“I mean, you might as well say, ‘I came from somewhere on earth.’“

Ben was still looking at him. “If I want you to know more,” he said, “I'll tell you.”

“Yeah, I won't hold my breath.”

“That's the smartest thing you've said tonight.”

Alex turned away, pissed. At Ben, for being such an asshole. And even more so at himself, for having called him in the first place. God, was he really that desperate?

Unfortunately, he really was.

After they ate, they went up to Alex's room. Alex noted that Ben had a certain way of walking. He moved slowly, as though he was just taking his time, and his head seemed always to be sweeping back and forth. And he left a large margin when he went around corners, as though to give himself more time and space to see what was on the other side of them. There was nothing ostentatious in any of this; in fact, it was subtle, and Alex realized he wouldn't have noticed at all if Ben hadn't told him to read about it.

Alex unlocked the door and went in first. Ben hung back, and for a moment, Alex was a little thrown by his deference in waiting. But then he came in and checked out the room-closet, bathroom, under the bed-and Alex realized the wait had only been tactical, a way to let Alex run into trouble first, if there was any. And before Alex had a chance to digest what all that might mean, Ben was back to his usual ways. He plopped into the sleek upholstered chair overlooking Highway 101 as if Alex were visiting him, and said, “All right. Any additional incidents?”

Alex swallowed his confusion and irritation and pulled over the desk chair so they were facing each other. “No.”

“How are you feeling?”

“How do you mean?”

Ben shrugged. “An intruder in the house in the middle of the night… even if it was random, that's unsettling.”

“Well, I feel unsettled.”

There was a moment of quiet. Ben said, “That was pretty good presence of mind you showed there, improvising a weapon.”

Alex nodded, looking at him.

“Tomorrow, I'll want to see the house and your office. For now-”

“I thought you said I had to stay away from the usual places?”

“You do. I'll be with you tomorrow, that's different. For now, I want you to tell me more about the technology. Obsidian, it's called?”

Alex told him. When he was done, Ben said, “So, why would someone not just buy this thing? Why would someone kill the inventor, the patent examiner, and the lawyer who applied for the patent?”

“Because… they don't want anyone to even know about Obsidian?”

Ben yawned. “Sounds like it, from what you've told me.”

“It still doesn't make sense. This isn't the kind of stuff that's dual use, nuclear capable, whatever. It's a security algorithm. It's just a better way of protecting networks. It's like someone trying to kill a guy for inventing, I don't know, a better door lock.”

“Well, who's against better door locks?”

Alex thought for a moment, then said, “Burglars.”

“There you go. Maybe you're dealing with someone who's able to break into houses just fine the way it is. He doesn't want better locks. Or he wants to be the only home owner with a lock as good as this one, so burglars will be someone else's problem. Or maybe there's a use you don't know about, something someone else spotted.”

“So you think there could be something to this?”

Ben rotated his head, cracking the neck joints. “Maybe, maybe not. The inventor seemed to be dealing heroin. That's a high-risk profession. The patent examiner had a heart condition-”

“Yeah, but couldn't something like that be faked? I mean, like someone killed him, but made it look like a heart attack?”

“That kind of thing is easier to do in the movies than it is in the real world. Supposedly there was a guy once, Japanese or half or something like that, who could reliably bring it off, but I think he's a myth. Anyway, people say he's retired.”

“What if he's not? Just for the sake of argument, say the patent examiner was killed. Say whoever broke into the house was trying to kill me.”

“Okay, for the sake of argument. The patent guy was killed. But the guy who broke into the house wasn't trying to kill you.”

“What do you mean? Why would-”

“I can think of several reasons, but killing you, at least right then, wasn't one of them.”

“You're not making sense.”

“Alex, he knows where you live. If he knows where you live, he knows where you work. You get to work early, right?”

“Why do you think that?”

“I wouldn't have to be your brother to know you're the kind of person who gets to work early. Parking lot pretty empty when you arrive?”

“Usually, yeah, I guess.”

“Well, there it is. Wait for you in the deserted office parking lot, one shot to the head, drive away.”

“Jesus.”

“A soft target like you… if whoever it was wanted you dead, you'd be dead now a dozen different ways. Breaking into your house would be unnecessarily risky and complicated.”

“Then why?”

Ben shrugged. “Privacy. To interrogate you.”

“Torture me, you mean?”

“Call it whatever you want. You said your car was in the driveway, so he knew you were home. He wanted you in a controlled, private environment where he could take his time. When he was done, he probably would have killed you.”

“Just like that?”

Alex meant the question to be sarcastic, a nonchalant response to hide his discomfort. But Ben's eyes drifted up and to the left, as though he was seriously considering. “Not just like that. He probably would have made you drive someplace where he could do it and get rid of the body.”

“What? Why?”

“No body would tie together all the story elements. Afterward, I'd drive the car to a bus or train station. Maybe plant some signs of heroin. Plant a few more clues. The story then becomes, ‘Lawyer mixed up in drugs gets spooked when police question him about the drug-related death of his client-slash-drug-dealing partner. He disappears himself because he feared exposure, or that he was the next target, or whatever.’ Yeah, it would all make sense. Police are busy, no one's going to dig deeper than that, not without a body.”

“How would you get rid of the body?”

“You don't want to know.”

Alex imagined himself dead, with some faceless guy leaning over him holding a saw; or wrapped in a plastic bag and thrown down a well; or weighted with chains and plummeting down through cold, murky water, the pressure incredible, the light of the world racing away above him…

“How do you know these things?” he said. “I mean, you really know, don't you?”

Ben got up and walked over to the window. He stood there, looking down at the silent traffic. After a moment, he said, “Let's start with who knew about the invention. Was it public knowledge?”

Alex felt a chill run down his back. “No,” he said, after a moment. “The patent application stays secret for eighteen months, and then, absent an exception, it's published.”

“And you were still inside eighteen months, so the application was secret.”

“Right. We filed a year ago.”

“But some people knew about it. Who?”

“A lot of people. The PTO, for starters.”

“Who?”

“Patent and Trademark Office. Also a bunch of people at the firm. And the angel investors and venture capitalists I contacted for funding. Plus… anyone Hilzoy might have told, I guess.”

Ben walked over to the other side of the window. “Three targets: you, the inventor, the examiner. Lots of people could have known about any one of you and your connection to the technology. But someone knew about all three. There's a choke point in there. Who would know about the patent guy?”

“No one, really. His group wasn't even officially assigned to the patent yet, I just knew him from school. He was helping me unofficially, just status reports, that kind of thing.”

“So his name isn't on any paperwork?”