When he got up to the twenty-second floor, the receptionist sent him down the hallway to Maggie’s private office. He walked in and found her smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone.

“Sure you can meet with the district attorney, but there’s no deal. And there’s no deal because he doesn’t have a case. Feel him out, and then call me back. I’ll be at lunch but they’ll patch it through to the cell.” Maggie hung up and flicked some ash off her cigarette. “Bastards. They’re all lying bastards.”

“You got a package for me?”

“No package. I just wanted to see you. I’ll pay Laura for a delivery.”

Gabriel sat on the couch and unzipped his jacket. Bottled water was on the coffee table and he poured some into a glass.

Maggie leaned forward, looking very fierce. “If you’re dealing drugs, Gabriel, I will personally kill you.”

“I’m not dealing drugs.”

“You’ve told me about your brother. You shouldn’t get involved in his scams to make money.”

“He’s buying property, Maggie. That’s all. Office buildings.”

“I hope so, darling. I’ll cut out his tongue if he drags you into something illegal.”

“What’s going on?”

“I work with an ex-cop turned security consultant. He helps me out if some crazy person is stalking one of my clients. Yesterday we were talking on the phone and, all of sudden, this man says: ‘Don’t you know a motorcycle messenger named Gabriel? I met him at your birthday party.’ And, of course, I say, ‘Yes.’ And then, he says, ‘Some friends of mine asked me about him. Where he works. Where he lives.’”

“Who are these people?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Maggie said. “But you should watch out, darling. Someone powerful is interested in you. Were you involved in a car accident?”

“No.”

“Any kind of lawsuit?”

“Of course not.”

“What about girlfriends?” She stared at him intently. “Anyone wealthy? Some woman with a husband?”

“I took out that girl I met at your party. Andrea-”

“Andrea Scofield? Her father owns four wineries up in Napa Valley.” Maggie laughed. “That’s it. Dan Scofield is making sure you’re all right.”

“We went riding a few times.”

“Don’t worry, Gabriel. I’ll talk to Dan and tell him not to be so protective. Now get out of here. I’ve got to prepare for an arraignment.”

AS HE WALKED through the basement garage, Gabriel felt afraid and suspicious. Was someone watching him right now? The two men in the SUV? The woman with the briefcase walking to the elevators? He reached into his messenger bag and touched the heavy adjustable wrench. If necessary, he could use it as a weapon.

His parents would have run away the moment they heard someone was asking about them. But he had lived in Los Angeles for five years and no one had kicked in his door. Perhaps he should follow Maggie’s advice: go to school and get a real job. If you were connected with the Grid, your life would become more substantial.

As he kick-started the motorcycle, his mother’s story returned to him with all its comforting power. He and Michael were the lost princes, disguised in rags, but resourceful and brave. Gabriel roared up the exit ramp, merged into traffic, and cut around a pickup truck. Second gear. Third gear. Faster. And he was moving again, always moving, a small spark of consciousness surrounded by machines.

Michael Corrigan believed that the world was a battlefield in a continual state of war. This war included the high-tech military campaigns organized by America and its allies, but there were also smaller conflicts between Third World countries and genocidal attacks against various tribes, races, and religions. There were terrorist bombings and assassinations, crazy snipers shooting people for crazy reasons, street gangs, cults, and disgruntled scientists mailing out anthrax to strangers. Immigrants from the southern countries flooded across the borders to northern countries bringing horrible new viruses and bacteria that ate your flesh. Nature was so annoyed by overpopulation and pollution that it was fighting back with droughts and hurricanes. The ice cap was melting and the sea was rising while the ozone layer was being shredded by jet planes. Sometimes Michael lost track of a particular threat but stayed aware of the general danger. The war would never end. It was only growing larger and more pervasive, claiming new victims in subtle ways.

MICHAEL LIVED ON the eighth floor of a high-rise condominium in West Los Angeles. It had taken him four hours to decorate the place. The day he signed the lease, he drove over to a huge furniture store on Venice Boulevard and picked out the suggested arrangements for a living room, a bedroom, and a home office. Michael had offered to rent an identical apartment for his brother in the same building and fill it with similar furniture, but Gabriel rejected the proposal. For some perverse reason, his younger brother wanted to live in what was probably the ugliest home in Los Angeles and breathe the exhaust from the freeway.

If Michael stepped out onto the little balcony he could see the Pacific Ocean in the distance, but he had no use for views and usually kept the curtain closed. After his phone call to Gabriel, he made some coffee, ate a protein bar, and started calling real estate investment firms in New York. Because of the three-hour time difference, they were working in their offices while he was wandering around the living room in his underwear. “Tommy! It’s Michael! Did you get that proposal I sent you? What did you think? What did the loan committee say?”

Usually the loan committees were cowardly or foolish, but you couldn’t let that stop you. In the last five years, Michael had found enough investors to buy two office buildings and he was about to close a deal for a third building on Wilshire Boulevard. Michael expected people to say no and he already had his counterarguments ready.

Around eight o’clock he opened his closet and picked out a pair of gray pants and a navy blue blazer. Adjusting a red silk necktie, he moved through the apartment, passing from one television set to another. Fires and the powerful Santa Ana winds were the big story that morning. A fire in Malibu was threatening the home of a basketball star. Another fire was out of control east of the mountains, and the television screen showed images of people tossing photo albums and armfuls of clothes into their cars.

He took the elevator down to the parking garage and got into his Mercedes. The moment he left his apartment, he felt like a soldier entering a battle to make money. The only person he could count on was Gabriel, but it was obvious that his younger brother was never going to get a real job. Their mother was sick and Michael was still paying for her care. Don’t complain, he told himself. Just keep fighting.

After he had saved enough money, he would buy an island somewhere in the Pacific. Neither he nor Gabriel had a girlfriend, and Michael couldn’t decide what kind of wives would be suitable for a tropical paradise. In his dream, he and Gabriel were riding horses through the surf and the two wives were slightly out of focus, standing on a bluff wearing long white dresses. The world was warm and sunny and they would be safe, truly safe. Forever.