Chapter 1: The New Client

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The dog knew there was trouble the minute I walked down the stairs. He asked me what was wrong.

"New client," I answered, not really paying attention. Keeping the dog up-to-date was the last thing on my mind.

But Beau was not put off. He rose from his blanket and followed me to my chair. "So? Lots of clients."

I shook my head. He was missing the point. "This one wants a meeting," I said. "A face-to-face with Boss."

That, it seemed, was enough explanation for Beau. He turned away, apparently satisfied, as I dropped into my chair, about one second away from forgetting the whole exchange. Then I heard something unexpected: a loud, derisive snort. And though I'd never heard him make such a sound before, there was no question who it came from."

Sure, I had felt the same way when I heard the news – the idea was ridiculous. The Boss never meet clients. He rarely met anybody. He barely even left the building.

But a snort like that requires much more that just an opinion. It requires a confidence that approaches certainty. The nerve of Beau to snort like that offended me a little. It was one thing for me to feel that way; I'd been with the Boss for eight years, and, nearly 18, was full of worldly sophistication. I knew what the score was. In stark contrast, Beau has only been with us a couple of years, and though he was hardly a pup… come on, he was still only a dog, What gave him the right?

But maybe the snort didn't mean what I thought. Maybe it was just a mannerism that he’d picked up somewhere. I didn’t want to condemn him unjustly, so I decided to test him instead. I called him back, got down on one knee, and stared right into his big homely face.

"Beau," I whispered, "we leave for Columbus on Monday."

Reading Beau's face was always a challenge. Only the corners of his eyes and the edges of his unnaturally mobile lips were what you might call expressive. Still, I'm sure what I saw before he wheeled around and trotted for the stairs: an unmistakable flash of doubt and suspicion, followed by a careful sniff and a look of complete surprise. He’d been sure of himself, all right. His mind had wanted to doubt me, but his nose wouldn't let him.

As I watched him go, I was surprised to find myself smiling. Being shocked, of course, was always unpleasant. But who would have guessed that passing that shock along would be so much fun?

What made the Boss's decision shocking wasn’t just that he’d refused in the past. It was more that the possibility was never even considered. Plenty of clients wanted meetings. That never mattered. Some had pretty good reasons. That never mattered either. Over the years, a dozen or so had even issued ultimatums: meet with us or we take our business to someone else. Well, I don’t know who else they had in mind, but for their sake I hope it was someone good… not a single one of them got a meeting. It didn't matter who they were, or how much money was involved. The Boss would just call me in and tell me to stop work, that the project was over.

So why did he say yes this time? I didn't ask, because I didn't care. Shocked I may have been; unhappy I wasn't. The Boss's claustrophobic life seemed to suit him fine. I, on the other hand, was so restless and bored that I was going insane.

Of course, if I had felt any differently, the meeting would never had happened. The Boss wasn't a recluse because he was shy; the Boss was a recluse because he was wary. Despite his sudden adventurousness, that still hadn't changed. He might be willing to go to this meeting, but he wasn't going to walk in unprepared.

Instead, he'd devised an elaborate plan. My job was to make it happen.

Naturally, he told me nothing until his plan was ready, then laid the whole thing out for me late after supper on Friday, the 22^nd of November, 2030. The meeting itself was scheduled for the following Monday, the morning of the 25^th. That left me just two days to get everything ready. He reassured if I wouldn't, or couldn't, or in any case didn't, not to worry about it, that it wasn't a problem. He'd simply call the whole thing off forever.

Saturdays were officially my day to goof off. But because I was crazy to go, I was willingly to give that one up. In return, however, I insisted that we pass on Sunday morning, when I usually read his books to him. I expected him to argue, but what he did was worse: he agreed instantly, saying I’d need every possible minute.

There was a lot to do, but individually, most of it was easy enough. Only three big tasks stood out. First, transportation. We were based in downtown Cincinnati, more than a hundred miles from Columbus, so we needed a ride. This really wasn't much of a problem - the streets were full of cars. The trick was to find 1) something inconspicuous 2) that still ran and 3) couldn't be traced back to us. In the end, I picked up a white panel van – battered, but with out-of-state tags. Of course, the tags came off first thing, but that was just common sense. The goal was, if somebody got hold of the van, or managed to ID it some other way, all they’d get when they looked it up was an address somewhere in Georgia, and not one in our real neighborhood.

The second big task was site security. The meeting was set for a conference room on the campus of some old college in Columbus. The Boss had picked the spot, but that was no guarantee of security. It'd be easy for the client to have some show up early, and turn the whole thing into a setup.

Fortunately, the whole campus was lousy with surveillance cameras. All we had to do was get into the school's security system, and then I could watch video from any of the cameras right over the net, grabbing the feed in near real-time right off the hard disks where it spooled. That way, if this client really did try anything funny, I could catch him at it before we got anywhere near the place.

I do have to admit: breaking into a security system – even an neglected one that you plan to trash - can be a hassle. I mean, I could had done it myself eventually; but since we were on a schedule, I let the Boss tell me what to do. With his years of experience, both hacking and ordering me around, it was easy for him.

Only the third task was really iffy – finding all of the equipment that the Boss's plan "required". It seemed like an awful lot of stuff to me. Some we had, most we didn't. So, right after shocking the dog, this was the first task I tackled. I made a list of all the missing pieces, then ran it down to Arvin's place. He wasn't there- no surprise – so I taped the list to his door where he couldn't miss it. After that, all I could do was hope for the best. I made the list as detailed as I could. We just didn’t have any time to spare for misunderstandings.

That probably sounds more risky that it was. There was certainly no shortage of stuff in the world, and Arvin did have a knack for finding the oddest things. Besides, he'd never really let us down before. A good thing, too – we didn't have any other shopping options.

The weekend passed in a blur: hacking, packing, and abandoned car 'jacking, interrupted only by a few grudging hours of sleep and the various calls of nature. As expected, Arvin came through for us, dropping off a load late Sunday. While he didn't find everything on the list, what he found was enough. But I barely had time to feel relief before I was back at work, sorting everything into the proper boxes, and stowing it all into the van.

I finally finished and dropped into bed around midnight, sure I wouldn't be able to sleep. But almost before I finished the thought, the Boss was standing over my bed shaking my shoulder. Somehow, it was 5 AM on Monday.

In contrast with the weekend, that morning felt like it was in slow motion. Breakfast, then drive up north. Freeways most of the way, vast and empty. The Boss tried to go over the plan again, but soon gave up and fell silent. The dog sat in the center of the bench seat behind us, silently watching me in the rear view every time I looked up.

We found the building around 8 AM, right where the GPS said it should be. It must have been one of the last buildings built around these parts: a boring brown box of glass, steel, and brick. I eased the van around to the rear loading bay, which was locked up tight. Fortunately, that wasn't a surprise. The video feeds had shown what good shape the insides were in – no visible riot damage, no sign of rodents (or worse!) – so the whole building had to have been pretty secure. Still, with all the tools I'd brought, it only took minutes to pop the locks, raise the loading bay door, and pull the van into the loading bay and right up to the freight elevator. Actually, I could have gotten in even quicker than I did, but I had to be careful not to leave any marks. It wouldn't do for anyone to be able to tell where we were parked.

I managed to get the Boss, the dog, and a whole dolly cart full of equipment up and into our fourth floor conference room without any problems. A big room with one long table and a bunch of chairs, all it needed was a little rearranging. Two of the rolling chairs went against the back wall. The rest I pushed into another room down the hall, out of the way, then stacked the stackables into a corner. The table we dragged as close to the back wall as possible, leaving just enough room to get around and sit, creating a nice empty space between the table and the door.

That done, I left the Boss to unpack, and headed back downstairs to unlock the front door and hang signs. These signs, which I designed myself, were marvels of flexibility and efficiency – each just one large red arrow per page. I hung one pointing up to indicate which door was unlocked; three more on the walls pointing sideways toward the main elevator; one inside the elevator pointing toward the fourth floor button; two more on the fourth floor - one up across from the elevator, and one sideways down the hall, to indicate which hallway to take; and a last one pointing up just outside the conference room door.

I was pretty proud how well my signs worked out. Clear, simple… and totally devoid of any identifying data. No text to analyze. No anti-counterfeiting watermarks – I made sure to use a very old printer. I had even thought to use gloves when I loaded and unloaded the printer… the second time, at least. No stray fingerprints anywhere.

I went back to the room, ready to brag. But the Boss was still unpacking, limping around the room on his cane and growling. I jumped in and did the rest myself in about two seconds. Surprisingly, this didn't make either of us any happier.

All that left was to put on disguises. Arvin, I'm sure, had done his best. The Boss got a long red beard and wig to match. My beard was better - curly and black – but I didn't get a wig. I got a cowboy hat.

"Stop fussing," said the Boss. "It's just a hat. It's supposed to be stand out."

The Boss was very serious about hiding our identities. Even Beau had been dyed a solid black. Another one of my Sunday tasks - and hadn't that been fun?

But I got him back, at least a little. I'd added a pair of wrap-around dark glasses to Arvin's list, and made the Boss wear them. "Stop fussing," I said. "You don't want him to see that you're blind, do you?" Not that the Boss was actually blind-blind, really. But since he saw best through the corners of his eyes, they tended to roll around some. Call me crazy, but I thought that was more identifiable than the color of my hair.

By 9:20 AM, I could finally relax.. Everything was in place. The Boss was seated behind the conference room table, surrounded by his gadgets, directly across from the open door. Beau was lying under the table near the Boss's feet. I was seated behind the table at the far end, laptop open in front of me, status from the local routers showing in one set of windows, live video from the campus security cameras streaming into another. All we had to do now was wait…

By 10:05, I was bored out of my mind.

The Boss could sit for hours, presumably thinking deep thoughts. I was not so lucky. I could have started a conversation, but the Boss would only have made us go over the plan again, and nobody wanted that. There wasn't even anything to look at - just an open doorway and the well-lit emptiness of the hallway beyond. No windows anywhere except the ones open on my laptop screen.

So I took a little journey. When we broke into the security system we didn't just get access to a few cameras. We got everything: interiors, exteriors; this building, other buildings. The Boss claimed that this used to be one of the largest universities in the country, so I decided to take a little tour via video… and after a while, I found I could believe it. The place just seemed to go on and on.

I found it hard to imagine what it must have been like, sitting in all those enormous class rooms, surrounded by all those people. The noise alone must have been incredible. What did they do at all those benches and tables? What they say to each other when they passed along all those long hallways?

So caught up in my thoughts was I that, when the Boss whispered, "Any sign?", I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"No, still nothing," I said as I closed all the windows on my little detours. After all, what were the odds that... "Uh-oh..."

"What?" The Boss was alarmed, but he still had no idea. I was already on my feet, halfway around the table.

"He's here," I hissed.

Now the Boss was worried. "Alone?"

I cursed under my breath, and went back to my seat. I didn't know if he was alone or not – I'd gotten up the minute I spotted someone. There'd been only guy in the elevator, but others could be coming up the stairs, or waiting outside the building. I couldn't be sure without checking the other feeds and routers.

"Seth!" The Boss's harsh whisper interrupted me, and made me jump. What now?

"Watch the language, please," he hissed.

I just sighed and went back to work. Didn't we have enough to worry about?

It only took seconds to flip through the windows, but it seemed like forever. In the end, I was finally sure - there was no one else visible on any of the nearest cameras, and only one new source active on any local router. "Ok, he's alone." I charged back around the table, only to screech to a halt. In all the excitement, I’d completely forgotten the plan.

Wracking my brains, I scanned around the room… Lights! Sprinting across the floor, I flipped the switch to turn them off. Now the only illumination inside the room came from the open doorway.... and the screen of my forgotten laptop.

The Boss's hoarsely whispered, "Laptop!", even as I started back for it. I banged my toe in the dark as I reached for it, producing both a thump from the table leg, and a moan from the Boss. But I remembered not to swear, and just kept moving, shutting the lid as I cross back over to the opposite corner of the room.

The laptop and my wrist watch had to go into a large copper box still resting on the dolly used to bring everything up. The darkness made it a surprisingly painful process. Everything suddenly seemed to have acquired sharp edges and defiant personalities.

I just finished latching the copper box when I heard the elevator ding. According to the plan, I was supposed to be at the door at this point, so I hurried toward it on tiptoe, trying not to make any more noise.

"Seth!"

I froze in place. It wasn't the Boss who barked my name this time; it was the dog. Worse yet, he was far too loud. I swear, you’d think I was deaf.

Looking back into the darkness I could just make out the Boss's shape. He was holding his cane in the air, motionless, staring down through the tabletop in the direction of Beau. It was probably just as well that neither Beau nor I could see his expression.

There was nothing to do, though, except rush back to the table. "Hide it," breathed the Boss, pushing the cane into my hand.

Hide it? Where? There was no time to think, much less do anything, so I took it with me and ran back to the door, where I pressed my back against the wall and tried to become invisible.

Heart was pounding and short of air, it was hard to stay quiet. I wanted to listen for footsteps, but heard nothing. Time seemed to have stopped.

Just when I was tempted to peel off the wall and peek around the door, I finally heard a sound: tearing adhesive. Somebody was pulling away the sign I had posted just outside our door.

Well, good. At least somebody appreciated my efforts. I just hoped he got them all. It'd save me the trouble of taking them down later.

Another few seconds passed. Then a figure appear in the door way - the man from the elevator. His face was in shadow, but I recognized him from the video by his coloring: multiple shades of gray.

Across the room, the Boss was only a shadowy figure. The table was visible, and so was the pile of things beside him, but you couldn't make out what they were. Even Beau, visible under the table, was little more than an unrecognizable lump.

Perfect.

As for me, I stayed pressed against the wall and held my breath. The Gray Man didn't even turn my way.

No one spoke. Then the Boss's silhouette moved just the tiniest bit. There was a soft click, then a hiss, then the sound of a "computerized" voice: "Please step

inside".

The Gray Man didn't even twitch. The tape continued to hiss, and the message repeated. Still nothing. I was starting to worry. For one thing, breathing again was beginning to seem increasingly important.

More hiss, then the message again. Still more hiss, then… the Gray Man stepped forward.

Now it was my turn to act. The instant he stepped clear, I pulled the heavy conference room door away from the wall and pushed it shut, following it around as it closed. The last thing I saw, just as the door was cutting off the last of the light from the hallway, was the Gray Man's face turned to look back at me.

The darkness before had been shadowy; now it was absolute. Still, I had to work quickly. I felt around for the long metal bar attached to the door, then pulled it up, latching the door and sealing us all inside.

"Done!" I shouted.

Immediately there was a quick bright electric flash from the other side of the room, followed quickly by a groan and a thud, then silence.

"Lights," said the Boss, his voice calm and even. He was no longer whispering.

Half of the overhead lights flickered back to life, revealing the Gray Man sprawled flat on the floor, my paper signs splashed out around him.

"Damn," I marveled.

"Seth," the Boss automatically corrected, "language."

"Sorry," I replied just as automatically as I crept closer to the body. The Gray Man's face was turned my way, and his eyes - gray, naturally - were open and staring.

"He'll be fine." The Boss sounded a lot more confident than I was feeling. He raised his voice. "You'll be fine, Davis. Just give it a moment."

Fascinated, I inched forward again. Then Davis's whole body suddenly twitched and jerked, and I reared back in surprise.

The client's eyes were still staring, but no longer unfocused. On the contrary; they were focused on me like angry lasers, so intense that it was startling. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn't staring at me, he was staring at my hand – the hand that was still holding the Boss's cane.

Naturally, I was holding it up in the air the way the Boss had passed it to me, with my hand halfway down the shaft. I couldn't have struck a more menacing pose if I'd worked all weekend on it.

Desperately, I searched for a graceful way out of this, but my brain seemed preoccupied with yelling at me. Why hadn't I taken a second to hide the cane, or at least drop it against the wall? I had to fight the childish impulse to whip it behind my back and pretend it wasn't there. I thought about just throwing it aside, but wouldn't that seem like an admission of guilt?

At last, not knowing what else to do, I loosened my grip, let the cane slide down my hand, slowly lowered the stick to the floor... and then leaned on it.

In response, the Gray Man's eyes narrowed - not the look I was hoping for.

"Maybe you should explain what just happened," I suggested.

The Boss sighed. "I explained all of this already.."

"Not to me," I protested. I never thought I'd say that it was a relief to look at the Boss, but anything was better than those eyes. "To him! He thinks I slugged him!"

The Boss considered far longer than I liked, then nodded. "Mr. Davis...," he said, speaking loudly, "Mr. Davis, you were not physically assaulted."

If Davis heard him, he gave no sign. But the Boss didn't seem to expect one. Even though Davis was on the floor, facing away and couldn't see him, the Boss placed his hand on a large box sitting on the table beside him. The box itself was rough, unfinished wood, almost like a crate, but the top was hard gray plastic, covered with buttons, dials, and an analog needle.

"This," said the Boss, "is a pulse generator. It was custom made to generate a very specific signal." He patted the box affectionately. "It isn't a terrible strong signal, but at this range it is powerful enough."

"Come on, come on." I was mostly muttering to myself - I doubt the Boss could heard me - but he did straighten up, and become a little more businesslike. I never could be quite sure with the Boss.

"I reset your Neural Link," he confessed. "More accurately, I caused the memory in your Link to become corrupted. That crashed your Link, and caused it to reset itself."

The Boss paused for a moment, then continued more softly. "I do regret whatever side effects this caused you. As your Link crashed, it undoubtedly produced many random sensations. Unexpected, for you, and possibly quite unpleasant." He really did sound sympathetic… sort of. He spoke a little louder. "I assure you, however, that those sensations were temporary, and that you suffered no lasting harm. The exploit I used affects only the controller stage of your Link, which is necessarily vulnerable to allow wireless communication. However, the neural interface stage which effects to your brain is thoroughly shielded against electro-magnetic signals. Indeed, it has to be, if only to protect you from the radiation generated by the controller itself."

Still, Davis did not respond. The Boss pursed his lips, and steepled his fingers. "Come, Mr. Davis," he coaxed. "Let's don't play games. I've already apologized. Do stand up."

I'd been looking back and forth between the Boss and Davis throughout this lecture, so I maybe I missed something. But as far as I could tell, except for his eyes, Davis showed no signs of recovery. He looked to me exactly the same as he had from the moment that the lights came up.

I was therefore understandable impressed when, after only the briefest of hesitation, Davis raised his head, then rose smoothly to his feet. Eyes locked on the Boss, he absently adjusted his clothing.

Watching Davis study the Boss under that dim half-light was almost like seeing him myself for the first time. The Boss was a big man, old and fat. The skin visible behind his beard was pale, mottled, and vaguely unhealthy looking. Although he did not appear to have moved from the spot where I'd left him, somehow his wig had twisted to one side, and iron gray wisps of hair were sticking out. He wore a faded red flannel shirt, and, out of sight behind the table, blue work pants and brown work boots. Those weren't part of any disguise – I think that those were the only type of clothes he owned.

In contrast, Davis was like a work of art. As I said, he was all in shades of gray – fitted gray suit, silvery white shirt, soft gray gloves on his hands. I don't know what fabric his clothes were made of, but it was unmistakably expensive. His eyes matched his suit, his hair matched his shirt, and even his skin had a subtle gray tint. He was slender and not too tall, but he looked fit and well-proportioned. The effect was cold but perfect, a sort of human statue.

Moving at his own deliberate pace, Davis shifted his gaze to the table where the ancient cassette player and shabby wooden pulse generator sat, then down to Beau, whose dyed black coat (I suddenly noticed) was streaked and spotty. He must have been licking himself ever since I dyed him.

Then Davis turned to me. He started at the tops of my worn black sneakers, and went up my faded blue jeans, over my wrinkled cotton shirt, past my black beard and acne, all the way to the very top of my black cowboy hat. Then he came back to stare straight into my eyes.

Maybe that wouldn't have been a pleasant experience for anybody. Maybe my total lack of experience with strangers made it worse. I tried to take it like a man, but I was betrayed by the sudden conviction that my beard had come unglued. Though I ordered myself to ignore it, my face wouldn't listen. My cheek started to twitch, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had all I could do keeping my hand from reaching up.

I don't have a name for the way I was feeling right then.

Davis closed his eyes. "This was a mistake," he said.

I felt like he was reading my mind.

Whatever I was feeling, the Boss didn't seem to share it. "Sit down, Mr. Davis," he said evenly.

Until that very moment, I hadn't really given the Boss's plan much thought. I'd been far too busy with "how" to waste much time on "what". But now, seeing Davis standing there with his eyes closed, it occurred to me that maybe this wasn't the best way to treat a client.

It wouldn't have surprise me if he'd started screaming at the Boss. It wouldn't have surprised me if he'd tried to march out the door. But Davis didn't do either of those things. Instead, he just stood there. He may have looked graceful and composed, but inside him I think a big fight was going on. I found it fascinating, because I had no idea what he would finally choose to do.

The Boss let him struggle for a while before he stepped into the fray. "Mr. Davis," he said, his tone calm and reasonable, "it was you who requested this conference. I did not want it – I do not meet with clients. To overcome my reluctance, you paid me quite generously - in full and in advance. Furthermore, despite your position and your schedule, you agreed to my choice of location and time, though both were quite inconvenient to you."

The Boss leaned back in his seat. "Now here you are. There are only two possible explanations. Either you are attempting, however clumsily, to lure me out of hiding, or…," the Boss leaned forward, his voice hardening, "… or you are truly desperate for my help."

Davis's voice was tense. "Why would I want to… lure you out?"

"Should I speculate about your motives?" asked the Boss, sounding genuinely curious. "Should I trust to your benevolence? It is enough that I felt the need to take precautions, however extreme they may seem to you."

Davis, of course, was unmoved by this. With a sigh, the Boss softened his tone. "If you are sincerely in need of my assistance, then you should appreciate my precautions for your own sake. As my client, you must necessarily rely upon my discretion. If I can be identified, I can be found. If I can be found, I can be questioned. Surely you wouldn't want that."

Slowly, Davis's posture relaxed as he let himself be convinced. "And for that your destroyed my Link," he complained bitterly.

The Boss shook his head. "No sir. Not destroyed – erased."

"My data's still lost."

The Boss was adamant. "Again, no. You're data is still out there, automatically backed up over the net. You may not be aware of that feature – no reason you should be – but it is exists nonetheless. Once you leave this room, your Link will automatically restore itself."

Davis opened his eyes, and took in the room – the lack of windows, the latch which sealed the door. You could almost see him working it out: if that's true, then why hasn't my Link restored itself yet?

"This is… a shielded room?" It was just barely a question.

The Boss nodded. "When Links such as yours were first developed, but before they were common, some people held that they gave an unfair advantage: an opinion especially common in academia. Room such as this were a compromise - a way to, if not level the playing field, at least reduce the slope. Those with Links were permitted to wear them, and use the data they contained. However, the shielding in the walls prevented them from accessing the far greater resources available on the net."

"I'm surprised such rooms still exist," murmured Davis. He turned back to the Boss. "How did you know about this one?"

"That is not your concern," the Boss said curtly, "sir."

Davis was clearly not used to being rebuffed, but he contained his irritation. "Very well," he said coldly. "But if what you say is true, then your use of that… that… device," he pointed to the wooden box, "was completely unnecessary. From the minute you shut the door…"

"No sir," interrupted the Boss. "It was necessary to isolate you from the net, true; but that was not sufficient. You could have preloaded your memory with any number of candidate voices and faces, and tried to identify us without using the net. To prevent that, I had to erase your Link."

Davis didn't look convinced, but his skeptical expression was lost on the Boss. He must have take my caution about his rolling eyes to heart, because he kept his face pointing steadily in the direction of Davis's voice. But, between his limited vision and the dark glasses, that probably meant that he couldn't really see him at all. I wondered briefly if he had just shut his eyes completely, to avoid the temptation to bob his head around.

"In fact," continued the Boss, "the problem is still not resolved. Your Link is back up again now, recording everything you see and hear. I cannot let you leave this room with that data." He held out his hand. "Please remove your Link."

Davis recoiled at the suggestion, defensively covering the spot behind his right ear. "And if I refuse?"

The Boss replied wordlessly, simply dropping his outstretched his hand on the top of the battered wooden box. The threat was quite clear.

Still Davis hesitated. I couldn't figure it out. His Link did him no good, empty as it was, and cut off from the net. Did he think we would keep it? Did he feel that it was somehow part of him? Or was he just unwilling to take orders from somebody else?

The whole situation was ugly. How could Davis give in now? How could the Boss back off? Wanting to help, but not knowing what to do, I took a step forward.

The Boss didn't even turn my way. He merely held out the palm of his free hand, stopping me in my tracks. No, apparently he hadn't closed his eyes. He might have been blind in front, but his peripheral vision was still working.

"Make up your mind," the Boss urged Davis. "I'm not willing to wait forever. While we're in this room, I'm as cut off as you are. Unfortunately, I'm much more vulnerable. For all I know, you could have people surrounding this building as we speak."

Davis didn't even bother to object.

"Very well," sighed the Boss. He raised the hand on the box, tilting it downward until only one forefinger was pointed straight down onto a large red button. "You've no complaint. I've done what you asked. I came to this meeting in good faith. If you wish to think me paranoid – so be it. The fact remains; this situation is intolerable to me. Now, this meeting is ov…"

"Wait!" interrupted Davis. He took a deep breath and bowed his head forward. Reaching back with his right, he placed two fingers behind his right ear and pushed. Closing his hand, he extended his fist toward the Boss, then opened it, revealing a tiny silver box no larger than a fingertip.

"If I had any choice…" he said.

"You don't." The Boss was matter-of-fact. He held out his free hand, and let Davis tip the box into it.

"Now what?" asked Davis.

The Boss replied by pressing the red button on his box. Even in the partially lit room, the resulting electric flash was dazzling. I could barely see the Boss as he slipped the Link into his shirt pocket.

"You'll get this back when we leave," the Boss told Davis. To me he ordered, "Open the door, and check for intruders." As I turned away to get my laptop and watch back out of the protective copper box, I heard him finally answer Davis's question.

"Now, Mr. Davis? Now we find out what this is all about. Please sit. My neck's getting tired."

And with that, Vincent Davis – Chief Operating Officer and co-founder of General Genetics Corporation, one of the world's richest and most powerful men, went over to the corner where I had earlier stacked all the extra chairs, pulled one off the top, dragged it over to the table across from the Boss, and sat down.