“I haven’t even published any of my work. How do you know so much about it? Professor, what have you said about my work?”

“Just that I think it’s going to be ground-breaking, and that XYC would be smart to help you find the means to continue.”

“And we have a friend of yours consulting for us. She mentioned you independently of the professor. Carleen Flint.”

Carleen knew a lot about Elliott’s work, unlike the professor. She knew all about the blackjack, about Silke, about the function. She also knew about Elliott’s notebook. Elliott’s fright was increasing.

“I feel like you’ve been watching me,” he said. “Strange things have been happening lately.”

Patty looked at the lawyer, at the professor. “I’m not sure what you mean. You’ve come to our attention and we’d like to have you on board along with the many other very talented mathematicians who work for us. I’m not trying to overwhelm you, Elliott. As a matter of fact, I wish we hadn’t met in a big office, in such a formal way. Would you like to go down to the Market and have a little lunch? Just you and me? My treat.”

The professor was nodding, but Elliott said, “I’m sorry, but I have to get back across the bay soon. My father’s not well. Why don’t you finish saying whatever you came to say right here.” Patty looked disappointed for a moment, but she leaned forward so she was very close to Elliott and he felt suddenly hot.

“A million dollars for signing with us, Elliott,” she breathed. “And a million dollars per year salary for the next three years. Work under our umbrella, that’s all we ask.”

Elliott, stunned, said, “That’s a lot of money. I don’t understand.” Then he said, “You mean you would own my work?” He remembered Silke talking to him the afternoon of the shooting two years before. What had she said? That companies like XYC would want to suppress his work.

He recoiled, and Patty saw it; a pearly tooth bit into her glossy lower lip.

“Would I still be able to publish?” he asked.

“After our legal department has had a look. Perhaps not everything.”

“Would you want all my work to date?”

“That would be part of the signing bonus, yes. Payment for your work to date on prime number theory.”

“Your company would own my work? Have control over my work?”

“In a manner of speaking. And you would be free, in just a few years, financially secure, able to spend your life working without worries, your father taken care of…”

“Professor, you know I’m not worth that kind of money.”

“But you are, Elliott. You are working in precisely the most crucial field of applied mathematics right now. You are ahead of everyone else. I believe in you. I want you to succeed. Your work will be of enormous importance in keeping the Internet safe. The use of large primes for encryption is the basis of the whole emerging global economic system. There is no mathematician in the world today who has come as close to you to being able to decrypt our system by factoring the products of enormous primes. Frankly, I’m in awe. The Internet has come to depend on-”

“On keeping my work a secret,” Elliott blurted.

“Not at all. The focus of your work would change for a few years, to preventing attacks on public-key code systems. It’s a very laudable way of using your expertise. I’d enjoy working with you, and Carleen is looking forward to a collegial relationship. You’d have every resource imaginable. You’ll love being a part of XYC. Many MIT graduates have decided to join us. You’re a very lucky young man. And a very gifted one. We’d be proud to have you.”

It was a heck of a speech. Elliott looked at the professor, at the ascetic face with the high cheekbones and the long fingers that he had watched, mesmerized, through several seminars, performing magic with chalk. Braun was the only professor at MIT who had shown any interest in his work. He had tried to help Elliott when he was sick.

He imagined it, working through some of the problems he was having with the help of Professor Braun, having his full attention. He believed in Elliott, and had arranged for him to join him.

“I am grateful,” he said. “Professor, your interest means a lot to me.”

The professor breathed out and said, “You had me worried there for a minute.”

“I’m grateful, but I can’t join you, Professor.”

Braun said, frowning, “I don’t quite know how to respond to that, Elliott. Are you sure you appreciate what Patty has come all this way to offer you?”

“All she’s offering is money,” Elliott said. “I want to expand human knowledge. So this would include buying up all my mathematical work to date?”

“Only work related to prime numbers. The work summarized in the notebook you keep. Carleen mentioned it.”

Now he was fighting full panic. His notebook! Years of his blood!

“N-no way,” Elliott said.

“I beg your pardon?” Patty Hightower said.

“I’m going home. Please don’t contact me again.”

Patty Hightower held up a hand, and the professor sat back in his chair. She said, “Nobody else will make you a better offer, if that’s what you’re thinking. We could actually go higher. A two-million-dollar signing bonus. How’s that sound?” The atmosphere of the room had changed. Now Elliott saw the three of them very differently, as though they were shape-shifters who had suddenly become predatory, malign. He jumped up and grabbed his backpack.

“So I’m Hippasus,” he said.

“Hippasus?” Professor Braun looked startled. Then he let out an incredulous laugh.

“Your days as a card counter are numbered. How are you going to take care of your father?” Phelps said from the door, which he was blocking.

Red fog clouded Elliott’s eyes. He said, “Did you arrange the robbery? The one at Tahoe? Was it to get my notebook? Did you hire the man with the gun? He’s looking for me.” A new flood of images made him shout, “Did you kill that girl at Tahoe last week? Try to kill my friends?”

“Take it easy!” Professor Braun said. “What are all these accusations? This isn’t the Mafia! We’re a business!”

“You didn’t answer my questions. Did you? Did you?”

“Of course not,” Patty Hightower said. “Wait! Don’t go yet. We have to… Stop him!”

But when he pushed Phelps, the lawyer shrugged and stepped aside, and no one ran after him, no burly security guard chased him down the fourteen flights of stairs, no one stopped him as he rushed breathless from the building into the rational coffee-scented Seattle morning.

Leaning one hand against the granite wall of a building to support himself, he reached inside his jacket and felt the reassuring bulk of his notebook over his heart. He felt shaky. The people walking by on the street paid no attention to him.

Was he thinking straight, though? Confusion overwhelmed him.

Hippasus. The Pythagoreans had murdered Hippasus for telling a secret that undermined their system.

He covered his eyes with his hands and rocked a little. The professor must know how many nights Elliott had lain awake in bed, imagining the joy, the acclaim, when his proof was finished. His work didn’t just belong to him, it was a permanent advance in human understanding. Knowing all this had allowed Elliott to work endlessly, to give it everything. How many times had he fantasized about Professor Braun reading his proof in the Journal of Mathematics, appreciating it, thrilled that his student had come so far!

His work was all he had. What trick was the universe playing on him now, that such a hard-won discovery had become such a threat to the powerful?

Silke would never love him, and his work would be stolen and destroyed. His father was dying. Wherever he looked, he saw failure and disappointment.

He was rocking a little as he stood against the building, getting some glances now.

Have to get out of here, he thought. Can’t go home. But-Pop! He started walking blindly up the busy street.