An intense man of fifty with a narrow face, dark, watchful eyes, and a widow's peak of straight black hair, Armitage appeared surprised.
"And here I've always seen you as all business," he said. "It seems you're growing, Marcus. In fact, my estimate of you soared to new heights after your appearance at the U. N. I really want to compliment you on that one."
Caine gave him a cool glance. "Do you, now?"
"Absolutely. You came across as very likeable, which is everything from a public relations standpoint. There are pollsters who measure that sort of thing, as you're surely aware. How else would we know which celebrities to hire for product endorsements and situation comedies?" A sardonic grin crept across his lips. "I'd give you a clap on the back if I could."
Caine tried not to look uncomfortable.
"Have you considered," he said, "that I may have learned a few tricks from watching you on television?"
Armitage shook his head. "I occupy a unique niche. My readers and viewers don't have to like me, just listen to me. And they will as long as my financial advice is solid… and I'm able to communicate it." He paused and swallowed, the muscles of his throat straining to perform the basic function. "Would you like Carl to refill your glass, or should we get right down to what you wanted to discuss?"
"Til pass on the drink, thanks." Caine wondered if Armitage's brittle references to his disease were shading his own impressions of how quickly it was advancing, or whether his speech in fact seemed thicker than when they'd last sat face-to-face. It was entirely possible, he supposed. That had been well over a month ago, and the progression of ALS could be rapid even with experimental drug therapies. "Tell me how things went with the president of MetroBank."
Armitage looked at him. "Don't hold me to this, but I think I've convinced Halpern to accept your bid."
Caine felt a stir of excitement. "Are you serious?"
"What's important is that he seemed to be," Armitage said. "Of course, he's going to need his board of directors to rubber-stamp the sale, so it might be prudent to hold off celebrating until after he meets with them next week."
Caine ignored the caveat. His face was suddenly hot. "Their stock comes to, what, nine percent of UpLink?"
"Closer to ten, actually," Armitage said.
Caine made a fist and jabbed it stiffly in the air.
"Son of a bitch, this is fantastic," he said. "Fantastic."
They were quiet. Reynold's crippled right hand twitched a little as a dying nerve cell in his brain misfired, his padded wrist brace rapping the armrest of his chair. Caine looked away. Nine percent, he thought. Added to the stock purchase already in the works, it would give him a hugely dominant share of UpLink. He'd have what he wanted, and so would the goddamned Chink who had him by the balls.
Several minutes passed before Armitage broke the silence.
"I hesitate to do this," he said, "but there's something I'd like to ask you on another subject."
Caine shrugged absently. "Sure, go ahead."
"It concerns the problem in Singapore… that Blackburn fellow who was poking around over there."
"Forget it," Caine said. "It's finished."
Armitage cocked an eyebrow.
"How was it taken care of?" he asked.
Caine shook his head like a dog shaking water off its fur. The subject troubled him and he didn't like it impinging on his thoughts. What was it with Armitage's seeming compulsion to make him uneasy?
"I neither know nor have any interest in knowing," he said.
"Has anyone conclusively determined why the man was spying on you?" Armitage persisted.
"I told you, I stick to running my business. It isn't my direct concern."
"Not yet, anyway," Armitage said flatly.
Caine shot him a glance. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't be irritated," Armitage said. "I'm only pointing out that you'd do well to stay on top of even the more disagreeable aspects of your endeavors. If my health problems have taught me anything, it's that control can slip away in a blink."
Caine set his glass down on the table beside his chair.
"Well, thank you for the advice," he said, and rose to his feet. "I'll put it under my belt."
The thin, vaguely scornful grin had returned to Armitage's face.
"Leaving already?" he asked.
Caine nodded.
"I have a flight home to catch tonight," he said. "As you suggest, I need to keep a close eye on things, which includes making sure the Left Coast hasn't fallen into the Pacific while I've been away."
Armitage regarded him steadily, "Marcus, my friend," he said. "You're finally learning."
"This is all a bad dream," Ed Burke said. "Right?"
"I wish," Charles Kirby said.
It was the bottom of the eighth in the Stealers-Slammers contest with the Slammers leading 6–0, the Stealers at bat, one man languishing on second, and the third up, Dale Lanning of the law firm of Lanning, Thomas, and Farley, a strike away from going down to obliteration.
Huddled with his teammates in the dirt patch behind home plate, Kirby watched the Slammers' outfielders move in so close they could see the flop sweat glistening above Lanning's upper lip. While no one would have challenged his reputation for getting legal adversaries to back away from his clients, his display of batting skills had prompted a very different reaction on the diamond.
"Maybe he'll pull it out under pressure," Burke said.
"I'm not optimistic."
Kirby snatched at a cluster of dandelion pods floating past him in the diffuse early autumn light. There had been a time when you wouldn't have seen dandelions in the city any later than mid-August, he thought. But over the past decade New York summers had gotten longer and warmer, so that fall seemed more a calender event than a true seasonal shift. The previous year, in fact, the trees had remained in lush foliage until a January freeze finally snapped the deep-green leaves off the branches. They had hit the sidewalk and scattered like bits of glazed ceramic.
Deciding he'd postoned the inevitable long enough, Kirby turned to Burke and gave him a confidential little nod, motioning him aside from the rest of the team.
"Ed," he said, "I need to ask a favor."
"Let me guess," Burke said. "You want me to kill our batting ace before he causes us further humiliation."
Kirby opened his hand and released the dandelion seeds into the air.
"Actually, I'd like you to tell me who's behind the raid on UpLink," he said. "I'm talking about the person moving the chess pieces."
Burke looked at him. "What makes you think I've got that information?"
Kirby just shrugged. Burke pushed some dirt around with the toe of his sneaker. At the plate Lanning let a low pitch go by, and adjusted his grip on the bat.
"I give it to you, I'm putting in a great big whopping chit," Burke said.
Kirby nodded. And waited.
"There's a firm called Safetech in Dan vers, Massachusetts, that designs and manufactures polymer glass replacement products," Burke said. "Security panels, hurricane-resistant windows, antiballistic laminates, and so on. Its clients range from real-estators to department-store chains to the State Department and DEA. Safetech is the corporate entity making the acquisition… through various offshoots."
"The person," Kirby said. "I want to know the person."
"I was just getting to that," Burke said. He looked down at his foot, still scuffing out tracks in the dirt. "Safe-tech's front men are a pair of MIT grads who were rich with technical know-how and nothing else. When they came up with their business concept, they took it to someone who offered them an interest-free startup loan in exchange for a silent partnership in the operation. A fifty-one percent share."
"Not an unusual deal if you need to raise finance capital," Kirby said. "Nor is it the worst."