* * *

Jack didn't have to wait long or go far. Sean presented Alicia's asking price of ten million dollars, Haffner expressed shock—genuine, Jack was sure—then tried to bargain her down. But Alicia held firm and finally Haffner said, Thenk-yew-veddy-much, and the room emptied out.

Jack gave them a few minutes, and was about to crawl back toward Haffner's office when he heard the conference door open.

"You can have the room as long as you want," Haffner said. "I'll be in my office should you need me."

Jack wedged himself into the duct in time to see the door close, leaving Thomas and the Middle East guy together. Neither sat down.

"Ten million," Thomas said, shaking his head in what might have been admiration. "Christ, she's got balls." He glanced at his companion. "Well, Kemel, what's it going to be? Are your people going to go for it?"

"I do not see that we have a choice," the guy called Kemel said. His accent was definitely Middle East, but his English had a faintly British accent. He spoke rapidly, clipping his words.

"You've got to be kidding! You heard Haffner. He's sure he can get the will set aside. Ten million for that place? That's crazy."

Jack too was shocked. He'd hauled that asking price out of the air, never dreaming they'd even consider it.

"My people want this matter settled. It has dragged on too long. And after all, what is ten million against what we will gain by keeping it out of the wrong hands? A pittance."

The wrong hands? Jack thought, mentally rubbing his own hands together. He was hot, sweaty, and cramped, but suddenly that no longer mattered. Now we're getting to the good stuff. Keep going.

"A pittance to you, maybe. But a hell of a lot of money for something that might not be there."

"If it is not, it is of no loss to you. It is not your money."

"Yeah, but then Alicia will be a millionaire and I'll have zilch. Less than zilch. I quit my job to help you with this."

"You are being well compensated. And don't forget that you will have the house—after all, we are buying it in your name."

"Yeah…the house," Thomas said. "What's left of it. I mean, we've turned the insides upside down—at least as upside down as you can without making it obvious—and we've come up empty-handed. We push it much further and we risk getting arrested for trespassing and vandalism."

"There is something there," Kemel said. "Perhaps not the plans and diagrams themselves, but if not, then I believe it is reasonable to assume that your father left some clue as to their whereabouts."

"That's becoming an expensive assumption."

"The will all but says so. One cannot ignore your father's message to that ecology group—what is it called?"

"Greenpeace."

"Yes. Greenpeace. Such a strange concept. We have no such groups in my land. But your father, he said, 'This house holds the key that points the way to all you wish to achieve. Sell it and you lose everything you've worked for.' That to me is proof enough that the house is hiding something."

"Fine. But we've got to find it."

"Have no fear. We will find it. As soon as the house is ours, we will begin a most thorough search, breaking down the walls if necessary. And if we still have not found it, we will dismantle the house brick by brick, beam by beam, until we succeed."

"And if we don't?"

"At least we will have prevented others from finding it and using it."

"Yeah, but then I don't get my payday."

"Well, certainly you would not expect us to buy something that you do not have. Would you?"

Thomas shrugged. "What's our next step?"

"I contact my superiors to approve the purchase price—a mere formality, I assure you—and then we let Mr. Haffner arrange the details."

"Ten million bucks," Thomas said, shaking his head as he'd done when this little tete-a-tete started. "Well, I guess I should be thankful my dear sister has no inkling what we're after. If she did, she'd be asking ten million per brick."

"Yes," Kemel said. "And that would still be a bargain."

He's got to be exaggerating, Jack thought. But somehow he doubted it.

As he lay there wondering what the hell could be worth so damn much and be small enough to hide in a house, he noticed Thomas and Kemel heading for the door.

Jack felt like singing that old Peggy Lee song, "Is That All There Is?"

What had he learned here?

Well, he'd seen Kemel. That was something. And he'd learned that whatever was in the Clayton house was damn near priceless to some very rich folks from the Middle East. And he'd learned that Thomas's people weren't the only ones interested in it. They were concerned about it falling into "the wrong hands." Whose hands were the "wrong" hands? He didn't think they meant Alicia's. Another Middle East power? Israel? Or someone else?

But he'd hoped for more, especially after risking his butt in an elevator shaft, sweating and crawling through filthy heating ducts, and wedging himself into spaces where he could barely breathe.

He cursed them for being so damn oblique. What was this mysterious it? Why couldn't they just come out and say what was in the house? He grinned—hell, it wasn't as if anybody was listening in on them.

But maybe the it they were after was so important, so valuable, that they instinctively avoided referring to it by name.

As Jack wiped some sweat from his eyes, his overall sleeve caught the lens on his headlamp and knocked it off. He snatched at it but it slipped from his fingers and landed with a clunk on the floor of the duct.

Jack froze as Kemel stopped at the threshold and whirled.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Thomas said, poking his head back in from the hall.

"That noise." Kemel was moving around the conference table and heading for Jack's position. "It came from over there. From that heating vent, I think."

Jack grabbed the lens and slid back as far as he could without completely withdrawing from the duct. He didn't think he could do that without making more noise, so he lay silent and waited.

He held his breath as a bearded face popped into view beyond the louvers.

"It came from in here," Kemel said. "I am sure of it."

"So?" Thomas said from somewhere behind Kemel. "Probably a mouse or something."

"This was not a mouse." Kemel tried to force his fingers between the louvers but the spaces were too small. "Quick. Give me something to remove this grate."

Jack inched back a little farther. If that vent plate started to come loose, he'd have to take off.

"You've got to be kidding," Thomas said. "What do you think you're going to find?"

"Perhaps someone has been listening."

"From in there?" Thomas laughed. "Look, Kemel, I don't know about the level of espionage technology in Saudi Arabia, but over here if we want to eavesdrop on someone, we don't stuff a midget into a vent. We do it electronically: We plant a bug."

He's right, Kemel, Jack thought. Don't be a jerk. Listen to the man.

"I know what I heard," Kemel said. "Get me a screwdriver."

"I didn't think you Moslems drank."

"This is not a matter for joking! I want to look in here!"

"All right, all right. Here. It's my nail clipper. You can use the back end there as a screwdriver."

Jack knew this was his signal to chuck caution and vamoose. He backed into the larger duct and began his return trip.

Behind him, Kemel's voice rose in pitch and volume.

"There! Do you hear that? Someone is in there, I tell you! Call Mr. Haffner. Tell him to call security. Someone has been spying on us!"

Jack paused to turn on his headlamp and replace the lens, then he resumed his crawl. He followed Milkdud's red return arrows and didn't stop until he reached the big vertical shaft.