“WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT EXECUTIVE Center. Can I help you?” the operator asked.

“Yes, I have a silly problem that I was hoping you could help me with,” Ben said in his most ingratiating tone. “I was supposed to attend a meeting this Saturday in one of the airport’s executive meeting rooms, but I lost my daily planner and now I have no idea where the meeting is.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the airlines are responsible for scheduling space in the meeting rooms. Do you know which airline you were dealing with?”

“I have no idea,” Ben said. “It was all in my planner.”

“What about the company’s name? Maybe I can find that.”

“It’s a start-up company,” Ben explained, hoping to convince the operator that she was his only hope. “They haven’t incorporated yet, so it’s all under the CEO’s name-which I can’t remember for the life of me. And since I can’t remember his name, I can’t find him in the telephone directory. Believe me, I’ve tried everything.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help you.”

“Please don’t hang up,” Ben pleaded. “You have to do something. If I don’t show up for this interview. I’m dead. Isn’t there a master list somewhere? Anything you have may save my life.”

“I’m sorry,” the operator said. “I’m not supposed to give out that information.”

“Please.” Ben tried to sound pleasant. “I’m not some kind of lunatic. I’ll give you my name and address and home phone number. I’ll give you my mother’s number. You can call her and ask her how nice I am. I just don’t want to lose this job over something stupid.”

“Well…”

“Please. If you help me, I’ll be forever in your debt. I’ll send you flowers. And chocolates. And individually wrapped kielbasa from Hickory Farms. Anything.”

“Here’s what I can do,” the operator finally said. “I can give you a list of the companies that are meeting in the suites that are run by the airport. There are only six of those, but you may find your company in there. If not, you’ll have to call all the airlines and beg each of them individually for the information.”

“You’re the greatest,” Ben exclaimed. “How can I thank you? Name your price. Diamonds? Pearls? Kielbasa?”

“How about you just leave me alone,” the operator answered.

“You got it.”

“These are the companies that have reservations,” she said. “Texaco has one room. And Brennan, Leit and Zareh has the other.”

“Isn’t that a law firm?” Ben asked as he put a star next to the firm’s name.

“I’m not sure,” the operator said.

“Are there any other companies?”

“That’s it,” she said. “The other four rooms are still open.”

“Oh, well,” Ben said. “I guess I’m off to beg. Thanks for all your help.”

“You’re welcome,” the operator said, sounding relieved.

Fourteen phone calls later, Ben had a list of thirty-four reservations for executive suites. Twenty-two of the reservations were made by major companies, eight were for individuals, three were for law firms, and one was for Congressman Cohen from Philadelphia. Ben pulled up the Lexis database on his computer, logged onto the Periodicals bulletin board, and entered the name “Stewart Moore,” one of the eight individuals who had reservations for Saturday. As the computer scanned through more than four thousand current periodicals, Ben knew the search was futile. Rick’s too smart to make a reservation in his own name, he thought, staring at the computer screen.

Eventually, the words “Twenty-six items found” appeared on the screen. Scanning the first item, Ben read a Wall Street Journal article about Stewart Moore, a Chicago bank president who recently restructured his company’s finance division. When he read that Mr. Moore was fifty-five years old, he knew he hadn’t found Rick. As he typed the second name into his computer, Lisa entered the office. “What’s going on?” Ben asked, looking up from his screen.

Lisa was silent.

“Hello! Earth to Lisa! What’s going on? How are you doing? Why aren’t you responding?”

Again, silence.

“Oh, c’mon, Lisa. Lighten up already. I said I was sorry about a dozen times.”

“Then I completely forgive you,” Lisa said coldly.

“Be serious.”

“Okay, the truth? I’m pretty pissed off that you don’t trust me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Ben asked. “I trust you.”

“Ben, look at it from my perspective: For the past three months, we’ve spent every waking minute talking about how we were going to catch Rick. Now I can’t get a single word out of you. What the hell am I supposed to make of that?”

“You can make of it whatever you want. But the truth is that there’s nothing to tell. I haven’t heard from Rick in weeks, and until I do, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“You’re a liar,” Lisa said.

“What do you mean, I’m a liar?”

“I’m not a moron. I know when you’re lying, and I know what you’re thinking. But if you think I’m the one who’s leaking information to Rick, you’re crazy. I’d never do that to you.”

“I don’t think you’d-”

“Just do me one favor.” Lisa walked over and sat on the corner of Ben’s desk. “Look me straight in the eyes and tell me you trust me.”

“But you’re not going to believe-”

“If you tell me the truth, I’ll believe you.”

“Lisa, I swear I trust you,” Ben said, looking directly at his co-clerk. “If I had anything to tell you, I would.”

“One last question. What were you working on when I walked in?”

“What?”

“On your computer,” Lisa pointed. “What were you working on?”

“I was reading The Wall Street Journal on-line. Is that okay?”

“Then how come you’re reading a week-old paper?” Lisa asked.

Ben looked at the top of his computer screen and saw that the on-screen article listed the previous week’s date.

“It sucks to be caught in a lie, doesn’t it?” Lisa challenged. “I bet you wish you could take those words back.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ben said. “You didn’t care what I said to you. You sat on my desk just to see what I was reading.”

“I definitely did,” Lisa said, hopping off Ben’s desk. “And now I finally have my answer.”

“But-”

“Don’t bother. It’d be a waste of both your breath and my intelligence. And when you see Rick, tell him I hope he kicks your ass.”

An hour later, Ben and Lisa were silent, each of them reading a third version of Osterman’s Grinnell opinion. Ben’s phone rang, startling them both. “Hello?” Ben answered. “Justice Hollis’s chambers.”

“Hello, Ben. How’s your day been?”

Recognizing Rick’s voice, Ben tightened his fist around the receiver. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk about our meeting on Saturday,” Rick said.

“Then I’m glad you called,” Ben said. “Because I don’t like the airport. I want to-”

“I really don’t care what you want,” Rick interrupted. “I just wanted to tell you that our meeting is canceled. I no longer need what you have to offer.”

“But I thought-”

“Like most of your theories, you thought wrong,” Rick said smugly. “So have fun searching through your little yearbooks, and good luck on your lie detector test. I don’t believe we’ll be speaking again-although I’m sure I’ll hear about all the results.”

“Wait, I-” Before Ben could even get the words out, Rick was gone.

“Who was that?” Lisa asked, noticing Ben’s panicked look.

Ben said nothing. He pushed himself away from his desk, stormed toward the door, grabbed his jacket from the closet, and left the office. He walked down the main steps of the Court, down First Street, and approached the nearest pay phone. Picking up the receiver, he inserted a few coins and dialed Nathan’s phone number.

“Andrew Lukens. Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, recognizing neither the voice nor the name. “I was trying to reach Nathan.”