"Why do you think he's going after Mercury?" Cate demanded. "Because he has the goods on them."

"Actually, we were looking into the possibility it might be personal, a grudge or something against Black Jet, or maybe even me."

"Oh, come off it. A grudge? Sometimes you really piss me off." The voice had hardly risen, but her eyes had narrowed and a rigid control had taken hold of her body. Dropping her hands, she turned and walked off the dance floor, weaving through the maze of tables to the hallway outside the ballroom. Gavallan knew she meant for him to follow.

She was waiting outside the ballroom, hands on hips, head cocked defiantly.

"Jett, I want you to listen to something I have to say. And I want you to promise me you won't get mad. You sent Graf to Moscow to check on Mercury's operations there and now you can't find him. Gone from the hotel. Not calling back. Whatever. Point is he's disappeared while he was supposed to be looking into Mercury."

"Yeah?"

"And at the same time the Private Eye-PO issues another warning about Mercury. He's never wrong, that guy. You know it and I know it. Accuracy is his hallmark."

"So?"

Cate's eyes widened. "Do I have to connect the dots? Maybe Graf's disappearance isn't a coincidence. Maybe the Private Eye-PO has the goods on Mercury. Maybe Kirov called you to make sure you were still on board."

"That's enough, Cate. Now you're talking like a fool."

"Am I? Think about it, Jett. Just think about it." The challenge hung between them, the ensuing silence warming her concern from professional to personal. Nearing him, she rested a hand on his jacket and neatly brushed a hair from his lapel, so that for a moment, he dared believe she might still love him.

"So what's your advice?" he asked.

"I'll only tell you if you promise to take it."

"Forget it," he said, turning to go back to the party. "I already know what it is. Drop the deal. I'm not going to do it. I can't."

"Postpone the offering," she pleaded. "Let me put you in touch with some of our guys in Moscow. Let them look into it. They're hooked into the whole scene."

Gavallan bit his lip, bitter, confused, wanting to say a million things, not daring to say a word. "The offering is going through, Cate. Like I said, Mercury's a gem. I know it, even if you and the Private Eye-PO don't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a speech to three hundred of our city's snootiest before they get too sloshed to understand a word I say."

And opening the door, he walked back into the ballroom.

In Potomac, Maryland, and across the ethereal veins of the Internet, the roundtable between Jason Vann's cast of disgruntled characters and the man calling himself Spade was growing more heated.

Al: Listen to me, kid! You want the inside skinny on Mercury, I'll tell you. You're way off base on this one. My sources tell me Mercury's double the deal you think.

Spade: Whoopee for you! We've all got our sources, honey. And mine is indisputable.

Val: Listen to Al. Where you get silly pictures? I see this and laugh.

Heidi: What picture?

Mario: Go to his website and take a look- www.PrivateEyePO.com. You'll see!

Spade: Thanks, chum. Always nice to know what side your toast is buttered on. As for ye of little faith, the picture cometh straight from the hand of God. Cross my heart and hope to die.

Jason Vann rubbed his hands together, a worried look narrowing his eyes. He was desperate to angle the Private Eye-PO into a private chat room.

Al: If it's "straight from God" you want, come with me, big mouth, and I'll show you something that'll make you close your yap.

Spade: I go everywhere and nowhere. You got the goods, send them to my address at Hotmail.

Al: You want to keep up that winning percentage, you'd be wise to jump my way. You're not the only one with inside info. I've also got some documents from Mercury. And they tell me the opposite of what they tell you.

Val: I come, too. I also know people at Mercury.

Spade: Who? Give me the name, cutie pie. Don't make me beg.

Val: Janusz Rosen. A Pole like myself. He is programmer. Damn good one, too!

Jason Vann stared at the last sentence, wondering who the hell "Val" was, why he was so keen on butting into Mercury's business. If Val was Rosen, then the boys at Mercury were probably running their own gig to track down the Private Eye-PO. Surely, "Spade" knew this.

Al and Spade engaged in a few more volleys, the shadowy Val lurking close by, until by sheer force of will Al broke down Spade's barriers. Immediately, Vann created a private chat room for Al and Spade to enter, then slammed the door closed before Val could sneak in. Once they were inside their cozy, private corner of cyberspace, Spade relented.

Spade: Your 411 better be white hot, chum. Send me the stuff to [email protected], and give your return address. If it's as good as you say, I'll fill you in on the nitty-gritty with Mercury.

Vann jumped out of his chair, roaring. "Gotcha, you big m.f. You are so nailed!" Vann had a dozen buddies at Earthlink. A few calls and he'd have Ponyfan's IP address before he knew it. From there, it would be smooth sailing. By morning, he'd have all the info he needed to earn his fifty-thousand-dollar bonus from Mr. John J. Gavallan: the Private Eye-PO's name, home address, and phone number.

Child's play!

The line for the valet car park stretched from the curb to the lobby. Gavallan stood near its head, Nina at his side. She'd barely said a word since he'd returned from his extended tête-à-tête with Cate. At least he wouldn't have to worry about how to avoid a good night kiss. Giles was dutifully back with Tony. Meg and her husband, Harry, stood arm in arm, mooning at each other like love-struck teenagers. A cell phone chirped, and every man, woman, and valet froze, listening to hear if it was theirs. Gavallan answered. "Yeah?"

"Jett? That you?"

"Graf?" he asked, the relief spontaneous, bringing a wide smile to his face. "Graf, where the hell are you?" He laughed out loud, thinking it was wonderful. Byrnes was okay. He was safe. The fucking shaman had answered his prayers.

"Where do you think? The heart of the evil empire: Moscow. Back in the USSR."

Gavallan turned his back on the crowd and walked a short distance up the sidewalk. "You were supposed to call this morning, you prick. You had us all worried."

"Sorry. Had to double-check on a few things before I got back to you. Didn't want to give you any information until I knew for sure. Look, I've scoped out Mercury's operations. I made it out to the network operations center. Place is in Timbuktu, I don't mind saying. I've seen their offices in town. It's all like we thought it was. The Private Eye-PO is full of shit. Mercury's up and running."

"So the deal's a go?"

"Green light all the way."

"Fantastic," said Gavallan, controlling his urge to holler. Turning his head, he saw the others locked in a group stare in his direction. He waved a hand and gave a big thumbs-up.

"You there?" asked Byrnes.

"Hell, yes. I'm definitely here."

"I knew you'd be happy. Listen, Jett, everything's copacetic over here. Copy?"

"Yeah, I copy, pard. Thanks for the great news. I'll get that champagne all iced up; you bring back the caviar. Two billion, man. Our biggest fish ever. Can you believe it? Just let me know when you're getting back."

And then the words sunk in and Gavallan held his breath while the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end.

Everything's copacetic.

"I'm going to stay the weekend if you don't mind," Byrnes went on. "Moscow's a hell of an interesting place. Thought I might check out some of the sights tomorrow. Saturday, Kirov's invited me out to his summer house in the country. An honest-to-God dacha- can't miss that. By the way, he sends his regards. He's delighted that we decided to take a look for ourselves. Says we're welcome anytime."