It was long after midnight as he scanned the on-screen catalog of the programs offered by the hotel's in-house trideo system, and Kyle wondered if he really did need to do any research for the morning. The meeting was set for ten o'clock, which left him more than enough time after breakfast to refresh his memory on information pertinent to Truman Technologies and the situation the powerful Truman family had hired him to remedy. Despite the gravity of the situation, Daniel Truman didn't seem to be in any hurry. Kyle decided to set his notepad computer to browsing several pertinent online services and databases while he slept.

The hold-image for the United Canadian and American States Federal Bureau of Investigation's Department of Paranormal Affairs faded from the screen to be replaced by the image of Dave Strevich as he approved the telecom connection; "Sorry about that," the burly man said as he dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk. "I was taking a crap."

Kyle chuckled and leaned back in his own chair as the image of his friend, cybernetically superimposed over his normal vision, rose ghost-like through the air to sit among the vines that hung down from the ceiling over the cafe in the Marriott's courtyard atrium. The system took a moment to compensate and darken Strevich's image against the brighter background.

"I hope I didn't rush anything," Kyle said.

Strevich shrugged. "Nothing the next guy can't clean up."

"Pleasant image."

Strevich waved the compliment away. "For you, only the best."

"Thanks, Dave. That's why I'm calling to ask a favor." "You mean you aren't calling to find out how my love life is going?"

Kyle smiled. "I know it's touchy, but I need you to cross-reference a name in the FBI's files on the Universal Brotherhood mess."

Strevich raised his eyebrows. 'Touchy?" he said after a minute. "You have no idea."

"Care to tell me why?"

"Can't."

Kyle sighed. "Look, I understand it's sensitive. I wouldn't ask, not even for my best client, except that it's personal."

Strevich's eyes softened. "Your sister-in-law?"

"Ellen Shaw."

"Okay, hang on." Strevich leaned forward and Kyle could just barely see his hands tapping at the flat keyboard built into his desk. He was done quickly and then leaned back. "I've only got a membership listing for her… address, personal data, financial contributions, that sort of thing. Nothing deeper."

Kyle felt himself tense slightly. "You pulled that data up fraggin' fast, Dave. Have the computers gotten a lot wizzer since I was there?"

But for the slightest narrowing of the eyes, Strevich's face would have been unreadable.

"Why's the file in your direct access pool, Dave? You should have had to request-"

Strevich held up one hand. "Don't," he said. "Look down."

Kyle fought the impulse to do just that, but he'd known his friend long enough to recognize one of his figures of speech. He glanced down.

"See that?" Strevich continued. "It's a land mine. Please don't set if off. I'd be grateful."

"Okay, okay. But I'm going to be doing my own checking. Please let me know next time one drops in front of me."

"If I can. You know the scan, Kyle-sometimes you swat…" Uncharacteristically, his friend let the metaphor trail off. "If I can," Strevich finished instead. "If I can."

Kyle nodded. The message was clear enough, and he knew not to push. "Understood." he said. "Look, I gotta go-meeting to take, money to be had."

Strevich nodded and punched what Kyle knew was the command key that took him out of whatever file he'd been scanning. "I see you're calling from Chicago."

Kyle nodded.

"The Truman boy?"

"Hey, hey, hey," Kyle said, holding up his hand. "Look down." Strevich just grinned.

"See that?" Kyle told him. "It's your shoe. That's all you need to know."

"Got it."

Kyle reached toward the portable telecom unit sitting on the table. "Feed me anything you can," he said.

Strevich was just saying "Don't hold your breath" when Kyle cut the connection. He pulled the self-coiling cable connecting the datajack in his temple to the pocket phone, then sat for a while, staring at the Marriott's waterfall and pouring the last of the kaf from the self-warming carafe. It was, of course, real coffee.

So, his old teammates in the FBI's Department of Paranormal Affairs were handling the Universal Brotherhood investigation. And since that fact wasn't public knowledge, it had to mean the case involved some metaphysical matter the government didn't want anyone to find out about. And that fact Kyle Teller found very interesting indeed.

The Truman Tower, its two longer sides sloping nearly to a point, jutted three hundred and fifty-two stories into the stormy Chicago sky. With the IBM Building gone, it was the tallest building in the city, but far short of holding that record for the world, despite its owner's wishes. Molded from blue glass and darker steel, it reflected and distorted the gray of the threatening sky and the bright orange and white wedge of the twenty-meter-long, lighter-than-air transport moored to its upper deck.

Kyle took it all in as his car turned smoothly off the street, then angled up the main entrance ramp and onto the open promenade of the building's east side. The almost rural landscaping of me enormous grounds would have surprised him except that his computer notepad had just been feeding him images of it and other things Truman. Its programming had ranged far and wide as he'd slept, gathering information on the Truman family and empire from various online services and databases. That done, a pair of special smart programs in the computer had analyzed, compiled, and compressed the most important and relevant data into usable form. Then, as Kyle dreamt on, the notepad had downloaded the ready-for-viewing file into the tiny amount of cybernetic headware memory he'd dared risk as a mage. The data was sitting there awaiting his examination when he woke.

Kyle had considered bringing along his special equipment, but ultimately rejected the idea. He'd amassed quite a collection of powerful magical foci for augmenting his own mystical abilities in the course of his career, yet he generally shied away from their use, fearing to create a psychological crutch. Better to do without, saving the foci for the rare emergency. An active magic item or spell-or even a magician's own use of astral perception or projection-created a bridge between normal space and the astral plane that could permit a spell or spirit originating in astral space to harm him. That peace of mind alone was worth the loss of potential power. Kyle's foci were currently stored in the hotel's secure vault, in a special box protected by a spell that would immobilize anyone who tried to open it without uttering a certain phrase. Kyle sincerely hoped members of the hotel staff would heed his warning not to tamper.

The car slowed and stopped automatically at the curb in front of Truman Tower's three-story glass entrance. The gull-wing passenger door rose upward with a barely audible hiss, and Kyle stepped out, slipping his Meteor sunglasses into place. Already, an ork male attendant and a breathtakingly lovely woman in an angled suit of the latest corporate fashion were approaching him.

The woman was tall and Nordic, with white-blond hair stylishly chopped to collar-length. She stopped a proper distance away and extended a perfectly manicured hand.

"Mr. Teller?" Her voice was soft, surprisingly throaty. “I’m Hanna Uljaken, special assistant to Mr. Truman. We're very pleased you could come so quickly. I hope your trip has been pleasant so far." She smiled, and Kyle felt a warm tingling in his belly.