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.

4.

Kemel hung up on the incredulous Gordon Haffner, who still was having difficulty accepting the fact that his clients were going to pay Alicia Clayton ten million dollars for her father's house.

But it was true. Kemel had held his breath as he'd contacted Khalid Nazer, but Iswid Nahr had agreed to the price.

Kemel should have been elated—so close to success, so close to being able to run home to Riyadh and his son—but suspicion soured his mood.

Someone had been listening to his conversation with Thomas Clayton.

Oh, yes, they had alerted security and called the police, and maintenance men had been sent to check the ventilation system, but no one really believed him. Even after the grate had been removed and he had pointed out the disturbed dust within, they had only shrugged and said maybe there was some sort of animal in the ducts. No one would believe that here in Manhattan, with such an extensive array of sophisticated electronic bugging devices to the public, that someone would crawl through a ventilating system to eavesdrop on a conversation.

Kemel sighed. Perhaps they were right. It did seem farfetched.

But he could not shake the feeling that someone had been listening. When he had pressed his face to that grate, straining to see through the slits, he thought he had sensed someone in the darkness on the other side, looking back, watching him.

He racked his brain to remember what he and Thomas Clayton had said in that room, reconstructing the conversation word by word.

Nothing, he was sure. Almost sure.

One thing an eavesdropper would have come away with was that the house was worth more than ten million dollars to the buyers. If Alicia Clayton suddenly raised her asking price, Kemel's suspicions would be confirmed.

If she did not… if the deal went through, then he did not care if a whole army had been listening.

5.

Jack found a spot on Thirty-eighth where he could stand and watch the Clayton house unseen. He timed the "security force's" inspection rounds and noticed that they always operated as a pair, leaving the car twice an hour to make a perimeter inspection. No uniforms, just windbreakers and slacks.

Every so often one would walk off and return with a paper sack—coffee and donuts, most likely. And occasionally one would enter the house through the front door and return a few minutes later. They didn't need a Porta Potti; they had the house.

At ten to three, another car showed up. The first pulled out, letting the second into the precious parking space, and the next shift took over.

Satisfied that he had the security boys' schedule down, Jack called Abe for a consultation.

"So you want them down for the count, but they shouldn't be candidates for a nursing home."

"Right. A nice long nap is all."

"T-72 is what you want," Abe told him. "Colorless, odorless, no serious side effects, and best of all, it's made in America for the U.S. Army."

"Sounds great," Jack said. "I'll take some."

"And I would gladly sell you some if I had any. But I do not. It's not exactly a sporting good."

"I can't tell you how disappointed I am, Abe."

"Nu, I should stock everything in the world you will possibly need so that when you ask for it I can give it to you?"

"Yeah. Because you're the best."

"Feh! I'll find you some."

"By tonight?"

"Such a kidder he is. If I'm lucky, perhaps maybe I can have a canister for you tomorrow afternoon."

"Good enough, I suppose."

Jack had wanted to search the house tonight, but he'd have to put it off.

"Good enough? Such a feat should be acclaimed as nothing short of heroic."

"See you tomorrow, my hero."

After he hung up with Abe, Jack called Alicia.

6.

"Shall I open another?" the waiter said, holding up the empty merlot bottle.

Will looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

Alicia shrugged. "I could go for a little more. It's delicious."

So was everything else she'd tried tonight. Zov's was this noisy little place off Union Square, more of a bistro than a restaurant. But the rack of lamb on the platter between them had been marinated in something indescribable and was by far the most delicious meat she had ever eaten.

And as for the wine: she could go for a lot more.

Jack's call this afternoon had unsettled her. That Thomas had an Arab backer willing to pay the ten million she'd asked for the house had shocked her; that they were convinced the house held a secret many times more valuable had floored her; but Jack's plan to sneak into the house and search it had stopped her dead in her tracks.

And he wasn't talking about some unspecified time in the future. He wanted to go in tomorrow. Tomorrow!

She'd said no. No, no, no. She'd have to prepare herself for something like that. If he wanted to search the place tomorrow, he'd have to go by himself.

But Jack had insisted, saying she'd grown up there, she knew all the hidey holes. She had to be along.

Telling herself it was only a damn house, she'd agreed.

Jack would be picking her up tomorrow night at seven.

Alicia shuddered and looked up from her meal. Will and the waiter were watching her… expectantly.

"I'm sorry," she said. Obviously she'd missed something.

"Do you want to do the honors?" Will said, pointing to the fresh bottle of wine in the waiter's hands.

"No," she said. "If it's the same as the first bottle, I'm sure it will be fine." She could never get into that wine-tasting rigmarole. Her palate wasn't that discerning anyway. Either you liked the wine or you didn't.

"So," Will said after the waiter had refilled their glasses, "what are your plans for the week?"

I was an accessory to an illegal trespass in Midtown today, and I'm planning a breaking and entering tomorrow night.

"The usual, I guess. You know, stamping out disease. How about you?"

"Like you, the usual: seeking out the weed of crime and tearing it out by its roots."

They laughed. Maybe it was the wine, but she found she liked Will's offhanded manner, the way he didn't take himself too seriously. She liked his slightly crooked smile and the way he held his wineglass by the rim, letting it dangle from his fingertips as he talked, and the way he looked into her eyes when she talked. All things she'd never noticed about him before.

They just about killed that second bottle of merlot, and so by the time they left the restaurant, Alicia was feeling warm and happy. She heard herself ask Will to come in when he dropped her off at her place.

She felt a spasm of alarm—Why did I do that?—but told herself to be calm. It would be all right. Tonight, in this place, with this man… it would be all right. She wanted this… she needed this.

"Want some coffee?" she said as she hung up his coat.

"No," he said. "That coffee we had at Zov's will probably keep me up half the night as it is. But I would like something else."

As Alicia turned to face him, he took her in his arms—gently—and pulled her close.

She fought a stab of anxiety and moved closer. She sensed his tentativeness, and knew if she resisted, he'd back off. That was good. But she didn't want to resist. She wanted to be held, to feel protected, to relax and let go, and for once, just once, feel that she didn't have to be alone all the time, didn't have to be so completely self-contained and able to handle everything on her own, do everything on her own. Just once to feel that she could have someone to share with. Just once.