Disclosure

The figure was still closer. The details were filling in.

"No kidding," Sanders said.

It was Ed Nichols.

Up close, they saw that Nichols’s face was represented by a black and-white photograph wrapped crudely around an egg-shaped head, atop a gray moving body that had the appearance of a mannequin or a puppet. It was a computer-generated figure. Which meant that Nichols wasn’t on the virtual system. He was probably using his notebook computer in his hotel room. Nichols walked up to them and continued steadily past them.

"He can’t see us."

Fernandez said, "Why does his face look that way?"

"Cherry said that the system pulls a photo from the file and pastes it on users."

The Nichols-figure continued on walking down the corridor, away from them.

"What’s he doing here?"

"Let’s find out."

They followed him back down the corridor until Nichols stopped at one file cabinet. He pulled it open and began to go through the records. Sanders and Fernandez came up and stood by his shoulder, and watched what he was doing.

The computer-generated figure of Ed Nichols was thumbing through his notes and e-mail. He went back two months, then three months, then six months. Now he began to pull out sheets of paper, which seemed to hang in the air as he read them. Memos. Notations. Personal and Confidential. Copies to File.

Sanders said, "These are all about the acquisition."

More notes came out. Nichols was pulling them quickly, one after another.

"He’s looking for something specific."

Nichols stopped. He had found what he was looking for. His gray computer image held it in his hand and looked at it. Sanders read it over his shoulder, and said certain phrases aloud to Fernandez: "Memo dated December 4, last year. `Met yesterday and today with Garvin and Johnson in Cupertino re possible acquisition of DigiCom . . .’ bla bla . . . `Very favorable first impression . . . Excellent grounding in critical areas we seek to acquire . . .’ bla bla . . . `Highly capable and aggressive executive staff at all levels. Particularly impressed with competence of Ms. Johnson despite youth.’ I’ll bet you were impressed, Ed."

The computer-generated Nichols moved down the hall to another drawer and opened it. He didn’t find what he wanted and closed it. He went on to another drawer.

Then he began reading again, and Sanders read this one, too: " `Memo to John Marden. Cost issues re DigiCom acquisition’ . . . bla bla . . . `Concern for high-technology development costs in new company’ . . . bla bla . . . Here we are. `Ms. Johnson has undertaken to demonstrate her fiscal responsibility in new Malaysia operation . . . Suggests savings can be made . . . Expected cost savings . . .’ How the hell could she do that?"

"Do what?" Fernandez said.

"Demonstrate fiscal responsibility in the Malaysia operation? That was my operation."

"Uh-oh," Fernandez said. "You’re not going to believe this."

Sanders glanced over at her. Fernandez was staring down the corridor. He turned to look.

Someone else was coming toward them.

"Busy night," he said.

But even from a distance, he could see that this figure was different. The head was more lifelike, and the body was fully detailed. The figure walked smoothly, naturally. "This could be trouble," he said. Sanders recognized him, even from a distance.

"It’s John Conley," Fernandez said.

"Right. And he’s on the walker pad."

"Which means?"

Conley abruptly stopped in the middle of the corridor, and stared. "He can see us," Sanders said.

"He can? How?"

"He’s on the system we installed in the hotel. That’s why he’s so detailed. He’s on the other virtual system, so he can see us, and we can see him."

"Uh-oh."

"You said it."

Conley moved forward, slowly. He was frowning. He looked from Sanders to Fernandez to Nichols and back to Sanders. He seemed uncertain what to do.

Then he held his finger to his lips, a gesture for silence.

"Can he hear us?" Fernandez whispered.

"No," Sanders said, in a normal voice.

"Can we talk to him?"

"No."

Conley seemed to make a decision. He walked over to Sanders and Fernandez, until he was standing very close. He looked from one to the other. They could see his expression perfectly.

Then he smiled. He extended his hand.

Sanders reached out, and shook it. He didn’t feel anything, but through the headset he saw what looked like his hand gripping Conley’s.

Then Conley shook Fernandez’s hand.

"This is extremely weird," Fernandez said.

Conley pointed toward Nichols. Then he pointed to his own eyes. Then to Nichols again.

They crossed the gateway, past the barking dog, and came back into the Victorian library. Fernandez sighed. "It feels good to be home again, doesn’t it?"

Conley was walking along, showing no surprise. But then, he had seen the Corridor before. Sanders walked quickly. The angel floated alongside them.

"But you realize," Fernandez said, "that none of this makes any sense. Because Nichols is the one who’s been opposed to the acquisition, and Conley is the one pushing for it."

"That’s right," Sanders said. "It’s perfect. Nichols is having it off with Meredith. He promotes her behind the scenes as the new head of the division. And how does he hide that fact? By continuously bitching and moaning to anybody who will listen."

"You mean, it’s a cover."

"Sure. That’s why Meredith never answered his complaints in any of the meetings. She knew he wasn’t a real threat."

"And Conley?" she said.