sayin' and I think you do."

"Right. Tis the season to be jolly an' all 'at shit. But let's go t'rough d' motions an' make 'em happy."

Jack thought he heard footsteps coming his way on the far side of the door, so he hurried down the ladder and hung at about the spot where he'd stepped off the top of the elevator.

He looked down and saw that same old elevator pulling to a stop at the twenty-sixth. Too early for Milkdud to be inside. He looked down at the top of the car, where he'd crouched, clutching the sling bar.

Above him, the door handle rattled. Christ, were they going to check the elevator shaft?

Check the ventilation ducts first, you idiots!

They'd see the lights he'd left on in the shaft and think he was still in there.

But the door was opening. The elevator had stopped just below him, and Jack didn't see that he had much choice. He didn't want another ride, really he didn't, but—

He stepped off the ladder onto the car's sling bar.

As the door above swung open, Jack flicked off the cab roof bulb just in time and crouched behind the hoist cables, doing his best to conceal himself. He glanced up and saw someone silhouetted in the light from the HVAC area, shining a flashlight into the shaft.

Then the car started down. Jack closed his eyes and hung on. The ride was worse in the dark.

He groaned. "Hope you've got your running shoes on, Dud."

Jack had made three round trips and was starting the fourth when the cell phone vibrated against his leg. He whipped it out.

"Dud?"

"I've got the leftest car to myself, and I'm comin' to getcha, Jack."

"I'm already here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, here. As in"—Jack rapped on the roof of the car—"here."

"All right! We'll make a hacker out of you yet."

"Don't hold your breath, my man. Just get me off this thing."

"Okay. Here's what we'll do. I'll stop her at six, then Instep her halfway to seven. You won't need your hook, just pull the safety lever and the outer doors will open. You just step off and wait for me to join you."

Jack followed the directions to the letter and less than a minute later, accompanied by the jarring strains of the emergency stop bell, he was stepping through the doors onto the seventh floor. His relief was tempered by the two carpenters on coffee break from the renovation work.

"Hey, Mac," said the heavier of the two, staring at him. "Where the hell did you just come from?"

"Why, the elevator," Jack said.

"No, you didn't." He stepped closer, his gaze flicking between Jack and the elevator doors. "I was standin' right there watching those doors, and I'm telling you there was no elevator there when you came out. You walkin' on fucking air or somethin'?"

Jack wanted to say, What's it to you? But he smiled and kept his tone light.

"Don't be silly. That elevator's acting very strange. The lights went off and the bell started ringing, so I got out."

The elevator dinged behind him and the doors opened. Milkdud stepped out.

"There," Jack said. "Does he look like he's walking on air?"

"No, he don't," the carpenter said. "But I can see the elevator in there."

"Well, the lights must have come back on." He turned to Milkdud. "Did the lights come back on?"

Dud didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, just after you got off. That thing's acting weird." He pressed the down button on the wall panel. "I'm going to take another one down."

"Good idea."

The center car arrived soon after, and they stepped into the empty cab.

"They saw me stepping out of an empty shaft," Jack said when the doors had closed behind them.

"That's always a risk." Dud handed him a tissue. "Here. Wipe off your hands. They're dusty."

"What's waiting for us below?" Jack said, wiping.

"They've got security guys at both doors, trying to look inconspicuous but giving everyone the once-over. But they're looking for a dusty guy, not the man in the gray flannel suit. We'll be okay."

And they were. They sailed past the guards and onto Forty-fifth Street.

"Thanks, Dud," Jack said when they reached Sixth Avenue. "I owe you, man. Big time. You ever need a favor…"

"Forget it," Dud said, smiling. "See one, do one, teach one: all part of the code. I just want to know if I made a convert."

"I don't think so."

"You sure? You mean to tell me after what you did this morning that you're not hooked?"

"I can honestly say I'm not."

"I don't believe that. Tell you what, I'm hacking some of the upper levels of the Chrysler building next week. It's just crammed with secrets."

"Tell you what," Jack said. "You find a giant roc egg up there, you let me know. I'll come running."

Dud grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. "Yeah, Q, man. If I get caught, I'll say Larry Cohen made me do it."

"Just be careful, Dud."

They shook hands and parted, Milkdud heading for his job at Coconuts and Jack heading home for a shower. Definitely a shower.

And then a call to Alicia. See one, do one, teach one, Dud had said. Well, Jack had seen one, and now he was going to do one. With Alicia. On her father's house.