When I saw that loose change rattling around in the radio, I decided the whole damn defense industry could take a flying leap. I haven't changed my mind.

All this cooked down in the lizard brain while I worked through the kata, through the difficult stances, the slow pressing moves, and the impossible sidekicks. When I finished I was sweating hard. The sensei, who looked in from time to time, said with hard work I should have it under control in two or three more years. In another sport, the comment might have been sarcastic. Not in Shotokan. He was absolutely sincere. It may have been the nicest thing he ever said to me.

After the workout, I hit the makiwara board fifty times with each hand, showered, walked back to the apartment. I called Weenie, he called LuEllen, and she called back five minutes later and signed up. I called Dace, and he was ready to go. Then I called Anshiser and told him I'd take the job.

"With one more condition."

"What?" he asked.

"I write the contract. You sign it and fingerprint it, and I stash it. It will be straightforward and incriminating. No wherefores or parties of the second part. It might not be binding in court, but it will bind your ass if you leave us stranded out there."

"Agreed."

"I'll there tomorrow. I'll want the first million. I'll want it early enough to get to a bank."

"Make it about one o'clock at the house. It'll take the morning to get it together," he said.

What?

I'm moving. Don't dump to apartment. I'll call. OK?

Ok. Got about 70 names/addresses/telephones for Whitemark execs who may use home terminals. Goes slow getting positives on addresses, confirming computers.

How long to finish?

Tomorrow.

Good. Money OK?

So far charged $2,250.

There's more if you need it.

OK/Goodbye.

It took a good part of the day to close the apartment down. I dumped the garbage, cleaned out the refrigerator, and put together a basic watercolor kit for road work. Emily agreed to take care of the cat and the Whistler and to pick up mail and pay utility bills. I gave her an envelope full of cash to cover it.

Before leaving, I spread the cards again. The Wheel of Fortune, reversed, was dominant. That told me nothing. I knew that.

Just after dark, I rolled onto Interstate 94 in my two-year-old Oldsmobile. It's a big, clumsy car with lots of power, comfortable seats, and a large trunk where eye-catching gear-terminals, printers, cameras, painting equipment-can be stashed out of sight. I tuned in WLS, and let the fifty thousand clear-channel watts of rock 'n' roll suck me down the highway toward Chicago.

I spent the early morning at the Art Institute. Rembrandt didn't paint Young Girl at an Open Half-Door, like the museum says he did, but I like it anyway. And even if you dislike pointillism, Georges Seurat's Sunday Afternoon on the Ile de la Grande Jatte is a masterwork. When I see it, I tend to hyperventilate. It's like looking down that marvelous wall of Degas's paintings at the Met.

As usual, I overstayed my time and had to race across town to meet LuEllen at O'Hare. She was wearing a tan summer suit with slacks, a touch of lipstick, and a white panama hat that snapped down over her eyes. We picked up her bags and went downtown and rented safety deposit boxes at the Second Illinois. Afterward, I dropped her at my hotel while I went to Anshiser's. Maggie met me at the door and took me up. The money was in a small fake-leather suitcase on Anshiser's desk.

"The contract?" he asked. His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat. Dillon was back in his chair against the wall, still dressed in gray, still showing the small smile.

"Right here." I handed him a letter of employment. It clearly spelled out what I was to do. He read it and passed it to Maggie, who looked at it, nodded, and handed it back.

"That should do it," he said. He took a pen from his coat pocket and signed and dated our agreement.

"Now the fingerprints," I said. I took a stamp pad from my pocket and handed it to him.

"This will be messy," he said.

"A small price."

"Hmph." He rolled his fingers across the pad and onto the paper, leaving a row of neat, fat fingerprints below his signature.

"Both hands?"

"One is fine."

Maggie handed him a purse pack of Kleenex to clean his fingers.

"The money," he said. He pushed the case toward me. "It's all there. One million, one hundred thousand dollars. Twenties and fifties, nonsequential. It came right out of the cash box at one of our casinos. You can count it, if you wish."

I popped open the locks, peered in, and shut it again.

"I'll count it later," I said. "You want some kind of progress report?"

"Go ahead." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his stomach, now the executive listening to a subordinate. I told him I'd hired two associates and had begun processing names from Dillon's report. I outlined a couple of methods of attack, told him we'd be working out of the Washington area, and that I would call him every few days with reports. When I finished, he looked at Dillon, at Maggie, and back to me.

"We have a request," he said.

"What?"

"We want Maggie to work with you. To see what you're doing, how it's done. She won't interfere unless it looks like you're getting carried away. What I'm saying is-we'd like to keep some oversight."

I looked over at Maggie and thought about Bobby's report on her. She looked back, a level gaze, no smile.

"I run the show," I said to Anshiser. "It's my ass on the line. I don't care if she observes, but I'll give her only one option: she can pull the plug. If she says kill the program, we kill it. But she doesn't tell us how to run it."

"That's all we ask," Anshiser said. He pointed a finger at her. "If there's any sign of trouble, you get out."

"Right."

"Speaking of trouble," Anshiser said to me, a cold note in his voice, "let me say a few words to the wise. Do not try to steal this money from us, Mr. Kidd. We want performance. If you can't perform, say so. But you must try. I won't be stolen from. I'm not threatening to break your legs should you abscond, but a billion dollars can purchase a world of legal and financial trouble for anyone I'd choose to pick on. Understood?"

"Fine," I said. I picked up the money bag. A million dollars. It was lighter than I'd expected. "A friend and I are leaving for Washington tomorrow. I'll get back to you when we've got a place. Maggie can fly out then."

"Good luck," Anshiser said, standing and extending a hand. His hand felt cool and damp and mealy, like tightly wound wet tissue paper. I shook it, dropped it hastily, and left.

"Partners in crime," Maggie said in the hallway.

"I hope you're well paid," I said. "This will be a major event."

"I'm well taken care of," she said.

I opened my mouth, and quickly shut it.

"What were you going to say?"

"A wisecrack," I said.

"You're not deferential," she said, looking up at me with mild amusement. "Why'd you hold back?"

I shrugged. "My mouth sometimes gets me into trouble with women I like. I'm trying to be friendly and it comes out wrong."

"You like me?"

I looked into her cool green eyes. "I could. You're bright and mean as a snake. Those are decent recommendations."

She laughed out loud, the first time I'd ever heard her do it. It sounded nice, unrehearsed.

"A million bucks," LuEllen said in a reverent tone. "We could be in Brazil in eight hours."

The money was spread on the hotel bed, so we could look at it, count it, check serial numbers, and run our fingers through it. When we were satisfied that it was all there, we packed it into three bags. There was $600,000 for me, $250,000 for LuEllen, and $150,000 for Dace. We put the hundred thousand of expense money in with Dace's cash.