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  "I think I can safely promise that."

  Porcher put down his wineglass and lit a cigarette. "Now tell me exactly how you plan to solve the problem."

  "Do you really care about the method, or just the results?"

  "Indulge me with your brilliance. I recall you often enjoy doing that. Just don't sound so damn professorial when doing so. I have been out of university many years now."

  Goldman raised an eyebrow at the CEO's remark. "You seem to know me all too well."

  "You are one of the few attorneys in my acquaintance who thinks like a businessman. Winning is king. Fuck the law!" '

  Goldman accepted one of the cigarettes from Porcher and took a moment lighting it. "A very recent development has occurred that has given us a golden opportunity to gain firsthand, almost real-time information about Triton's proposed deal with CyberCom.

  We'll know Triton's best and final offer before they even have a chance to communicate it to CyberCom. Then we march in a few hours earlier, present our proposal and wait for Triton's deal to come in. CyberCom rejects it and you become the proud owner of another jewel in your far-flung empire."

  Porcher slowly withdrew the cigarette from between his lips and stared wide-eyed at his companion. "You can do this?"

  "I can do this."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Lee, let me warn you, he can be a little abrasive at times, but that's just the man's personality." Frank Hardy glanced back at Sawyer, and the two men walked down a long corridor after exiting a private elevator onto the top floor of the Triton Global building.

  "Kid gloves, I promise, Frank. I don't usually pull out my brass knuckles on the victims, you know."

  While they walked, Sawyer reflected on the results of the airport queries about Jason Archer. His men had dug up two airport personnel who had recognized Jason Archer's picture. One was the Western Airlines employee who had checked in his bag on the morning of the seventeenth. The other was a janitor who had noticed Jason sitting and reading the paper. He remembered him because Jason had never let go of his leather briefcase, even while reading the paper or drinking his coffee. Jason had gone into the rest room, but the janitor had left the area and had not noticed him coming back out. The FBI agents could not question the young woman who had actually collected boarding passes from the passengers on the in-fated plane, since she had been one of the flight attendants on Flight 3223. A number of people recalled seeing Arthur Lieberman.

  He had been a regular at Dulles for many years. All in all, not much useful information.

  Sawyer refocused on Hardy's back; he was moving quickly down the plushly carpeted hallway. Gaining entry to the technology giant's headquarters had not been easy. Triton's security had been so zealous that they had even wanted to call the bureau to verify the serial number on Sawyer's credentials until Hardy sternly informed them that that would be unnecessary and that the veteran FBI special agent deserved a lot more deference than he was being shown.

  None of that had ever happened to Sawyer before in all his years with the bureau, and he jokingly let a sheepish Hardy know it.

  "Hey, Frank, these guys hoarding gold bullion or uranium 235 in here?"

  "Let's just say they're slightly paranoid."

  "I'm impressed. Usually we FBI types scare the crap out of everybody.

  I bet they thumb their noses at the IRS guys too."

  "Actually, a former head of the IRS is their top tax guru."

  "Damn, they really do have all the bases covered."

  An uneasy feeling crept over Sawyer the more he thought about his chosen profession. Information was king these days." Access to information was ruled by and large through computers. The private sector was so far ahead of the government realm that there was no possible way the government would ever catch up. Even the FBI, which in public sectors had state-of-the-art technology, would have existed far down the technological sophistication list in the world where Triton Global did battle. To Sawyer the revelation was not a pleasant one. One would have to be an imbecile not to realize that computer crimes would soon dwarf all other manifestations of human evil, at least in dollar terms. But dollar terms meant a lot.

  They translated into jobs and homes and happy families. Or not.

  Sawyer stopped walking. "You mind me asking how much Triton pays you a year?"

  Hardy turned around and smiled. "Why? You thinking of hanging out your own shingle and trying to steal my clients?"

  "Hey, just testing the waters in case I ever take you up on that offer of a job."

  Hardy glanced sharply at Sawyer. "You serious?"

  "At my age, you learn never to say never."

  Hardy's face resumed its serious look while he pondered his ex-partner's words. "I'd rather not get into specifics, but Triton is well into the seven figures as a client, not counting a substantial retainer they pay us."

  Sawyer blew a silent whistle. "Christ, I hope you see a big slice of that at the end of the day, Frank."

  Hardy nodded curtly. "I do. And you could too if you'd ever wise up and join me."

  "Okay, I'll bite: What are we talking salary-wise if I come on with you? Just ballpark."

  "Five to six hundred thousand the first year."

  Sawyer's mouth almost hit the floor. "You've got to be shitting me, Frank."

  "I never joke about money, Lee. As long as crime is around, we'll never have a bad year." The men resumed walking as Hardy added, "Think about it anyway, will you?"

  Sawyer rubbed his chin and thought about his mounting debt, never-ending work hours and his tiny office at the Hoover Building.

  "I will, Frank." He decided to change the subject. "So is Gamble a one-man show?"

  "Not by a long shot. Oh, he's the undisputed leader of Triton;

  however, the real technology wizard is Quentin Rowe."

  "What's he like? A geek?"

  "Yes and no," Hardy explained. "Quentin Rowe graduated at the top of his class from Columbia University. He won a slew of awards in the technology field while working at Bell Labs, and then at Intel.

  He started his own computer company at age twenty-eight. That company was the hottest stock on NASDAQ three years ago and was one of the most sought-after acquisitions of the decade when Nathan Gamble bought it. It's been a brilliant fit. Quentin is the true visionary at the company. He's the one pushing for the CyberCom acquisition.

  He and Gamble aren't the best of friends, but they've done incredibly well together and Gamble tends to listen to him if the dollars are right. Anyway, you can't argue with the success they've had."

  Sawyer nodded. "By the way, we got Sidney Archer under round-the-clock surveillance."

  "I take it your interview with her aroused some suspicions."

  "You could say that. And something shook her up right when we got there."

  "What was that?"

  "A phone call."

  "From who?"

  "I don't know. We traced the call. It came from a phone booth in Los Angeles. Whoever placed the call could be in Australia by now."

  "You think it was her husband?"

  Sawyer shrugged. "Our source said the person lied about who he was to Sidney Archer's dad when he picked up the phone. And our source said Sidney Archer looked like death warmed over after the call."

  Using a smart card, Hardy accessed a private elevator. While they were carried up to the top floor, Hardy took a moment to adjust his fashionable tie and flick at his hair in the reflection of the mirrored elevator doors. His thousand-dollar suit hung well on his lean frame.

  Gold-plated cuff links glinted at his wrists. Sawyer appraised his former partner's exterior and then looked at his own reflection. His shirt, while freshly laundered, was frayed at the collar, the tie was a relic from a decade ago. Topping it off, Sawyer's perpetual cowlick stuck up like a tiny periscope. Sawyer assumed a mock serious tone as he looked over the very polished Hardy. "You know, Frank, it's a good thing you left the bureau."

  "What?" Hardy was rocked.


  "You're just too damn pretty to be an FBI agent anymore."

  Sawyer grinned.

  Hardy laughed. "Speaking of pretty, I had lunch with Meggie the other day. Great head on her shoulders too. Getting into law school at Stanford isn't easy. She's going to have a great life."

  "In spite of her old man, you probably want to add."

  record in the world with my two, Lee, you know that. You weren't the only one who missed all those birthdays."

  "I think you recovered a lot better with your kids than I did."

  "Yeah? Well, Stanford isn't cheap. Think about my offer. Might speed up your recovery. Here we are." Hardy passed through elegant glass doors etched with the shape of an eagle, the glass sliding noiselessly open at their approach. The executive secretary, a nice-looking woman with an efficient, firm manner, announced their arrival into her headset. She pressed a button set in a panel on top of a sleek wood and metal console that looked more like a piece of modern art than a desk, and motioned Hardy and Sawyer to move toward a massive wall of lacquered Macassar ebony wood. A section of the wall opened up when they approached. Sawyer shook his head in amazement, as he had done many times since entering the Triton building.

  In a few moments they were standing in front of a desk, although a more apt description would have labeled it a command center, with its wall of TV monitors, phones and other electronic gadgetry neatly built into shining tables and impressive wall units. The man behind the desk was just putting down the phone. He turned to them.

  Hardy said, "Special Agent Lee Sawyer of the FBI, Nathan Gamble, chairman of Triton Global."

  Sawyer could feel the strength of the grip when Nathan Gamble's fingers closed around his own and the two men exchanged perfunctory greetings.

  "Do you have Archer yet?"

  Sawyer was halfway to his chair when the question hit him. The tone was clearly that of a superior to a subordinate and was more than sufficient to raise every hair on the agent's thick neck. Sawyer finished sitting down and took a moment to study the man before answering. Out of the corner of his eye, Sawyer caught the apprehensive look on his former partner's face from where he stood rigidly near the doorway. Sawyer took another moment to undo the button on his suit coat and flip open his notebook before resting his steady eyes back on Gamble.

  "I'll need to ask you some questions, Mr. Gamble. I hope it won't take all that long."

  "You haven't answered my question." The chairman's voice was a notch deeper now.

  "No, I haven't and I don't intend to." The two men's eyes locked, until Gamble finally broke it off and looked over at Hardy.

  "Mr. Gamble, it's an ongoing bureau investigation. The bureau doesn't usually comment--"

  Gamble cut Hardy off with an abrupt wave of his hand. "Then let's get this over with. I have to leave to catch a plane in one hour."

  Sawyer didn't know who he wanted to belt more--Gamble, or Hardy for taking this kind of crap.

  "Mr. Gamble, perhaps Quentin and Richard Lucas should be in on this discussion."

  "Maybe you should have thought about that before scheduling this meeting, Hardy." Gamble punched a button on his console.

  "Find Rowe and Lucas, right now."

  Hardy touched Sawyer on the shoulder. "Quentin heads up the division Archer was in. Lucas is head of internal security."

  "Then you're right, Frank, I'll want to speak with them."

  A few minutes later the broad portal opened and two men stepped into Nathan Gamble's private domain. Sawyer ran a penetrating eye over them and quickly discerned who was who. His grim demeanor, his look of competitive reproach at Hardy, and the slight hump under his left breast labeled Richard Lucas as Triton's head of security.

  Sawyer pegged Quentin Rowe as early thirties. Rowe's face held a ready smile underneath a pair of large hazel eyes that were more dreamy than intense. Sawyer concluded that Nathan Gamble could not have had a more unlikely colleague. The expanded group adjourned to the large conference table housed in one corner of Gamble's mammoth office.

  Gamble stared at his watch and then looked over at Sawyer. "You have fifty minutes and counting, Sawyer. I was hoping you'd have something important for me. However, I feel disappointment looming.

  Why don't you prove me wrong?"

  Sawyer bit his lip and tensed his shoulders, then decided against taking the bait. He looked over at Lucas. "When did you first suspect Archer?"

  Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Obviously, the security man felt particularly humbled by recent events. "The first definitive event was the videotape of Archer making the exchange in Seattle."

  "The one Frank's people obtained?" Sawyer eyed Lucas for confirmation.

  Lucas's sullen expression spoke volumes. "That's right. Although I had my own suspicions of Archer before the video was taken."

  Gamble spoke up. "Is that so? I don't recall your ever voicing those suspicions before. I don't pay you all that money to keep your mouth shut."

  Sawyer eyed Lucas closely. The guy had said too much with probably nothing to back it up. But Sawyer was duty-bound to follow through.

  "What sort of suspicions?"

  Lucas's face was still frozen on his boss, the fierce reprimand still resonating. Lucas looked dully at Sawyer. "Well, perhaps they were more hunches than anything else. Nothing concrete to go on. Just my gut. Sometimes that's more important, you know what I mean?"

  "I do."

  "He worked a lot. Irregular hours. His computer log-in times made for some interesting reading, I can tell you that."

  Gamble stirred. "I only hire hard workers. Eighty percent of the people here pull seventy-five to ninety hours per week, every week of the year."

  "I take it you don't believe in idle hands," Sawyer said.

  "I work my people hard, but they're well compensated. Every senior-level manager on up to the executive level at my company is a millionaire. And most of them are under forty." He nodded at Quentin Rowe. "I won't tell you how much he got when I bought him out, but if he wanted to go buy an island somewhere, build himself a mansion, bring in a harem and a private jet, he could do it all without borrowing a dime and have enough left over to keep his great-grandchildren in Ivy League and limos. Of course, I wouldn't expect a federal bureaucrat to understand the nuances of free enterprise.

  You now have forty-seven minutes left."

  Sawyer promised himself he would never allow Gamble an opening of that size again. "Have you confirmed the facts of the bank account scam?" Sawyer eyed Hardy.

  His friend nodded. "I'll hook you up with bureau agents handling it."

  Gamble erupted, slamming his fist on the table and glaring at Sawyer as though he had personally ripped off the Triton chief. "Two hundred and fifty million dollars!" Gamble was shaking with fury.

  An awkward moment of silence was broken by Sawyer. "I understand Archer had some additional protective measures put on his office door."

  Lucas answered, his face a shade paler. "That's right, he did."

  "I'll need to look over his office later. What sort of things did he have installed?"

  Everyone in the room looked at Richard Lucas. Sawyer could almost see the sweat glistening on the security chief's palms.

  "A few months ago he ordered a digital numeric pad and smart card entry system wired to an alarm for his office door."

  "Was that unusual or necessary?" Sawyer asked. He couldn't imagine it was necessary, considering how many damn hoops one had to jump through just to get in the place.

  "I didn't think it was necessary at all. We have the most secure shop in the industry." Lucas cringed when this response was met by a loud grunt from Gamble. "But I'm not sure I could say it was unusual; other people here had similar setups on their office doors."

  Quentin Rowe joined in. "Not that you could have missed it, Mr. Sawyer, but everyone at Triton is terribly security conscious. It's beaten into the head of every employee here that paranoia is the