Sailing's been good. Few more weeks left."

"Great to hear."

"I'm calling for a favor," Byron said.

"Shoot."

"I need some of my old stuff from my office there in New York."

As the most prominent inventor in ICP's history, Byron was granted lifelong privileges that included an office that was cleaned every day and kept in a ready state, should he ever decide to drop by and sit in, for whatever reason.

"Sure. What kind of stuff?" William said and smiled to himself.

His honorable former partner was experiencing post-retirement pangs. He probably wanted to browse through his old journals, notes, take a trip down memory lane, as it were.

"On my shelf, right behind my desk, there's a binder called 'Advanced Network Agent Design.'"

William snapped on the desk lamp and wrote himself a note.

"I'll have Barbara send it to you. Anything else?"

"No. I mean, no, I don't want you to send it to me. I want you to send it to this address," Byron said.

William heard some papers shuffling.

"Here it is: 42 Inlet Drive, Camden, Maine, 04288."

"You got it, Byron. I'll have Barbara fetch it tomorrow and express it to you so you get it by Wednesday. Oh, wait a second, who's the addressee?"

"Peter Jones."

William's eyes shot to Martha's photo. He blinked rapidly and his lips parted. But no words would come out. He shut his mouth, took a deep swallow. Heard himself repeat the addressee's name, then for a few beats he heard his own blood pounding in his ears.

"Yep, new buddy of mine. You know who he is, right?"

William took a few seconds to answer. "Of course," he said, staring at his Joey. Then, struggling to sound as matter-of-fact as possible: "Why are you sending him this?"

"We're kicking around an idea we've come up with," said Byron, all snappy and playful.

"I see," William managed. "Byron, are the two of you thinking of starting up something new?"

"h.e.l.l, I don't know. It may be nothing. But it may be something, too. Listen, I don't want to talk your ear off. It's late, and you've got a real job to go to in the morning."

"It's okay. I was just reading."

"Well, if you've got a few minutes."

"I do. Really. The time doesn't matter," William said, and shakily seated himself in his chair. He reached over to the bookshelf and lifted Martha's photo. He placed it in his lap.

"Please, go on," he said, and for the next forty-five minutes, he listened.

PART III

Chapter 12

Four months had pa.s.sed since William Harrell and Matthew Locke had traded secrets in New York...and since Matthew and Laurence Maupin had met on her bed.

They were together again now, backstage at Lincoln Center in New York City, preparing for the announcement of ICP and Wallaby's strategic alliance before an audience of executives from both companies, and industry partners, customers, and the press.

"Matthew, you seem a little nervous, and that will show to the audience," Laurence said, standing before Matthew, who sat backstage in a dressing room. A makeup attendant patted his forehead and cheeks with flesh-tone powder.

"I'm just excited," he said.

"Smile. Make sure you smile," Laurence urged, trailing Matthew as they moved along the rear hallway to the stage area. They stopped behind the curtain's edge, and Matthew checked his watch.

"h.e.l.lo, Matthew," William Harrell said warmly, joining them.

Though they were dressed similarly, William appeared very cool, very calm, very much in control, the very opposite of how Matthew was feeling.

A man appeared wearing a microphone and earpiece headset. He nodded to Laurence then faced Matthew. "Mr. Locke, you're on in one minute, as soon as the music stops."

"Good luck," William said, shaking Matthew's hand. He stepped aside, opening a clear path to the stage.

The auditorium grew silent as the overhead lights dimmed and the piped-in cla.s.sical music dissolved. An announcer's voice greeted the audience and a large screen unrolled, on which a slide projector beamed the Wallaby logo.

"Good luck," Laurence whispered, squeezing his hands. A spotlight focused on the podium gaped wide and bright.

The announcer boomed: "Please welcome the Chairman, President, and Chief Executive Officer of Wallaby, Incorporated, Matthew Locke."

Applause sounded when Matthew appeared. He traversed the distance to the podium with clear composure and stood before the audience a few moments, allowing them to take in his dark gray suit, his confident air. He graced the audience with a sweeping smile, then focused his attention at the center of the auditorium, just above the heads of his audience, as his mistress and tutor had taught him.

"Thank you, and good morning. Today will mark a very important day in Wallaby's history. As you know, Wallaby is a company that has always been focused on empowering individuals with portable computer technology. Many of you today, stowing your own Joey or Joey Plus in your briefcases and folios, have first hand experience with Wallaby's products, and today we'd like to take that experience to the next level."

In sync with his speech, the slides Matthew had shown the executive staff just four months ago, when he first proposed the strategic alliance with ICP, flashed behind him on the high screen.

"What we are about to show you will enable Wallaby to continue to deliver on its original vision of powerful portable computing, but with more flexibility than ever. That means customers who were previously locked out of the Joey platform because of its incompatibility with other systems can finally hop on the bandwagon and benefit from the Joey's advanced technology, and continue to access files and doc.u.ments created on those other systems, simply and easily."

At this the crowd stirred. It was exactly the kind of reaction Matthew had hoped for. Barely able to contain his smile, he pressed on.

"Today, Wallaby announces a new and friendly personality in compatible computing." The spotlight on Matthew faded to a dim glow, and a second circle of light appeared, center stage.

"But rather than standing here and telling you about our exciting news, why don't I let the new Joey II show you."

The excited audience silenced. On drum roll cue a shrouded, remote-controlled box about the size of a shopping cart glided from stage right to center stage, into the spotlight. The drum roll intensified.

The entire auditorium went black for a few seconds, then cymbals crashed loudly. The shroud was gone, and there, bathed in intense light, was a dark gray prototype Joey II computer.