“Yeah. Also getting arrested and thrown in jail. Look, you’re the one who dragged me into the Blackthorne portion of the program. I had my own problems to deal with, and now, because of you, I have to deal with Cyrus Thorne, and I have to deal with him because he has a copy of the video, the one you promised I had the only copy of.”

“You asked for the video, I gave it to you. If you let it get away, that’s your problem.”

“I didn’t let it get away. He got it from your translator. He knows you and I have talked, and he’s willing to trade it back if I set you up. If I don’t, I’m pretty sure he’ll give it to Drazen. For a whole lot of reasons too tedious to go into, I can’t have that.”

“Is that-is that what this is?” He certainly wasn’t in Paris anymore, but that’s where I pictured Kraft, in his hotel on the Left Bank, peering out from behind closed curtains. That was what his voice sounded like. “Are they listening now? Are you setting me up right now?”

“I didn’t call to set you up. I called to talk about a way I think we can all get through this, but you have to help.”

“I’ll help you. Sure. Why wouldn’t I? You’re working for the organization that wants me dead. Do you even hear yourself? What do you take me for?”

“It costs you nothing to listen.”

“Unless Cyrus Thorne has someone triangulating the signal.” I heard the sound of him sucking on a bottle and wondered if he was having beer for breakfast. Then I realized I had no idea if it was breakfast time where he was. He didn’t hang up, so I forged ahead.

“We were right about Roger’s computer-Roger’s other computer, the one that belonged to Vladi. Rachel stole it. Roger took it from her because he knew there were files on it worth a billion dollars. The files are like a…” What was the term Ling had used? “A financial map. Directions to the money.” I waited for some sign that he was there. Talking on the phone to Kraft was a lot like talking to him over the Internet. He gave nothing away. “Grunt if you’re still alive.”

“You’re saying there really is a billion dollars that has just been sitting out there for four years because, what…the account numbers have been lost? I thought that story was bullshit when you told me. You’re saying it’s true?”

“The moral of the story is, always back up your files. Do you have the Dell or not?”

“What if I do? What would a billion dollars buy me?”

“Your life, for one thing. I might be able to swing it so that Drazen forgets about who killed Vladi in exchange for his money. That way, the video means nothing, and Thorne loses his leverage, and I don’t have to do what he says, and you can go on doing whatever it is you do.”

Measured pauses were not part of his speech pattern, so when I heard one, it felt significant. I knew the wheels were turning. “Let’s just say for the hell of it that I have a Dell. We can’t really know if it’s the right one-”

“We can if you open it up and find a game of Russian Solitaire on it.”

“Let me finish. The reason these laptops have value to me is not because John or Joe or Mary’s four-year-old grocery list is still on it.”

“A billion dollars that will save someone’s life is not a grocery list.”

“That’s not my point. It’s because they were taken to Afghanistan and used by the Martyr’s Brigade for years after the hijacking.”

“So?”

“So there are hundreds of e-mails on those machines, and those e-mails are the foundation of my story. There is no way I’m giving this stuff up to you.”

“I thought your story was on Blackthorne. Why would e-mails from the Martyrs be important?”

“If you knew that, you would have my story.”

“I’m not trying to steal your story, Max. I’m trying to help you with it and I have a proposal.”

“What?”

“You give me Vladi’s Dell, and I’ll give you the name of my Blackthorne source.”

There was another long silence. “I’ll think about it.” Click.

I sat for a long time with the phone in my hand, trying to figure out what to do. The good news was that he had the Dell. At least a Dell. The bad news was that Lyle Burquart had made it clear he never wanted to see me again, and I had made him that promise. But it had been just as clear to me that the Salanna 809 survivors did not want Max Kraft to have their contact data. I had given it to him anyway. Why had I done that? I went into the bathroom and thought about it while I brushed my teeth. While I was flossing, I figured it out. It was because of what was at stake. The Salanna 809 survivors were trying to protect their privacy. I was trying to save Rachel’s life. There had been too much at stake not to have used the manifest to get the video, just as there was too much at stake not to at least ask Lyle if he would speak to Kraft. It sounded as if Kraft and he were both after the same thing anyway. Besides, what was one more betrayal?

THE SAME RECEPTIONIST WAS AT HER DESK AT THE WBRS radio station, thumbing through what could very well have been the same magazine. When she saw me coming, she opened a desk drawer and reached down into it with both hands. She came out with a goldenrod envelope. She hefted it up and offered it across the desk to me.

“What’s this?”

“It’s from Lyle. He said you’d be back.”

She gave me a look of complete disdain, as though letting Lyle down meant letting her down, too.

“Thanks.” I took it from her. It was heavy. “Is he back there?”

“He’s gone.”

The finality in her tone suggested that she didn’t mean he had gone out for lunch. “Is he coming back?”

“No.”

“Why not? What happened?”

With both hands flat on the desk, she leaned forward and looked up at me. “He left the day you came here and never came back to work.”

The envelope in my hand suddenly seemed to have more heft to it. “Is he all right? Has anyone spoken to him?”

“He called in. He said everything was fine and thanks and all that, but he wouldn’t be back and not to look for him. He told us to donate his last check to the Jimmy Fund. He said he was leaving for good.” She went back to her magazine.

I thought back to what he’d said in the control room about being fucked, about having some decisions to make. Apparently, he had made them, but I still had to wonder what would prompt a man to quit his job and uproot his family that way.

“He didn’t leave any-”

“Forwarding information? No. He left that.” She nodded to the envelope. I had the sense from her reaction that she had somehow been bruised by Lyle’s departure.

“Were you friends?”

She had never taken her eyes from her magazine. “Good enough friends that I would never have expected him to leave town without so much as a goodbye.” She turned the page but must have decided that more needed to be said.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself. I hope it doesn’t bother you that just when he was getting settled and things were getting back to normal, you came along and stirred it all up again.”

I could tell she was one of those people who liked delivering bad news. It was right there on her face, and it made me uneasy. “Stirred up what?”

“His oldest son was run over by a truck and killed while his little brother watched.

I took a step back from the desk.

“That’s why Lyle left the paper to come here. He wanted to spend more time with Jeff. I guess now he’ll be out looking for another job, thanks to you.”

“Did they…was it an accident?”

“Hit and run. Never caught them.”

I took another step back. It felt as if she’d just splashed acid in my face.

“He said to be careful with that.”

“What?”

She nodded at the envelope that I was now hugging to my chest.

“And good luck.” She turned the page to a new article. “He said be careful and good luck.”