Friday morning, I didn't wake up until nearly ten. Considering the past couple of days, I figured I deserved the rest and I probably wouldn't have woken up then except for the voices from my living room. It was a good reason for keeping home and business separate.

This morning, I settled for a shower before pulling George on and adding slacks and a sports shirt for the transition from bedroom to temporary office.

In the living room, Ted and Jane were head to head across the table, bent over a half-rolled sheet of ... what? Architectural diagrams?

"Hey, good morning, Boss," Ted greeted me exuberantly. "Take a look at the layout on these offices. Got balconies and everything."

"I think," I disagreed, "I'd prefer to start with some coffee. You two been here long?"

"Half an hour or so," Jane answered. "Did we wake you? I told Ted to keep it down. Have a seat, the coffee's hot. Cream? Sugar?" She was already moving towards the kitchen.

"Just sugar, thanks," I answered, taking a seat at the table where I could see the drawings.

The layout showed four offices, two on each side of a generous conference room. As Ted had said, two of the offices and the conference room had outside balconies. At the inside end of the conference room, a smaller reception area and lobby provided the entrance but were offset to one side. The missing area, according to the diagrams, was occupied by one of the elevator shafts.

"Thanks," I accepted the coffee mug. "The layout looks nice," I admitted. "But it looks expensive too."

"About twice what you've been paying," Jane replied smugly. "But four times the space. Third floor, good security and controlled access. And it's handicapped accessible, I've checked. No parking garage but assigned parking adjoining."

Only twice what I'd been paying? For all this? "What's the catch," I asked.

"A take-over lease, thirty months remaining, no renewal, remodel at your own expense."

That could explain a lot. "Why?"

"Developers are planning to tear it down and put up a business park. But not until a couple of long term leases expire and the current occupants both here and the adjacent buildings relocate."

In two and a half years, a lot of things could happen. And, hey, this was the Homeless Detective Agency, right? "What will it cost to remodel?" Always check all the angles - if it sounds too good to be true ...

"That's the beauty of it, Boss," Ted was bubbling with enthusiasm. "A coat of paint and some furniture. That's it. There's coaxial already in place for a net hookup. Plenty of phone lines and electrical outlets. Carpet's a little worn, that's about all."

"He's right, Mac," Jane confirmed. "You could be in there next week. And the paint's not that bad. Like to take a look?"

At those prices? Definitely. "Hmm, how about this afternoon?" I made an executive decision. "I need to talk to some people this morning. While it still is morning. Oh, anyone check for messages yet?"

Jane had. There were several ... but none which couldn't wait for a while.

"Okay, we'll check the offices after lunch. What's the status on your runaways? Anything on the young lady you were talking to?"

"Well, kind of," Ted admitted. "She's agreed to meet with Mary Kathleen this evening. At Pizza Heaven. And I sent a letter to her parents saying we had made contact and that she was well. Haven't heard anything back yet. And I think I've got leads on a couple of others."

"What about setting up at the warehouse?"

"I went by there last night," Ted reported. "And I talked to your friend, Johnny. We were planning to wire the place tonight. Going to need a truck, though. To move the showcases and those crates. They're not real are they? I mean, I don't want to get caught moving arms ..."

"Strictly props," I assured him. "Nothing but dead weight and movie props. Just don't run any lights and get a ticket. Okay? Right now, I'm going over to TrenData on a sales pitch. While I'm gone, why don't you and Jane line up some help from the Mission and locate a truck. I'll be back by one, one-thirty, then we can take a look at the office and, after that, see about getting stuff down the warehouse."

"Go ahead, Mac," Jane dismissed me. "We'll take care of the arrangements. Now, Ted, how large a truck do we need?"

I stepped back into the bedroom for a sports coat and my briefcase, then exited.

* * *

"James MacPherson," I informed the speaker at the entrance to TrenData. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Raymond Toya. ... No, he isn't expecting me. Maybe you'd just tell him that he has a serious security problem which I would like to discuss." I didn't mention the fact that he also had a serious receptionist problem.

It took a few minutes before the voice returned. "Mr. Toya will give you ten minutes," the speaker informed me coolly. "Please step in."

There was a click from the door and I was admitted to a rather plain - and small - room, featureless except for a second door ... and two camera mounted in opposite corners at the ceiling. I waited, patiently, while the first door closed.

Finally, the second door clicked and swung open, admitting me to a larger room where three people waited. One of the three was in uniform - private security - and armed.

The room was divided by a counter broken by a single arch. One man was behind the counter, the other two were on my side. A small table and a pair of comfortable chairs completed the furnishings. On the other side of the counter, the TrenData logo was spread across the wall between two doorways leading further into the building. What else was behind the counter, I couldn't tell but it was safe to assume there were at least two video monitors. And, probably, a few other toys.

"Please place your briefcase on the table," the uniform-clad individual requested. "And open it."

I complied with the request, then stepped back.

The security guard examined the contents of the case, then extracted a pocket tape recorder. "Electronic recording devices are not permitted," he informed me. "I'm sorry but this will have to remain here."

I shrugged.

"If you will please step through the metal detector?"

"It's going to go bonkers, dude," I informed him.

"If you will remove all metal objects from your person," he invited, "and place them in the tray ..."

"No can do," I corrected, tapping George with my cane. "Mycoelectronic prosthesis." Blank looks. "Artificial leg," I amplified.

That sent the three into a huddle by the counter. A moment's discussion and then, "Wait here," one of the non-uniformed gentlemen directed before stepping through the arch and disappearing into the rear.

We stood silent for several minutes. One of my honor guards - the one behind the counter - hadn't spoken at all - I suspected he was the one who had addressed me over the speaker.

Finally, a new individual appeared. "Mr. MacPherson?" he stepped briskly though the arch, extending his hand. "I'm Raymond Toya."

"James MacPherson," I replied. "H D Agency." I offered my card.

Mr. Raymond Toya was a oriental/occidental hybrid. His eyes showed a slight fold at the corners but his hair was more brown than black ... except for a few gray hairs at the temples. He was dressed casually, no tie, sports shirt, slacks and a tan blazer. A man too assured of his position to need the outward trappings of executive status.

"We have quite adequate security, Mr. MacPherson," Mr. Toya announced, looking at my business card. "And we're not in the market for any additional services."

"No," I spoke calmly. "I don't believe you do. Certain information has reached me which leads me to believe that your data transfers are being compromised. Now, under the circumstances, I have two choices.

"First, I could inform the police department and let Captain Matheson, for example, call you ... or your boss, more likely. At any rate, it probably wouldn't take more than a week or two for you to find out where and how your security has been breached. And, of course, your expenses will all be in house. As for your losses ... well, two weeks time ...

"The alternative - which is faster and is the reason that I'm here - is for me to tell you that there's a problem directly. Now, would you like to sit down and discuss matters?" I gestured invitingly toward the chairs.

"Would you excuse me for just one minute?" Mr. Toya requested. "I'd like to make a phone call. It won't take long."

"Go right ahead," I smiled. "I'm in no rush."

* * *

His one minute was more like ten but Mr. Toya reappeared with the attitude of a man facing a necessary but not entirely pleasant task. "My orders concerning security," he began, "are rather stringent. And I'm afraid that allowing your prosthesis inside would violate several regulations. Do you mind if we speak here?"

"Have you had lunch?" I invited. "There's a very good dim sum restaurant a couple of blocks from here." I didn't say it aloud but I preferred a te-a-te, not a group discussion.

What I didn't say aloud, Mr. Toya read from my casual inspection of the other three individuals in the room. "Lunch? It is getting toward noon," he agreed. "Stevens," he turned to address the man behind the counter. "I'll be back later. Page me if it's important." Meaning don't unless it was.

I heard the door click as Stevens took the hint.

I also noticed Mr. Toya pat his jacket pocket, assuring himself that he had what he wanted.

"I'm parked right in front," I offered. "We can take my car." One of the advantages of a handicapped placard - you can park virtually anywhere without worrying about tickets or being towed.

* * *

Since it was early, the Bamboo Grove was still half empty. By twelve-fifteen, it would be another story.

"I assume you had no trouble checking on me?" I invited, dipping a shu mai lightly in tamari sauce. At the same time, I stole a glance at my briefcase where a tiny yellow light was glowing softly.

"Captain Matheson sends his regards," Mr. Toya replied. "He said to ask if you've found new offices yet."

Honors were even - I hadn't dropped Matheson's name accidentally and Toya was acknowledging his recognition of the fact ... and assuring me that he was no fool either.

"I believe so," I answered. "I'm looking at a nice suite this afternoon."

"So, what's this about a security breach?"

"I'm going to offer you a pig in a poke," I informed him. "Various events - which are connected with my changing business address - have led me to suspect that certain individuals are actively intercepting data - I assume transmitted data. At the moment, I have no proof of any illicit activity directly connected to TrenData and I do not know how many individuals are involved nor, with one exception, who they are.

I selected some sliced jellyfish before continuing. Mr. Toya did me the courtesy of waiting without comment. "I do, however," I resumed, "believe that TrenData has been under attack for approximately one week but I doubt that you have suffered any real losses as yet. However, while I can't give you any precise figures, I'm inclined to think that losses are imminent."

"And the pig in the poke?"

"Is that you agree to a contingency arrangement. If I am wrong, of course, then your company acquires no liability what-so-ever."

"And if you're right?"

"Shall we say one percent of the estimated losses prevented over a one month period?"

Mr. Toya paused, his chopsticks half-way between plate and mouth. "You aren't very modest, are you?" he finally asked. "Do you know what business TrenData is in?"

"No and no. But I believe I could make an educated guess. Shall I speculate on the number of credit card transactions which take place in Northern California during a twenty-four hour period? Or the need for a satellite link dish antenna on your roof? Or the fact that you have a diesel generator for backup power? Your internal security is fairly obvious." The generator was a guess but it was an educated one.

"We could be with the government," Mr. Toya suggested.

"No," I disagreed. "Your security is both too crude and too sophisticated. One, you have private security but they're armed with tasers, not with nine millimeter automatics. Two, you haven't threatened me yet with violation of the official secrets act. Three, you called Matheson and your main offices - but you didn't call the FBI or the NSA." If he'd called either, it would have taken longer than ten minutes - government agencies just don't move that fast. "Four, you think you're blocking my recording this conversation ... and, incidentally, you're wrong for two reasons.

"Last, you're still here listening - if you were federal, you'd be screaming for a sweep team, demanding that I be placed in custody and threatening me with everything from prison to audits by the IRS. Satisfied?" I smiled and reached for the barbecued pork dumplings.

"I'm satisfied," he spoke slowly, "that you might be right. You realize that I'll have to buck this upstairs?"

"Of course," I nodded. "But remind your superiors that time is important."

"Just how long do you think it would take to settle the matter?"

"I doubt that it would take more than a week," I considered. "Of course, we can interdict the leak in less time than that. Probably should, in any case - or feed spurious information. But it will probably take a few days longer to give you the perpetrators. I assume you'd prefer a complete closure? Rather than taking a chance on them coming back from another angle?"

"You're certain about the interdiction?"

"Relatively," I nodded again. "If I'm wrong, we'll find out soon enough and then you can choose another solution."

"You realize that I've already ordered a sweep? Before we left the office?"

"I assumed so," I agreed.

"You could be out the price of lunch."

"Life's like that, full of chances."

"Call me Ray," he invited. "The dim sum's excellent."

"Mac," I responded. "You're right, it is."

"I'll let you know this afternoon."

"I expect so. Good enough."

"Just one question, Mac," Ray's careful poker face broke into a grin. "Why are you so sure I haven't scrambled your recording?"

For an answer, I produced the micro-cassette recorder from my briefcase, laying it on the table where Ray could see the yellow light. "Green," I explained, "means everything's clean. Yellow says that your device is trying to hetrodyne the 19K bias oscillator common to most recorders. If it were red, that would tell me that you had garbled the 32K bias used by this unit ... in which case, it would have switched to another frequency."

I reached into my coat pocket and produced my card case, flipping it open and extracting a thick, credit card-sized unit bearing the NEC logo. "And this one has no bias oscillator at all. Straight digital, roughly two hours using VOX and data compression. Quite good sound quality considering the limitations of the internal speaker but superb with an external speaker or earphones. Would you like to hear it?"

If you're going to play one-upmanship to impress a client, do it with a sledgehammer.

* * *

After dropping Ray back at TrenData but before returning to the condo, I circled the block to park outside Magic Carpets. I need a brief talk with Mr. Parajan.

I could have walked but there was always a chance of Ray - or someone - noticing my car was had remained out front. This way, I was parked on another street, out of direct view. No point in giving away more than I had to ... not until TrenData had accepted my offer.

Mr. Parajan was a white-haired gentleman with an olive complexion that owed more to his ancestry than to the San Francisco sun, the latter being often irregular and always undependable.

When I introduced myself, he led me to one of the small sales offices, offered tea and then, when I declined, listened patiently while I provided an abbreviated account of why I was investigating his establishment. "So," I concluded, "while I can't tell you the details at the moment, it is vitally important that word of this does not reach anyone."

"Least it reach the wrong one," he grasped the point immediately. "A secret shared by three is safe only if two are buried," he quoted, adding: "That is Russian, not Armenian but it is still true. But I will say nothing. You will let me know when it is proper? Perhaps you could join me for dinner some evening. I would be most entertained to have your company."

"When it is proper," I agreed. "And I thank you for your courtesy."

* * *

The offices Jane had located were everything she said. Access was fine and with a diamond merchant on four and two wholesale jewelers on two, security was tight. There was a twenty-four hour guard at the main entrance and passcard locks at the elevator.

I sent Ted down the fire stairs to check the locks.

He had to return by the elevator.

"Guard says the exits are alarmed after business hours," he explained. "Electronic releases on all fire doors if a fire occurs. During business hours, you can get out but you can't get in without someone to open the inner doors. And then you can't get back from the stairwell to any floor. Looks pretty good."

As for the paint job - well, I could live with it ... or I could get a crew from the Mission to repaint everything.

It was the balconies which were the key. The view - despite some rooftops and a few hi-rises - looked out over the bay. I could almost read Ted's mind ... and his virtually pathetic desire to have one of the end offices so he could sit and enjoy the view ... or, maybe, put a lawn chair on the balcony for a little morning tanning.

Oh, what the hell - why not. Jane would need to be up front anyway ... and there were two offices with balconies - as well as the center one at the end of the conference room.

Which left two vacant offices. Doubtless we'd find some use for them ... but the view was nice. And the location, not far off the Embarcadero, was still convenient to downtown. A step upscale, yes, but why not ... especially at the prices offered.

Maybe it was kismet.

I felt like I'd be a fool to turn it down.

"Go ahead," I told Jane - another executive decision. "Have them draw up the papers and we'll start getting things ready to move. Oh, while you're at the warehouse? Look around and if you see any furniture you like, chances are we could get a good deal on it."

"I'll look," Jane agreed. "But there are dozens of places handling used office furniture and we'll go with the best prices. I don't want you going Chapter 11 because of extravagance. I'm too old for job hunting. And," she added, "I'll have another place lined up before this one closes down. Just leave the office to me."

Hey, I'd be crazy not to - Jane looked like being one of the best bargains I'd ever hired.

* * *

It was a case of too much to do and too little time - especially since I was expecting, by this afternoon, to have another case to handle.

And the fire had upset everything anyway.

Item one was the tapes. Not the one from lunch, the ones from several days ago at DSS. Not only hadn't there been time for Ted to run them through a voice stress analysis but I wanted a transcript before he did.

The transcript was so that he could mark them up to show where - if at all - I'd struck a nerve.

And with whom.

One solution would be to have someone else make the transcript. There were secretarial agencies - the phone book was full of them.

I made my second executive decision of the day. Or was it my third?

At any rate, back at the condo, I handed both tapes over to Jane, told her what we needed, said we'd pay a premium for immediate service and suggested she call a courier. "Just ask Ted," I added. "I think he can supply a reliable number."

Ted, on the couch opposite, looked startled but used his free hand to scribble a note before passing the pad to Jane.

That done, I settled comfortably with a phone to answer a few messages. And to place a couple of calls of my own.

* * *

I was on the phone with Pietro - he and Gary were supposed to report to work for the twelve to eight shift at Bay View and I was telling them to play it cool for a couple of days, to give Jane time to get the fencing operation set up before they started delivering - when the cellular buzzed.

"Later," I told Pietro. "And good luck." I hung up the handset and answered the cell phone. "MacPherson here,"

"Mr. Raymond Toya calling," a familiar voice responded, more politely than I'd heard it through the speaker at TrenData. "One moment, please."

A brief pause, then: "Mac? Ray. Just a couple of items to nail down. Sorry, the head office insists."

Meaning that they'd capitulated and were running scared. "Go ahead," I invited.

"You said one percent of a month's losses," Ray responded. "They insist on a more precise figure."

"Fine," I agreed. "Make it from midnight last night for thirty days." I could have said November 25th through December - the prime shopping period of the year - but why be greedy? Thirty days in late spring were good enough ... and grateful clients are better than angry ones.

"That's acceptable," Ray was cautious. "The second point is who estimates the probable losses?"

"You do, of course," I answered. "I'm a security consultant, not an accountant. What do you want me to do? Work for it?"

There was a moment's silence, then: "I assume you mean our accounting department, not me personally?"

"Of course." Their accounting department would try to come up with the lowest possible estimate - to save the company money. Then, their management would bump the figure upwards to avoid a legal dispute and insure that the sum was defensible. Which would mean that the estimated figures would be fair ... and reasonable ... and generous. This wasn't a job I was going to starve on - not by any means.

So, why play hardball on the terms? By being generous - and letting them do all the work - we'd both come out happy.

Besides, bring lawyers into it and we'd both come out behind

"I'll have a letter of agreement ready in an hour," Ted decided. "When can I meet you?"

"Can I reach you about nine tonight?"

"Of course," Ray responded. "Call my cellular," he added the number.

"That's fine, I'll see you then."

"Uh, there's still one problem."

"What's that?"

"Your prosthesis," Ray responded. "I haven't been able to get permission for you to wear it inside the building. Security's worried this is all some kind of ..."

"Don't worry about," I interrupted, grinning. "There's no problem at all. I'll call you around nine."

I closed the cellular and spent a moment smiling happily. Sometimes everything goes right.

Legally, I had informed TrenData of the possible existence of a crime directed against their operations. Also, I had done so promptly and I had spelled out exactly what I did - and didn't - know. At that point, while they could have asked more questions, I had no evidence to point to anyone - only suspicions ... and suspicions are not admissible in a court of law nor was I obligated to reveal them. After all, if I was public with my suspicions, I would have been the one liable - for slander.

Once I had told TrenData - i.e. Raymond Toya - that there was a threat, my obligations as a citizen were essentially discharged. From that point, TrenData was free to pursue any investigation they wished ... and to take any preventive measures they wanted. I had given them full disclosure. And, had Ray asked, I would have offered a few more details.

Instead, I had offered my services - on a contingency basis.

And, now, TrenData had accepted ... which, once the letter of agreement was signed, would make me a contract employee of TrenData. Thus, any further information I uncovered I would be obligated to disclose fully and completely.

Once I did so, of course, whether or not they acted on the information, they would become liable for the contingency fee.

And, later this evening, I expected to know - not just suspect - a whole lot more.

Still, it wasn't time yet to celebrate. "Ted?" I looked across at him. "You busy?"

"What's up, Boss?" he set the phone down.

"Have you ordered a new computer yet?"

"Not yet, why? There a problem?"

"No, just I want you to get two - I'll need one in my office as well." I thought we'd be able to afford it. "And I've got an errand for you. Take my bus and find a hardware store or lumberyard. We need a sectional ladder - the kind that slides and extends? No, just in case, make it two of them. Say, eighteen feet extended?"

"You need these permanently?" Jane interrupted, looking up from her phone.

"No, just for a day or two. Why?"

"Forget the hardware stores, Ted," she commanded. "It's time to pick up the truck anyway. While you're there, U-Haul will rent you a couple of ladders as well. And you'd better get three ladders - you'll want one at the warehouse. I'll call you a cab."

I exercised the only part of valor - I kept my mouth shut.

* * *

Ted was gone in search of truck and ladders when Allison rang from downstairs. I buzzed her in, then opened the door to introduce her to Jane.

When the elevator arrived, she was wearing the same black and green Spandex but her blue plaid shirt had become a faded khaki. The blue, black and orange backpack hadn't changed.

Introductions, it seemed, were unnecessary - Ted had already told Jane about Allison and the two ladies simply ignored me.

"The secretarial service is on Geary," Jane instructed. "When you drop them off, find out how soon they'll be ready. Then I want you to pick them up and get them back here. Make sure they give you three copies and the tapes. And remind them this is a rush job."

"In a flash," Allison assured her. "Tell Ted I'll see him later." She roller-bladed across the carpet and out, leaving irregular tracks in the pile.

"The young have so much energy," Jane sighed as she closed the door.

So much energy? Watching Jane work made me feel dizzy at times.

* * *

It was something of a shock when, suddenly, I realized that everything was taken care of ...

Everything, at least, which didn't have to wait until later ...

And it wasn't even four o'clock ...

I checked through my notes once more, dialed the answering service again, then finally set the phone down, wondering what I'd forgotten.

"You really should learn to relax, Mac," Jane chided me gently.

Me? She was the one ... Then I realized that she'd been sitting quietly relaxed for easily the last half hour.

"I'll work on it," I promised. "But, it looks like everything is under control." I thought a moment. "By the way, have you given any thought to your salary?"

"Is there any rush?"

"No," I admitted. "But don't be too frugal. Whatever it is, I think you've already saved me that much on the offices."

"Suppose I keep the salary modest," she suggested. "But you give me a bonus on performance?"

"Sure, but why?"

"I don't need that much to live on," she admitted. "Being unemployed gives you a different perspective on what's important and what isn't. So a high salary isn't that big a deal. But, a generous bonus twice a year can go into savings ... or a stock fund."

"Not real estate?"

"I'd prefer a moderate liquidity," she considered. "Real estate is fine for young people. People who have the energy for fixing up and such. And who feel like being settled for a while. Stocks are mobile, they don't care where you are. Maybe someday I'll retire to the Caribbean. Or somewhere."

"You're the bookkeeper," I agreed. "If you'd like, we can make it a profit sharing arrangement. We'll talk to my tax accountant, see what he recommends. By the way, you have any plans for dinner?"

"I believe," Jane considered, "that if we called Waiters on Wheels and had dinner delivered, it would be a legitimate tax write-off. And, if you want Ted to analyze the tapes this evening, before we wire the warehouse, that might be more efficient." She reached for the yellow pages, adding: "Quite a few good restaurants include menus in their listings. What does Ted like? And Allison?"

"Pizza," I answered from memory. "With pepperoni, pineapple and anchovies." Then, observing Jane's expression, I relented: "We could, however, order from separate restaurants ..."

* * *

I did have one more phone call to make ...

"Hello, Helen. James MacPherson ... No, I slept very well, thank you ... How about this evening? When you finish at Magic Carpets, we'll get that late supper ... As a matter of fact, I stopped by earlier and talked with Mr. Parajan ... Well, I'll tell you that later ... Yeah, I'd like to stop by about nine ... Okay, I'll see you then. Bye for now."

"If this is business," Jane smiled, "make sure you keep a receipt."

"I will," I assured her. "Incidentally, it goes under a category you wouldn't have used in the real estate business: 'Confidential Information Received'."

"Oh, we have that category," Jane responded. "Only in the real estate business, we call it 'Entertaining Clients'."

* * *

"So," Ted queried, "what do I do with the ladders? Your van's not going to hold them."

He was right about that. And strapping them on top didn't seem like a very good idea either.

"You've got your cell phone, right?"

"Sure," Ted patted his jacket.

"Then why don't you keep them in the truck for now," I decided. "And you can meet me at Magic Carpets at nine. I'll call you when it's time to pick them up ... No cancel that. There's an unused basement. The ladders can be stowed out of sight on the stairs in case we need them again."

"I only took the truck for one day," Ted protested. "How'll we get them back?"

"You can either rent another truck or we can call a delivery service. We can worry about that later. For now, Jane suggested calling Waiters On Wheels and having some dinner delivered. You and Allison want to join us?"

"Can't, Boss," Ted protested. "Got to be over at Pizza Heaven at six. My runaway won't show if I'm not there to provide introductions. 'Sides, I promised Allison we could grab a pizza together."

"My fault, Mac," Jane apologized. "I had a note on Ted's meeting but I haven't set up a scheduler yet. Do you have any preferences on format or is Day Timer okay?"

Thank heavens - I was beginning to wonder if Jane had any flaws. "That's okay," I assured her. "Conflicts happen. It's no big surprise. Umh, when Allison gets back with the transcripts and tapes, I can start on the stress analysis." The analysis equipment was on a shelf in my spare bedroom along with the other gear I thought deserved higher security than the old office. "Go ahead and keep your appointment, Ted. And, before Jane reminds you, get a receipt. Now, what time are you two due at the warehouse?"

"Uh, I've got to meet Johnny there at seven-thirty to let him in," Ted reported. "And Jane's going to collect some help for moving the props but we should be able to get the ladders there by nine."

"Allison called to say she was on the way with the transcripts," Jane announced. "And she wanted to know if Ted would wait for her. Shall I go ahead and order dinner for two?"

* * *

"They said to tell you that part of one of the tapes was pretty badly garbaged," Allison announced, pulling the transcripts from her backpack. "Said they did the best they could with the rest but there's a ten-minute section that nothing but noise and the conversations before and after weren't too clear."

I flipped though the transcript. The first parts, in Mrs. Zappa's office and in the conference room, were clear enough but, when I reached the talk I'd had with Mich Jorgenson, there were notes in brackets saying "[background noise]" and ellipses indicating words or phrases which they hadn't been able to understand.

During the interviews, it hadn't been practical to check the indicator on the unit - I hadn't told anyone I was taking notes and checking my briefcase might have been a little obvious.

The next section - talking to Martha Simes in Accounting - was clear enough but, when it got to point where I had been talking to Thea Chen in Personnel, there was a bold note: "[APPROXIMATELY TEN MINUTES UNREADABLE - TOO MUCH NOISE]"

Following the hiatus, my talk with Tami Anderson - in Marketing - was clear again.

I thought about it for a moment - both about the layout of the offices and about the gadgets which Ms Chen had swept into her desk drawer.

Further, considering the sophistication of the recorder I'd been using, someone had a very good scrambler indeed.

Of course, the digital recorder - the one I'd showed Ray earlier - wouldn't have been affected but, while the digital unit was fine for voice, for stress analysis, the high fidelity analog unit picked up overtones which the digital tended to lose because of its encoding.

Still, the fact that I'd been blocked at all told me a lot. It was like a photograph where a face has been painted out - the omission itself was significant evidence.

I'd run the voice stress analysis anyway ... but I already had more than I'd expected.

The second transcript I passed to Jane, asking her to start a new file for TrenData Corporation. This one was simply for the record, not for stress analysis.

* * *

While Jane caught a cab over to China Basin to meet Ted and Johnny at Yu Xia Dong's warehouse, I dumped the remains of the order-out curry down the disposal, stuffed the containers in the compactor and settled for washing the utensils by hand. Problem with dishwashers was, by the time enough accumulated to be worth turning them on, there was nothing left to eat off on or with.

I still had a couple of hours before I was due at Magic Carpets. I only needed a few minutes to select the equipment I wanted: everything I needed for this job was on the shelves in my spare bedroom.

A gym bag was sufficient - I didn't figure on needing much. One miniature video camera with a wide-angle lens, a hundred foot roll of coax, a time-lapse video record with a time/date generator, two motion detectors with twenty-four hour timers, a pair of eight-cell flashlights, a new video tape ... oh, yeah, my small toolkit and a couple of black extension cords. Just to be through, I tossed in a ball of black nylon cord, a roll of duct tape and can of matte black paint.

This was all conventional equipment - none of it particularly expensive, just routine surveillance gear.

I also slipped a .38 Chief's Special in my jacket. It was one item I really didn't expect to need ... but, under the circumstances, I'd rather have and not need than need and not have.

At this point, there wasn't much else I could do. So, I stretched out on the couch to watch Jeopardy.

When Wheel of Fortune replaced Jeopardy, I switched over to CNN to catch the latest on the world's follies and misfortunes. Sometimes, this was the part I liked least about the P. I. Business - waiting for something to happen. Or waiting until it was time for something.

By eight-thirty, I was one step short of bouncing off the walls. I'd seen ten minutes of a bad detective movie during which the hero'd already committed a dozen errors, I'd flipped though a StarTrek rerun and watched the last half of the Simpsons. Talk about desperate ...

I collected my gym bag and took the elevator down to the garage.

* * *

I was early but it was easier waiting here than at home.

The day had been overcast but warm. Now, as the city cooled off, a thin haze was setting and, by morning, would be fog.

Fog is one of San Francisco's better features. It muffles everything, takes the edge off of the streetlights, softens the buildings and wraps the city in a comforting blanket of silent cotton. Of course, traffic incidents go up according to the density of the fog since not everyone has the sense to slow down when visibility is limited but you can't have everything.

In any case, I rather liked it when the fog rolled in from the bay. It gave me time to think ... and the right conditions for quiet introspection.

In this case, I didn't have long for daydreams - or evening dreams, or whatever. The Viscount van pulled up behind me, breaking my reverie with a brief be-beep.

I waved a hand, then climbed out of the van and reached back for my gym bag.

"Good evening, Mac," Mary greeted me.

"How are you tonight?" Helen queried.

Tonight, they were both dressed in slacks. Mary's were a dark rust with contrasting dull-green blouse under an open sweater-jacket. Helen's were a medium blue with a lighter blue blouse. Her sweater was draped on her back and tied loosely around the neck. Tonight, Mary was still wearing her dark hair in a lush braid but, this time, included a ribbon matching the blouse. Helen's auburn thatch was gathered in a ponytail, held by a simple clasp.

They both looked lovely ... and more like they were dressed for a date than for a cleaning job.

My libido gave a sudden tug at the reins ...

"I'm fine," I replied. "Sorry about playing out last night. Tonight, we're definitely on for dinner. Uh, first, I've got to take another look around and set up some equipment. I spoke to Mr. Parajan and he's been quite cooperative."

"He called," Helen informed me. "Said to give you any assistance you needed."

"Besides," Mary added, "we're curious. And we don't have a whole lot to do tonight."

"So," Helen picked up the thread, "we're all yours."

Somewhere, I suspected, there was a double entende in this conversation. Maybe several. "That's fine," I agreed. "Uhm, let's get started. And I've got to call someone to meet me here - a couple of someone's, actually. My assistant will be bringing a pair of ladders and the manager from TrenData - your neighbor here - is expecting to meet me."

Mary and Helen exchanged a glance that might have been disappointment.

"They won't be staying," I added, then. "Maybe we could go inside?"

The ladies, smiling again, agreed.

* * *

Upstairs, I took a quick look around, using the powerful flashlight to examine the ceiling shadowed behind the florescent strips. I didn't find anything unexpected ... but I did find what I'd thought would be there.

And exactly where I'd expected.

Right over the stack of carpets which had been tracked and dusty.

Satisfied, I flipped the cell phone open and punched Ted's number first.

"Theodore Bear residence," a woman's voice answered - it was Allison. And Ted's last name was not Bear.

I didn't ask. "Where's Ted," I queried.

"Right here," Allison responded. "You ready for the ladders."

"That's right. How long will it take to bring them over?"

"We're right here, Boss," Ted's voice responded. "We're downstairs, outside. You said nine o'clock. Hope we're not too late."

"That's fine," I agreed. "Humh, let's bring them in the back way. There's a cargo lift at the back and I need them upstairs. I'll be right down."

"Don't bother, Boss. I brought help. We'll have them there in a jiff."

Well, I didn't mind the help ... and I guessed there wasn't any harm in it ... but I did wish Ted had asked before dragging others into this. Of course, it was my fault as well - I should have cautioned him. Not that it was anything serious, I just didn't like being unnecessarily public. It was like Mr. Parajan had said about a secret shared ...

No point in worrying about what couldn't be changed. I pulled Ray's card out of my pocket and dialed the cellular number written on the back.

"Raymond Toya," the voice answered.

"James MacPherson," I responded. "Are you free for a meeting?"

"Just waiting for your call," Ray answered. "Where and when?"

"Where are you now?"

"At my office. Are you coming over here?"

"Not exactly," I responded. "But I'll meet you out front in about five minutes. And, don't worry, I'm not coming in." I hung up.

Hearing the lift rising, I walked over to meet it, then showed Ted where I wanted the ladders. "Just leave them on the floor," I directed, indicating the general area of my target. "How's the setup going at the warehouse?"

"One more load to go," Ted responded. "And Johnny should have the surveillance gear rigged by the time we get back. Jane says to tell you everything's under control. So, what else do we need to do?"

"When you finish up there," I directed. "That's it for now. Let's plan on getting together about four tomorrow and we'll take another look at things. In any case, don't disturb me before noon. I plan to sleep late. And, thanks, I can handle it from here."

I took the elevator down and watched Ted - and his crew - drive away before going around the corner to ring the intercom at TrenData.

This time, there was no hesitation about whether to let me in - at least, as far as the foyer - or whether Raymond was expecting me or not.

Ray was waiting when the door opened. As was another taser-armed guard and two other gentlemen.

"I have a letter of agreement ready," Ray skipped the formalities. "I assume you'd like to look it over?"

I would. And I did.

It was brief, to the point and said essentially what we'd agreed to. Of course, it said it at greater length and in greater detail and it was obvious that a lawyer or two had had their fingers in the mix but the heart of it was correct and satisfactory.

I checked the second copy as well. They were identical and needed only mine and Mr. Toya's signatures to become a binding agreement.

"Satisfactory," I agreed, producing a pen and signing both copies.

Ray did likewise and then waited while a third gentleman - who had not been introduced - added his own signature and imprinted the forms with a notary seal. All very official.

I folded my copy, slipped it in the envelope provided and tucked the envelope in my inside jacket pocket.

Ray placed his copy in a file folder, then passed it to the notary who promptly disappeared through the arch and into the rear of the building. "Now what?" Ray invited.

"Now we take a walk," I directed.

"Do we need any assistance?"

"Not at the moment. We aren't going far. And," I gestured with my cell phone, "we can always call."

I led Ray outside, around the corner and in the rear door at Magic Carpets, pausing to introduce him to Helen and Mary before leading him upstairs.

"Now," I placed one of the flashlights where it would illuminate the ceiling, "if you'll give me a hand with the ladder, we'll see just what there is to find." Or, I didn't say, if there wasn't, my face was going to be very red.

Ray looked at the two ladders. "You realize that our security does include the roof access? Anyone trying to break in would have triggered the alarms."

"I assumed so." We hoisted the first ladder in place and I climbed up to release the hatch. The latch worked smoothly and the hatch swung back silently if a bit heavily. Nothing unusual except, of course, that roof access hatches were usually stiffer than this ... except when they'd been used - and oiled - recently.

Once I gained the roof, while waiting for Ray to mount behind me, I swung the torch around the sloping expanse. For a moment, I was holding my breath ... until the light picked up a dark lump against the common wall shared with TrenData.

It was exactly what I was hoping for. Focusing the light back at my feet, a dark cord came out of the frame for the hatch and led across the roof toward the lump.

Ray pointed his flashlight where mine was aimed but didn't say anything.

"Shall we?" I invited.

When the quiver in his flashlight beam suggested a responsive nod, I led the way across the roof and knelt by the lump.

At this distance, the flashlights revealed a dark tarpaulin, tucked loosely around a couple of lumpy blocks.

Lifting a corner of the tarp, the flashlights picked up two large red and white plastic coolers ... which the cable entered. There was a second cable exiting one of the coolers. But this one led over to the wall and up - toward the roof of TrenData. It was about ten feet up to the higher building.

"What do you think," I invited.

"I think," Ray spoke slowly, "that our security has been breached ... and that I'm going to have somebody's head ... on toast ... for breakfast."

"You want to take a look in the boxes?"

"I know what's in the boxes," he disagreed. "And so do you."

Well, I didn't know precisely but I had a good idea. There'd certainly be a receiver/decoder in one box and, in the other, I figured probably a graybox computer. That is, a computer without a monitor or keyboard but with connections and a program to gather and store data from the decoder. And some way - a DAT tape, a Bernoulli, a removable hard drive or something similar - to carry information away.

As for the cable leading up the wall, while I hadn't seen the other end, it was easy to think of a half-dozen ways to pick up the signals from their satellite antenna.

Ray had pulled his own pocket phone and was dialing. "This is Toya," he barked. "Give me Sanders. Now!"

There was a brief pause. "Sanders? Grab Troy and a couple of flashlights and get up to the roof. Stat! ... Damn it. Okay, use my code. 3..6..9..2..8..7.. Got that? ... Good. Just come over to the east side and look over. I'll be waiting." He snapped the phone shut with bang and turned to face me.

"Obviously," Ray growled, "you've earned your fee. But it looks like you've thought about this," he continued, inviting suggestions. "Any ideas what we should do next?"

"Sure," I agreed. I had thought about it. "Feed them a false signal - something safe that looks real but isn't. I've brought surveillance cameras and recording equipment to set up. They've got to come back to retrieve the data. And they'll do that at night - or, probably, real early morning - after the cleaning crew has left. If you've got somebody who can scramble what's there right now - and do it in the next couple of hours - that would be a good first step. You've got plenty of computers, start feeding dummy data. In a day or two - at the most - we should have them on video tape and it will be time to bring the police in."

There was a flashlight peering over the wall above us.

"Sanders?" Ray called up toward the light. "You see a cable coming over the roof? Trace it and see where it goes. But don't disturb it. Troy? You up there? Get back inside and on the phone, I want Lewis, Arrigone, Michaels, Gray and Burston. Tell them to get here stat! Wake them up and get them moving. No explanations. Then start another pot of coffee brewing."

"Tell them to park somewhere else," I suggested. "And carpool over. You don't want a lot of extra cars in your parking lot tonight."

"You heard the man," Ray directed. "Do it." He turned to me again. "Can I borrow your ladders? We can't be coming and going through the carpet store. We'll have to work from the roof."

"I'll pass one of them up," I agreed. "But I'll need one to close the hatch and to rig the video equipment. I'll ring you once things are set up and the cleaners are ready to leave."

"You handle that end," Ray agreed. "I'll take care of things from here. Can I call you?"

I gave him my cell phone number, then climbed back down to pass the second ladder up to the roof.

Last, I closed - and latched - the access hatch before going down stairs to talk to Mary and Helen.

"Why don't you," I invited, "call the Wharf and see who's open late. You've earned a really good dinner ... but I'll need an hour or so to get some equipment rigged. Let's say one o'clock?"

"You're going to owe us a story, too," Helen cautioned.

"And ve hafe vays to make you talk," Mary added in an accent that sounded like a cartoon character.

Hey, some threats I can live with. At least, I hoped I could. "As much as I can," I promised. "But some of it will have to wait." Actually, most of it was going to have to wait - which made me wonder how long they could torture me.

I kicked my libido back towards the cellar and went upstairs to rig the camera and alarms.

* * *

"Ray? We're out of here. Everything's rigged for bear. And you'd better expect visitors are possible anytime after the next half-hour. Got that?"

"Yeah, I've got it," Ray's voice answered. "I've already scrambled their data. They're using a Bernoulli disk - I scratched it lightly with a wire brush. That should be enough to look like an accidental failure. By the time they replace it, we'll be feeding their line with phony data - I've got three programmers working on a trojan decoy and two more coming in. And I've got my best tech building a tap to feed their line. As long as they don't climb up here to check the hookup, they won't know it's been intercepted."

Ray had already described the tap - real simple, a fine, almost invisible lacquered wire running from the antenna head across the roof to a miniature diode detector buried in a cut in the tarpaper and asphalt. From there, it joined the coaxial cable leading over the edge. Inefficient? Certainly? But effective as hell.

"So, when do we check the results on the tape?" Ray concluded.

"Tomorrow afternoon," I suggested. "It's Saturday and Magic Carpets will be open until seven. I'd rather check during business hours. It's less suspicious. I'll call you. Okay?"

Ray agreed and broke the connection.

I figured it was going to be a while before he got any sleep - so I may as well let him have some time tomorrow to catch up.

For that matter, I could probably use some myself.