She grabbed Abby and climbed the three stairs into the back foyer. Prime sat in the car for a moment.

"Coming?"

"In a moment," he said. "I want to walk around front. Look at the lights. Can you unlock the front door?"

"Sure."

Prime walked out the garage door and waited until Casey had shut the inner door. Then he slipped through the hedge into his neighbor's yard. He sprinted across the back lawn, dodging the piles of snow. Between the neighbor's house and the next, Prime saw the car. From his vantage, he saw someone within, someone who could watch their house from where the car sat.

Prime hid behind a tree trunk. Then he dashed across the driveway, coming to rest behind a shrub not far from the car. A man sat within, his eyes on their house. Was it Corrundrum? He couldn't tell for sure. The man had been wearing a disguise at the jail visiting room. It could be the police.

Prime stood and walked over to the car. He leaned in and stared at the gaping, surprised face. It was Corrundrum.

Prime rapped on the window and waited until Corrundrum rolled it down.

"So?" Corrundrum asked.

"You have information I need," Prime said. "What do I have that you want?"

CHAPTER 31 31.

EmVis allocated office s.p.a.ce for them at the headquarters in Columbus. They had desks, phones, and doors in a corporate office building on a wooded plot on the north side of the city. The main office was a three-story gla.s.s building that seemed half-empty, except for the guards who manned the front desk and cruised the halls regularly. John saw more of the guards than he did of any of the EmVis personnel. Behind the main office was a fenced area within which was a second and third building. The only way through the barbed-wire enclosure was via a double-gated tunnel.

"What do they do in there?" Henry asked, looking out John's office window.

"Clearly we're not the only business EmVis funds," Grace said. "Maybe weapons research."

"Development of a better mousetrap?" John suggested.

"Reusable toilet paper!" Henry cried.

"You don't reuse yours?" John asked.

"Ew!" Grace replied.

They'd spent the last couple days at the office, working on project plans, and sales projections, and business plans. Not a minute had been spent on anything related to the pinball machines. It chafed Henry the most.

"School starts next Monday," Henry said. "We won't have to come down here as much. We can spend our time at the new office."

They'd moved out of the dilapidated factory as soon as they could, into a new building in Winterfield, one with an office and reception in one corner and the rest of the ten thousand square meters shop floor and production facilities. John had moved the lease of the old factory into his own name.

John's intercom chimed.

"Mr. Wilson?" It was Stella, his no-nonsense secretary. John had tried to kid with the beehive-haired woman on the first day, but she'd stared at him blankly. She seemed always poised to respond to anyone's next need, as if that was what she was programmed to do.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Charboric is ready for you."

"Charboric," Henry said softly. Henry did not like the second of the four board members from EmVis. Visgrath was palatable, in his sincerely intense way. Charboric, similar in Nordic features to Visgrath, was brooding, angry, and mean-at least in appearance. He'd had contrary suggestions already on design and implementation that Henry took personally. The two other EmVis board members were Mr. Alabathus and Mr. Zorizic, neither of whom they had met yet.

"What does he want?" Henry asked. "More ideas for flipper design? The perfect coin box?"

"Henry," Grace said. "Be nice."

"Patent stuff," John said.

"Great."

John grabbed a notepad from his desk. "Be back in a bit; then we can head back to Toledo."

"Sure."

Stella was standing outside the door to his office. He wondered if she listened in on them so that she could time her appearance perfectly. Perhaps she had just been standing there waiting. Her subservience disturbed him.

"This way, sir."

"I think I can find it."

"No, I insist, sir." She took his arm and led him down the hall to an elevator bank. She kept a strong grasp on his bicep while they waited for the elevator. An EmVis employee pa.s.sed them, and neither acknowledged the other, though John gave the man an unreturned nod and half smile. The conference room was down one floor. Charboric was already there, sitting at the head of a table. A video camera was pointed at the chair to his left.

"Sit," Charboric said, pointing to that chair.

John took the chair to Charboric's right.

Charboric looked at him for a moment blankly, then stood and adjusted the camera. John resisted the urge to move.

"I will record this meeting," Charboric said.

John shrugged.

"We are here to discuss the patents for pinball," Charboric said, his Germanic or Slavic accent even heavier than Visgrath's. "We need to determine any instances of prior art."

"What do you mean?"

"Before we file patents, we must know if there is prior existence of similar devices."

"Shouldn't the lawyers be doing this?" John asked.

"They will," Charboric said shortly. "This is for their benefit. Now, are there prior art examples for pinball?"

"You know there are."

"What?"

"I saw pinball machines in Las Vegas when I was a kid."

"Where?"

"Las Vegas," John said. He felt Charboric's anger growing.

"Where in Las Vegas?"

"A casino."

"Which one?"

"I don't remember."

"Was it called pinball?"

"Yes."

"Which casino?"

"I don't remember."

"Think."

"I told you I don't remember."

"We need to know!"

"I'm telling you, I was five years old. I barely remember."

"They would not allow a five-year-old into the casino."

"It was outside the gambling area."

"Was this with your parents?"

"Yes."

"Who have died."

"Yes."

"Their last known address?"

"None of your business."

Charboric stared at him. He seemed like a man used to getting his way.

"Your reticence has been noted."

"Good," John said. "Your a.s.sholedness has been noted."

Charboric colored.

"You know nothing of business!" he hissed. "You think you're a smart know-it-all because you made something pretty. You think we're here trying to steal it. Our goal is to run this like a business. And we need this information to protect ourselves. To protect you."

John slowly shook his head. "You think you understand me, but you don't." John stood up.

"I'm not done here!" Charboric cried.

"I am," John replied. "If you need anything else, send me a memo." He slammed out of the conference room, startling Stella, who had been sitting in a stiff-backed chair by the door.

"Done already, sir?" she asked.

Charboric grabbed the door before it slammed shut.

"Get back in here and answer my questions!"

John laughed. "Not in this lifetime."

"We own a majority of you! You have to."

"You own a majority of Pinball Wizards," John said. "You don't own me at all."

John headed for the elevator. Stella ran after him. Her face was pale. She seemed to be muttering under her breath.

"What's that, Stella?" John asked.

"Mr. Charboric is upset, sir."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I can tell."

John thought she was being sarcastic; then he realized she was sincere. She had seemed a highly competent, highly focused administrative a.s.sistant. Now John wondered if she was mentally defective.

Grace and Henry looked up when John entered his office.

"That was quick," Grace said.

"Charboric and I had an... a heated discussion," John said. "We're done. Let's head back to Toledo before it gets dark."

As they were walking toward John's car, Grace said, "Do you think we made a mistake?"

Henry paused but said nothing.