"Jesus," Evans said.

"Some people make bad decisions," she said. "What're you staring at me like that for? He was six-two and two-ten and had a record from here to Nebraska. Armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted rape-you name it. You think I should feel sorry for him?"

"No," Evans said quickly.

"You do, I can see it in your eyes. A lot of people do. They go, He was just a kid, how could you do that? Let me tell you, people don't know what the hell they're talking about. One of us was going to get killed that night. I'm glad it wasn't me. But of course, it still bothers me."

"I'll bet."

"Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat. Seeing the gunshot blow the windshield in front of my face. Realizing how close I came to dying. I was stupid. I should have killed him the first time."

Evans paused. He didn't know what to say.

"You ever had a gun at your head?" she said.

"No..."

"Then you have no idea how it feels, do you?"

"Was there trouble about it?" he said.

"You bet your ass there was trouble. For a while I thought I wasn't going to be able to practice law. They claimed I led him on. Do you believe that shit? I never saw the guy in my life. But then a very good attorney came to my rescue."

"Balder?"

She nodded. "That's why I'm here."

"And what about your arm?"

"Ah hell," she said, "the car crashed and I cut it on the broken glass." She signaled to the waitress. "What do you say we get the check?"

"I'll do that."

Minutes later they were back outside. Evans blinked in the milky midday light. They walked down the street. "So," Evans said. "I guess you're pretty good at karate."

"Good enough."

They came to the warehouse. He shook her hand.

"I'd really like to have lunch again some time," she said. She was so direct about it, he wondered whether it was personal, or whether she wanted him to know how the lawsuit was going. Because like Balder, much of what she had said was not encouraging.

"Lunch sounds great," he said.

"Not too long?"

"Deal."

"Will you call me?"

"Count on it," he said.

BEVERLY HILLS.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 24.

5:04 P.M.

It was almost dark when he went home to his apartment and parked in the garage facing the alley. He was going up the back stairs when the landlady poked her head out the window. "You just missed them," she said.

"Who?"

"The cable repair people. They just left."

"I didn't call any cable repair people," he said. "Did you let them in?"

"Of course not. They said they would wait for you. They just left."

Evans had never heard of cable repair people waiting for anyone. "How long did they wait?"

"Not long. Maybe ten minutes."

"Okay."

He got up to the second-floor landing. A tag was hooked on his door-knob. "Sorry We Missed You." There was a check box to "Call again to reschedule service."

Then he saw the problem. The address was listed as 2119 Roxbury. His address was 2129 Roxbury. But the address was on the front door, not the back door. They'd just made a mistake. He lifted his doormat to check on the key he kept there. It was right where he'd left it. It hadn't been moved. There was even a ring of dust around it.

He unlocked the door and went inside. He went to the refrigerator, and saw the old container of yogurt. He needed to go to the supermarket but he was too tired. He checked the messages to see if Janis or Carol had called. They hadn't. Now of course there was the prospect of Jennifer Haynes, but she had a boyfriend, she lived in DC, and...he knew it would never work.

He thought of calling Janis, but decided not to. He took a shower, and was considering calling for pizza delivery. He lay down on the bed to relax for a minute before he called. And he fell immediately asleep.

CENTURY CITY.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 25.

8:59 A.M.

The meeting was held in the big conference room on the fourteenth floor. Morton's four accountants were there; his assistant Sarah Jones; Herb Lowenstein, who did estate planning; a guy named Marty Bren, who did tax work for NERF, and Evans. Morton, who hated all financial meetings, paced restlessly.

"Let's get to it," he said. "I am supposedly giving ten million dollars to NERF, and we have signed papers, is that right?"

"Right," Lowenstein said.

"But now they want to attach a rider to the agreement?"

"Right," Marty Bren said. "It's pretty standard boilerplate for them." He shuffled through his papers. "Any charity wants to have full use of the money they receive, even when it is earmarked for a particular purpose. Maybe that purpose costs more or less than predicted, or it is delayed, or mired in litigation, or set aside for some other reason. In this case, the money has been earmarked for the Vanutu lawsuit, and the relevant phrase NERF wants to add is "said moneys to be used to defray the cost of the Vanutu litigation, including fees, filing, and copying costs...blah blah...or for other legal purposes, or for such other purposes as NERF shall see fit in its capacity as an environmental organization."

Morton said, "That's the phrase they want?"

"Boilerplate, as I said," Bren said.

"It's been in my previous donation agreements?"

"I don't recall offhand."

"Because," Morton said, "it sounds to me like they want to be able to pull the plug on this lawsuit, and spend the money elsewhere."

"Oh, I doubt that," Herb said.

"Why?" Morton said. "Why else would they want this boilerplate? Look, we had a signed deal. Now they want a change. Why?"

"It's not really a change," Bren said.

"It sure as hell is, Marty."

"If you look at the original agreement," Bren said calmly, "it says that any money not spent on the lawsuit goes to NERF for other purposes."

"But that's only if there's money left after the lawsuit ends," Morton said. "They can't spend it on anything else until the suit is decided."

"I think they imagine there may be long delays here."

"Why should there be delays?" Morton turned to Evans. "Peter? What is going on over there in Culver City?"

"It looks like the suit is going forward," Evans said. "They have a large operation. There must be forty people working on that one case. I don't think they plan to give it up."

"And are there problems with the suit?"

"There are certainly challenges," Evans said. "It's complicated litigation. They face strong opposing counsel. They're working hard."

"Why am I not convinced here?" Morton said. "Six months ago Nick Drake told me this damn lawsuit was a slam dunk and a great publicity opportunity, and now they want a bail-out clause."

"Maybe we should ask Nick."

"I got a better idea. Let's audit NERF."

Murmurs in the room. "I don't think you have that right, George."

"Make it part of the agreement."

"I'm not sure you can do that."

"They want a rider. I want a rider. What's the difference?"

"I'm not sure you can audit their entire operation-"

"George," Herb Lowenstein said. "You and Nick are friends of long standing. You're their Concerned Citizen of the Year. Auditing them seems a little out of character for your relationship."

"You mean it looks like I don't trust them?"

"Put bluntly, yes."

"I don't." Morton leaned on the table and looked at everyone sitting there. "You know what I think? They want to blow off the litigation and spend all the money on this conference on abrupt climate change that Nick is so excited about."

"They don't need ten million for a conference."

"I don't know what they need. He already misplaced two hundred and fifty thousand of my money. It ended up in fucking Vancouver. I don't know what he is doing anymore."

"Well, then you should withdraw your contribution."

"Ah ah," Marty Bren said. "Not so fast. I think they've already made financial commitments based on the reasonable expectation that the money was coming."

"Then give them some amount, and forget the rest."

"No," Morton said. "I'm not going to withdraw the grant. Peter Evans here says the litigation is going forward, and I believe him. Nick says that the two hundred and fifty grand was a mistake, and I believe him. I want you to ask for an audit and I want to know what happens. I will be out of town for the next three weeks."

"You will? Where?"

"I'm taking a trip."

"But we'll have to be able to reach you, George."

"I may be unreachable. Call Sarah. Or have Peter here get in touch with me."

"But George-"

"That's it, guys. Talk to Nick, see what he says. We'll be in contact soon."

And he walked out of the room, with Sarah hurrying after him.

Lowenstein turned to the others. "What the hell was that all about?"

VANCOUVER.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 26.

12:44 P.M.

Thunder rumbled ominously. Looking out the front windows of his office, Nat Damon sighed. He had always known that that submarine lease would mean trouble. After the check bounced, he had canceled the order, hoping that that would be the end of it. But it wasn't.

For weeks and weeks he had heard nothing, but then one of the men, the lawyer in the shiny suit, had come back unexpectedly to poke a finger in his face and tell him that he had signed a nondisclosure agreement and could not discuss any aspect of the submarine lease with anybody, or risk a lawsuit. "Maybe we'll win, and maybe we'll lose," the lawyer said. "But either way, you're out of business, friend. Your house is mortgaged. You're in debt for the rest of your life. So, think it over. And keep your mouth shut."

All during this, Damon's heart was pounding. Because the fact was, Damon had already been contacted by some sort of revenue service guy. A man named Kenner, who was coming to Damon's office that very afternoon. To ask a few questions, he had said.