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shifted, and the gems had changed to secret documents for the CIA…then it turned out that he was working not for the CIA, but for them…the other side. When he left the hotel this morning for his meeting, he felt as if he were holding in his hands his fate, his life. Many lives. And then a macabre thought entered his mind, left over from his exotic dream: Where was the cyanide pill? He had no cyanide pill if he was caught. It was a preposterous notion of course, his imagination getting the better of him. Nevertheless, still a little intrigued by the role his dream had cast him in, he strode into William’s office with his life in his hands and a feeling of pure elation, and just a little fear. Good fear.

“Hello, Matthew,” William said heartily, rounding his wide desk with his hand extended. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal business suit, a crisp white shirt, and a burgundy tie. The man’s entire appearance exuded sharpness, Big Business. In other words, ICP.

Matthew set his briefcase on the thickly carpeted floor, clutching the binder in his left hand. He noticed William’s impeccable manicure as they shook hands. Matthew’s own fingernails were chewed and dry, and he could not remember the last time he had had a manicure himself. He was beginning to feel as if he were underdressed, as if he had underestimated the importance of this date. Gripping the binder with both hands, he grasped all at once that it was not his costume that should match William’s incomparability; it was the binder’s contents: Wallaby. This was not just his life in his hands, it was his love. And it was perfect.

William’s secretary returned with a tray of coffee, tea, and pastries. She placed the tray on the table, and Matthew asked her for a glass water.

“What’s the matter? No more city fuel?” William said as he poured himself a cup of steaming coffee.

“Haven’t touched the stuff in over two years.”

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’re into flotation tanks and sushi.”

“The sushi part, yes,” Matthew said with a light laugh.

“How’s Greta?” William asked, sipping his coffee.

“Oh, she’s fine, thank you.” Matthew accepted the glass of water and finished half of it in one drink.

“And how does she like California living?”

“She likes it. She keeps quite busy.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yes,” Matthew said, setting the glass down. He placed his briefcase on the table. With the mention of his wife, he thought for an instant of what he had hidden inside his briefcase. Since he had placed it there, he had never once taken it out again and looked at it. Would he ever?

“Let’s get started,” William said. “I got your e-mail, and I’m pleased to hear everything went well with your executives and board. It hasn’t been easy on my end. My advisers keep scratching their heads, thinking their boss has gone crazy, especially after your introduction last week. They want us to build something to ‘blow the doors off the Joey Plus,’ as my technology adviser puts it. But, to his dismay, I’ve not approved any new development, other than revisions and enhancements, since you and I had our first meeting.”

Matthew was pleased with this confirmation of the Joey Plus’s success. It meant that to William and ICP, Wallaby, and he, Matthew, were even more valuable now than when they had first met to discuss their secretive pact.

“I’ll tell you,” William said, indicating the binder with his eyes, “I’m glad I can finally reveal our plan to my board of directors and the executive staff. As I’ve assured you already, they will vote unanimously in favor of our plan. They’ll have no choice.”

“Here it is. The complete strategy, as outlined.” Matthew handed the binder to William, who opened it in his lap and was silent for a few moments as he browsed through the various sections.

“Oh yes,” he said, “this is a trade after all.” He lifted a folder from the table and handed it to Matthew. “Here are all the connectivity specifications for the 990 series, as well as the file compatibility specs for the BP series.”

Matthew took the slim nearly weightless folder in his hands and all of the sudden felt a bit let down. The folder felt like nothing compared to the binder he had just turned over. No girth. No satisfaction. No substance between his fingers. This information would go to Alan Parker and his engineering organization, and perhaps to them it was attractive, but Matthew already missed the extensive, intricately organized volumes in the thick binder now in William’s possession. The exchange felt uneven, unbalanced. Unfair.

“I especially like your idea of calling our plan a ‘strategic alliance,’ ” William said. “Tell me more about how you plan to handle the announcement.”

Matthew stood up and removed his jacket. “I think what we should do is announce our relationship in three months, when we have a working prototype of the Joey II, which will be the first Wallaby portable computer that’s compatible with your computers.”

William nodded, crossed his legs, and continued to browse through the lengthy document, glancing now and then at Matthew.

“We’ll announce that we’re working together on strategic connectivity products from an engineering, marketing, sales, and customer service standpoint. We’ll reveal that you and I met, several months ago - and by the way, my executive staff and board are aware of today’s meeting - and you will explain ICP’s election for Wallaby Joey II systems as an alternative to your own portable computer, and that you will continue to support the older ICP BP computer, as well as facilitate co-sales with our people for Joey II computers. And finally, once you begin the merger process, we’ll determine Wallaby’s value, and you’ll follow up about a year later with the acquisition announcement.”

William snapped the binder closed. “Excellent.”

“Yes,” Matthew agreed under his breath as he seated himself. He felt a little dizzy. Perhaps the building’s height and the change in environment were getting to him. He wanted to finish this meeting and get back down on the ground as soon as possible.

“It’s exactly how I had envisioned it, but better,” William said. “You’ve managed to smooth the transition with the alliance aspect, so we’re careful to unveil our deal a little at a time.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Very good.” William placed his cup and saucer on the table. Rubbing his hands together he sat a little more upright. “Now, there is one small detail that I’m curious about. Have you spoken with Peter Jones?” His eyes locked on Matthew’s.

“No,” Matthew said, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I see,” William said. “Has there been any communication between the two of you? A letter? An e-mail?”

“None.”

“Hmm.”

“Why do you ask? Is there a concern?”

“Well, it’s more a curiosity than a concern really. Nothing to worry about. What’s he doing now?”

“He’s been in seclusion in Maine, at his vacation home. He still owns a large amount of Wallaby stock,” Matthew added in an attempt to reassure the other man.

“Yes, well, that’s no guarantee, is it.” William said. It was not a question. He removed his glasses and lightly massaged his eyelids. “What I’m wondering about is the same thing I was curious about when I first contacted you, proposing this venture.”

“Which is?” Matthew asked, fully knowing the reason before William delivered the words.

“My biggest - ” William started, but then paused abruptly to select his choice of words. “My initial motivation for wanting Wallaby was, of course, Jones’s product in the pipeline, the Joey. And what is the Joey, really, but the physical evidence of Jones’s vision? So naturally, I’m curious about what he’s up to, now that he’s not spending his time at Wallaby.”

This concern had never occurred to Matthew, and apparently his expression said as much.

“Matthew, don’t worry, it’s not going to change our arrangement,” William said. “We want Wallaby, and especially the Joey technology.”

Joey technology. Peter’s invention. Matthew was at once overcome by a wave of jealousy and loathing. When would Wallaby be considered his? Once Wallaby was merged with ICP, would people still call it “the company founded by Peter Jones?” Would he, Matthew, be forgotten, like some sort of middle man?

William poured Matthew another glass of water. As he accepted it, William said, “There’s no way you can persuade Jones to return to Wallaby?”

“That seems unlikely,” Matthew said calmly, but what he really wanted to say, to shout, was that Wallaby was his now, and Peter Jones was gone for good.

“I see.” William nodded and closed the binder, shutting with it any further discussion of Peter Jones. “When do you fly back?”

“Tomorrow.”

William tapped the binder. “I’m going to have to spend some time with this before I’ll have any questions for you.” He glanced at his watch. “Do you have any other meetings while you’re here?”

“None. I allotted a full day for us, and intended to go back tomorrow. However, if we’re through, I’ll go back tonight, and you can contact me when you’re ready.”

“Fine,” William said, rising. He offered a few words of reassurance. “It’s all coming along well, Matthew.” They shook hands outside William’s office, and Matthew exited the suite.

Pressing the down elevator button, he noticed his hand was a little unsteady. Now that their meeting was through, he was grateful to be leaving New York City a day sooner than planned. “Come on,” Matthew whispered, pressing the button again and again.

As he stood brooding over William’s surprise concern for Peter Jones, waiting for what felt like an eternity for the elevator to arrive, he absently chewed his thumbnail, wishing in earnest for things to move more quickly.

 

*

 

“Hey, where’re you off to so early?” Kate said, lifting her head from the pillow.

Climbing into his jeans, Peter nearly tripped himself in his pants legs as he turned to face her.

“Oops, sorry,” he whispered, “I was trying to be quiet.” He knelt next to the bed and kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered, wakefulness coming slowly. “Would you mind if we took a rain check on our trip to Boston today?” Her hair lay spread around the pillow, and he combed it with his fingers, smoothing it around her head.

She opened her eyes and shook her head, then smiled slowly, joyfully.

“Why the big grin?”

She lifted a hand from beneath the comforter and gently knocked her knuckles on his head. “Circus is in town,” she said, cupping his chin.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Peter said, running fingers through his hair.

“Mm hmm.”

“When Byron and I talked the other night, you know, outside, I started thinking about some things.”

“You don’t say?” she said, with mock surprise. “Like when I kept trying to talk to you yesterday at the park and you were in another zone?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “then too. I started coming up with a concept I think he could help me work through. There’s something missing, a link I guess, and if I talk to him about it he’ll probably be able to help me come up with some ideas.”

“Hey, you’re going to be busy, it sounds like. Maybe I should just go down to Boston myself, then home. That okay?”

“If it’s okay with you. I mean, if you want. I’m sorry,” he said, planting his hands on either side of her head and looking into her eyes. “I just have to talk to him about this.”

“Petey, I’m ecstatic you want to see Byron this morning. I’ll be back next weekend. If, that is, you’ll still want to see me.”

“You’re a goof sometimes.” He thanked her with a kiss, then went back to getting dressed.

“Hey,” she