“Sure,” O’Neal said and shrugged. In a lifetime of peeking through underwear drawers, he had earned a doctorate on human foibles and sins. The Jack engaged in this deal and the Jack from the past didn’t add up.

“You’re not convinced, though?”

“Look, you pay me to be paranoid, and I’m good at it. This deal you’re running, it’s not exactly clean, is it?”

“You could say that.”

“That’s what I figured. So here we got this guy, and there’s no hint in his background that he’s done anything like it. Not once, never. A few of our guys went up to New York and nosed around. Everybody said the same thing. Straight shooter. Stand-up Jack. Honest Jack. I’d just like to see a little moral consistency here.” He slipped a piece of gum in his mouth and began chewing hard.

“What do you suggest?”

“We gotta keep looking.” A brief pause. “If we don’t find anything, get the hook in him in the event he tries any funny business.”

“We tried that, Martie, remember? Your clowns blew it. What a disaster. I’m not exaggerating, cost us a billion bucks.”

O’Neal shifted his broad rear on the seat. “You asked my advice, and you got it.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his side pocket and blew with all his force into it; then he balled it up and slipped it back into the pocket. “You’re flying without a net here, Mitch. It was me, with all the money involved, I’d want a good hard grip on his balls.”

Walters picked at his nose and thought about it. He bent forward and rubbed his eyes. O’Neal was obviously playing on his anxieties, making a pitch for more action, more money, a fatter contract. And though the whole board had bought into this deal, Walters had to admit that the risks for him, personally and professionally, remained enormous. If Wiley somehow managed to screw him, there was no doubt who would be out tap-dancing on the gangplank. The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became. Jack Wiley was driving this train, juking and jiving, always a step ahead. And truthfully, Wiley had so far outsmarted the best and brightest CG had to offer. That little stunt with the burglars and Jack still stung. The way Jack had burned him, right there in front of everybody, still rankled. After a moment he said a little hesitantly, “You understand we can’t get caught again?”

“Look, I know that last thing was stupid and sloppy. It-”

“Stupid?” Walters hissed. “Oh, it was more than that. It was horrible.”

“Yeah, well, you said fast, and the guys went in blind. We’ll put some ex-spooks on it this time. They’re real good at this sort of thing.”

“Don’t underestimate him again. I mean it. He’s very smart, and very cautious.”

O’Neal bunched his shoulders and chewed harder on his gum. “We know that now.”

“You know the phrase ‘plausible deniability’?”

“Hey, these guys invented that credo. There won’t be a trace leading back to you. Don’t worry.”

“I want full approval before you do a thing.”

“Naturally.”

“What about Arvan?” Walters asked suddenly, changing the subject-apparently the issue with Jack was settled.

“We bugged the old man’s house and got a phone intercept. Still working on gettin’ one into his car.”

“He suspect anything?”

“Nope. The old man believes Wiley just swooped in out of the blue. A typical Wall Street vulture, that’s what the old man kept calling him.”

“Is he worried?” Walters asked, barely able to conceal his excitement. He loved getting these insights. The game was so much more fun this way.

“Yeah, definitely. He and the wife stayed home last night. You’d’ve loved that conversation. Bickered back and forth all night. They went over the numbers again and again. It’s hopeless. They’re worried about the kids.”

“Explain that.”

“They figure they had their run. They’re old now. The company was the inheritance they were gonna pass down. It’s the family piggy bank, and now it’s sprung a big hole.”

“And how are they leaning?”

“The old lady, she says call Wiley first thing in the morning and cut a deal. Dump this turkey before it destroys them. They’re too old to recover from such a disaster. Once the banks move… the company, the house, their cars, they could lose everything.”

“Smart lady.”

“Yeah, but the old man, well, he just ain’t so sure yet, Mitch.”

“What’s he waiting for?”

“He kept droning on about this miracle product. Says if he could just get it into the right hands in the Pentagon, all their troubles will be over.”

Walters broke into a loud, satisfied chortle. “Ridiculous. It would take at least a year of tests and studies before the Pentagon showed the slightest interest. He’s got a day or two, at most.”

O’Neal did not join him. He inserted a fresh piece of gum through his lips and chewed hard for a moment. The old ladies in the middle of the car had moved on to a heated discussion about the price of groceries; the kid remained engrossed in his book. O’Neal reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, removed what appeared to be a transcript, then flashed it in Walters’s big face. “The guy ain’t stupid, Mitch. He knows that.”

“Oh. Well, tell me about that.”

“He called his financial guy a little after midnight. Mat… Mat…”-a hurried glance at the transcript-“Mat Belton. Told him to get ready.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Told him to hit the phones hard first thing in the morning. Find somebody with deep pockets, offer him a big cut of their miracle product. Belton estimates ten million will do the trick.”

“What trick?”

“Bridging money, he called it. One guy is all they need-one moderately rich guy willing to stake ten million in return for fifty or a hundred million when the product comes home to roost.”

Walters rocked back in his seat. He rubbed his forehead and thought about this. “He’s more desperate than I thought,” he concluded. But rather than look gloomy he broke into a huge smile.

“What’re you smokin’?” O’Neal asked. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

“His company is publicly listed. We’re talking major SEC violations. Jailhouse stuff.”

O’Neal stared back with a blank expression. Lacking a background in finance, he had no clue what the problem was.

Walters shook his head and curled his lips as if Perry Arvan’s plans sickened him. “It’s insider trading. Offering an outside investor confidential, inside knowledge as a lure for his money, information he hasn’t even shared with his own stockholders, that’s a serious crime.”

“If you say so,” O’Neal replied, as if to say, big deal, so what? The absurdity that they were breaking even more serious laws seemed relevant only to him.

“Also, private loans are a corporate no-no,” Walters went on, now sounding very righteous. “The polymer was developed on company premises, using company employees, on company property. The shareholders own it. He can’t sell off pieces or encumber them with a major debt without their express knowledge and approval.”

“I think he’s gotta get caught first,” O’Neal noted very reasonably.

“You have this conversation on tape, right?”

“Clear as a bell.”

“So there it is.”

“Yeah, there it is… a totally inadmissible conversation.”

If that minor technicality worried Walters, he gave no hint of it. With a great screech the train ground to a stop; the two black ladies got up and waddled off, followed by the student, bouncing and rocking to his iPod. Both men sat staring at the floor, neither moving.

“Send me the tape,” Walters finally announced, then stood, adjusted his suit, and, looking suddenly purposeful, departed.

“No problem.”

Jack was seated in his car in the middle of a large parking lot, reading a paperback novel, when the long black limousine slid up and parked less than three feet away.

Mitch Walters popped out of the back, gripping a briefcase and unloading a smug grin.