"Going home to play with a toy," Jack-san said, and sped off.

Jack watched the little Rover race across his living room carpet and b.u.t.t against the wall. The uptown wall. He was already farther uptown than Murray Hill, but apparently that wasn't enough for the Rover. It wanted to go farther. Always uptown, always north.

Except out on Long Island. Then the little b.u.g.g.e.r had run off toward the northwest.

But where was the directional control?

Jack grabbed the truck, turned off the motor, and popped off the body. He checked that out but it was nothing more than molded black plastic.

The cha.s.sis was more complicated-wheels, undercarriage, electric motor, steering control, battery compartment, and antenna. Jack knew his knowledge of remote-control toys was rivaled only by his understanding of quantum mechanics, but he pulled out a magnifying gla.s.s and made like Sherlock Holmes.

No help. Just a bunch of wires.

As long as he was here, he should check the battery compartment to see what kind it took, just in case it ran out of juice. He popped the lid and saw that it took two AAs. But the battery slots were empty. Instead he found a silvery cylinder about half the length of his pinkie wired to the contacts.

"What the h.e.l.l?"

He trained the magnifying gla.s.s on it, but all that did was make a little mystery bigger. No markings on the cylinder. The whole rig had a definite homemade look to it.

Jack felt a strange p.r.i.c.kle along the back of his neck. Not fear... something else... a sense that he was looking at something enormously important. But what?

He knew he'd taken this about as far as he could. The next step was to take it to a guy who could dismantle and rea.s.semble just about anything put in front of him.

"It doesn't look like a battery, maybe," Abe said, "but it's a battery."

The little Rover lay partially disa.s.sembled on Abe's counter. The body was off, the battery compartment lay open in the exposed cha.s.sis.

Abe had a thing about the weapons he sold. He dismantled and rea.s.sembled everything that pa.s.sed through his doors. He could break down and rea.s.semble a Glock in a couple of eye blinks. Jack had asked him why, and Abe's reply had been something like, "I shouldn't know all about what I'm selling?"

"That's not like any battery I've ever seen," Jack said.

"So? You've seen every battery ever made? Look, it's where a battery should go; it's hooked up to the contacts that power the motor, and the car runs. It's a battery. Even Parabellum would tell you that if he weren't asleep."

"Okay, okay." Sometimes Abe's help was no help. "It runs, but only in one direction. Explain me that."

"Easy," Abe said, and tw.a.n.ged the metal antenna. "This is where it gets its instructions. Somewhere, someone or something is sending its steering mechanism-via this antenna-the message to head in a certain direction. Without this little wire, the steering mechanism would be deaf, and the car would head in whatever direction you point it. Here, I'll show you."

"That's okay," Jack said, reaching for the truck.

But Abe pulled it back out of reach. "You don't want I should prove it?"

What he didn't want was Abe messing too much with the toy.

"I just don't want you should break it. I've got a gut feeling that thing will lead me to the mysterious 'Clayton technology.' But if its directional mechanism gets screwed up-"

"Nothing will get screwed up. What's to screw up? It's an antenna-just a piece of wire. Only take me a second."

Jack watched helplessly as Abe adjusted his reading gla.s.ses and picked up a pair of needle-nose pliers. After some fiddling, some twisting, and a few muttered curses, he managed to remove the aerial.

"There," he said. He handed the cha.s.sis to Jack. "Nothing to it. Go ahead. Now you'll see. Point it wherever. It's uptown-running days are over."

Jack turned it over and flipped the power switch.

Nothing.

He flipped it back and forth from on to off and back again.

Still nothing. Oh, h.e.l.l.

"Swell, Abe. Now it doesn't run at all. You broke it."

"What? Impossible."

"No, you did." Jack flipped the switch back and forth again. "Look."

"Quit kvetching and give it here."

Jack handed it back and leaned on the bench. He stared at the scarred surface, asking himself how he could have let this happen, wondering what the h.e.l.l he was going to do now. That little car was his only lead.

And then he heard the soft whine of the little motor. He looked up and saw the Rover's wheels spinning.

"Thank G.o.d. What did you do?"

Abe was staring at the cha.s.sis, frowning. "Reinserted the aerial, that's all."

"Well, whatever it was-"

The motor died as Abe removed the aerial again. Then started up when he reinserted it. Off... on... off... on... all in time with the aerial.

"You must be breaking a circuit," Jack said.

But Abe didn't reply. His frown was deeper as he pulled out a magnifying gla.s.s of his own and focused it on the aerial socket.

"Look here," he said, pointing with a pencil. "See this fine little wire? It runs from the aerial socket to the battery compartment. And you can tell from the way it's soldered that it's not original wiring. This has been added. And I didn't notice before, but the new wire is attached to this strange little battery that doesn't look like a battery."

He straightened and began fiddling with the aerial again, in and out of its socket, starting and stopping the motor.

And then he left the aerial out and left the truck cha.s.sis in the center of the bench.

"I think I have to sit down."

Jack shot Abe a look. Something in his voice. And his face-so pale.

"Abe, you all right?"

"Yes," he said hoa.r.s.ely, staring at the cha.s.sis. "I'm okay."

"Well, you sure as h.e.l.l don't look it. I've seen better color on a casaba."

Abe continued to stare at the toy. His color was still rotten. Jack was worried about him, but then Abe said the magic words.

"That's because I've just figured out what we've got here."

"Swell. Gonna tell me?"

"I... I think this little toy runs on broadcast power."

"Is that good?"

Finally Abe looked at him. "Is that good? You ask me if that's good good! What kind of meshuggeneh question is that?"

At least the color was returning to his face.

"Broadcast power. I never heard of it. Pardon me."

Abe reached for the truck, and Jack noticed his hand hesitate, like he was afraid to touch it, like it was some sort of holy object. But finally he grabbed it and lifted it.

"See this aerial?" he said, holding up the wire. "The motor can't run without it. No aerial... no power. But stick the aerial into its slot..."

As he did just that, the motor whirred and spun the wheels.

"... and suddenly we've got power. Power from the air."

From the air? Had Abe just had a mini-stroke?

"You're losing me," Jack said.

"You were right about the thing in the battery compartment, Jack. It's not a battery. It's a transceiver. It's taking the signal the aerial is receiving and transforming it into electrical energy."

Jack felt a kernel of excitement begin to burn in his gut.

"Okay, but what's the aerial receiving?"

"Power. Whoever modified this toy must have some sort of a transmitter somewhere that can broadcast a beam, a wave, an I-don't-know-what-let's just call it energy, because that's what it is--that can be downloaded through the aerial and turned into electrical power."

Jack stared at the spinning wheels, feeling that excitement swell and burn hotter. He was beginning to see how big this was.

"But how?"

"If I knew how such a thing could be, would I be standing here talking to you? No, I wouldn't. I would be sitting in my palatial home on Martha's Vineyard-my Martha's Vineyard, because I would have bought the entire island. Jack, I'd be much too rich to even Martha's Vineyard, because I would have bought the entire island. Jack, I'd be much too rich to even know know you, let alone talk to you. I'd be the kind of rich that'd make Bill Gates look like he's on welfare." you, let alone talk to you. I'd be the kind of rich that'd make Bill Gates look like he's on welfare."

"All right. I get the message."

"Do you?" Abe said. "You've heard the phrase, 'The end of life as we know it?' That about approximates it."

Jack nodded. "No power lines. No electric cords. No-"

"You're thinking small, Jack. How about saying bye-bye to the internal combustion engine?"

"Hey, you're right," Jack said. "Finally we'll be able to breathe the air around here and maybe..."

He heard his voice trail off as the full import of Abe's words. .h.i.t ground zero. Now Jack had to sit down.

"Holy s.h.i.t."

Because suddenly it was all clear... or most of it, at least.

"Oil," he said after a moment. His saliva had gone south. "Oil will be worthless."

"Not completely," Abe said. "As a lubricant it'll still be good. But as a fuel? Feh!"

"No wonder Kemel's been ready to do anything to get hold of this."

"Kemel? This is the Arab you told me about? Yes, of course he'd do anything. This little toy car portends the complete economic collapse of the Middle East. Not to mention Texas and the U.S. Gulf Coast."

"My G.o.d," Jack said. "The economic holocaust you've been talking about all these years... it's finally-"

"That was supposed to be from runaway inflation. But this isn't it. Don't worry so much. Wailing and gnashing of teeth there'll be, huge upheavals in finance and in every industry that gobbles power, but no holocaust. Unless of course, you're heavily invested in oil stocks."

"Yeah. Then it'll be time to take that long first step off a window ledge."

"But if you should have lots of your money invested in countries that rely heavily on foreign oil-"

"Like j.a.pan?" Jack said, thinking of Yoshio.

"j.a.pan, yes. Big time, j.a.pan. They're virtual slaves to foreign oil. Broadcast power puts the j.a.panese and Middle East economies on a seesaw: one drops into the abyss, the other goes into orbit."

The pieces were falling into place. Jack could almost hear the clicks as they came together.

"That's it, then," he said. "No wonder that j.a.panese trade delegate was so ecstatic: Ronald Clayton was on his way to j.a.pan to sell them his broadcast power technology. Kemel and his Iswid Nahr buddies got wind of it, and made sure he never reached j.a.pan. That's why they're so desperate and so secretive now-they don't want anyone to even guess broadcast power exists."

Even the will's cryptic message for Greenpeace made sense now: broadcast power meant no more oil spills... a brand-new day for air quality, the ozone layer, the whole environment: World-changing technology...

Abe cleared his throat. "One thing I don't understand-I should say, one of the many many things I don't understand-is why Ronald Clayton was taking his technology to j.a.pan. He didn't need j.a.pan. He didn't need anybody. All he had to do was patent it and quietly announce it. He wouldn't have to go to anybody. The world would stampede to his door. Not only would he be rich beyond King Midas's wildest dreams, he'd be worshiped as well. He wouldn't be things I don't understand-is why Ronald Clayton was taking his technology to j.a.pan. He didn't need j.a.pan. He didn't need anybody. All he had to do was patent it and quietly announce it. He wouldn't have to go to anybody. The world would stampede to his door. Not only would he be rich beyond King Midas's wildest dreams, he'd be worshiped as well. He wouldn't be Time's Time's Man of the Year, he'd be the world's Man of the Millennium. Why was he going to j.a.pan?" Man of the Year, he'd be the world's Man of the Millennium. Why was he going to j.a.pan?"

"Haven't the faintest," Jack said, taking the cha.s.sis from Abe and switching off the motor. "But I know someone who might."

"... And so it's my guess," Jack was saying, "that this little truck is going to flip the world on its ear."

Alicia had been relieved to see Jack. Not glad, just relieved that the man at the reception desk asking to see her without an appointment hadn't been Will. He'd already called twice this morning. Alicia knew she couldn't face him, but maybe she could dredge up the courage to talk to him. At the very least she owed him a return call.

But Jack had come in with that toy truck from the house and pulled it apart on her desk, talking a blue streak. Alicia had had a hard time following him at first. She was still dazed from watching Hector die. And then she'd been a little frightened. Jack was positively wired wired. For a bad moment she'd thought he might be on speed, or maybe peaking in the manic phase of a bipolar disorder. And when she'd heard what he was talking about, she pretty much settled on the latter.

But then he wasn't simply telling her, he was showing showing her how the Rover didn't have a battery and would only run when the aerial was attached. He called it broadcast power. her how the Rover didn't have a battery and would only run when the aerial was attached. He called it broadcast power.

"Broadcast power," she said, catching the cha.s.sis as it rolled across her desktop. "But that's science fiction."

"So was rocketing to the moon and a computer on your lap-once. Now they're history. But what's got to blow you away even more is the fact that it's all yours yours."