Disclosure

"Okay."

"On your office computer, if you have any passwords, change them. Anything in electronic data files of a personal nature, get it out."

"Okay."

"Don’t just remove it.. Make sure you erase it, so it’s unrecoverable."

"Okay."

"It’s not a bad idea to do the same thing at home. Your drawers and files and computer."

"Okay." He was thinking: at home? Would they really break into his home?

"If you have any sensitive materials that you want to store, bring them to Richard here," she said, pointing to the young lawyer. "He’ll have them taken to a safe-deposit box where they’ll be kept for you. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know anything about it."

"Okay."

"Now. Let’s discuss the telephone. From now on, if you have any sensitive calls to make, don’t use your office phone, your cellular phone, or your phone at home. Use a pay phone, and don’t put it on a charge card, even your personal charge card. Get a roll of quarters and use them instead."

"You really think this is necessary?"

"I know it is necessary. Now. Is there anything in your past conduct with this company which might be said to be out of order?" She was peering at him over her glasses.

He shrugged. "I don’t think so."

"Anything at all? Did you overstate your qualifications on your original job application? Did you abruptly terminate any employee? Have you had any kind of inquiry about your behavior or decisions? Were you ever the subject of an internal company investigation? And even if you weren’t, did you ever, to your knowledge, do anything improper, however small or apparently minor?"

"Jesus," he said. "It’s been twelve years."

"While you are cleaning out, think about it. I need to know anything that the company might drag up about you. Because if they can, they will."

"Okay."

"And one other point. I gather from what you’ve told me that nobody at your company is entirely clear why Johnson has enjoyed such a rapid rise among the executives."

"That’s right."

"Find out."

"It won’t be easy," Sanders said. "Everybody’s talking about it, and nobody seems to know."

"But for everybody else," Fernandez said, "it’s just gossip. For you, it’s vital. We need to know where her connections are and why they exist. If we know that, we have a chance of pulling this thing off. But if we don’t, Mr. Sanders, they’re probably going to tear us apart."

He was back at DigiCom at six. Cindy was cleaning up her desk and was about to leave.

"Any calls?" he said, as he went into his office.

`Just one," she said. Her voice was tight.

"Who was that?"

"John Levin. He said it was important." Levin was an executive with a hard drive supplier. Whatever Levin wanted, it could wait.

Sanders looked at Cindy. She seemed tense, almost on the verge of tears.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Just a long day." A shrug: elaborate indifference.

"Anything I should know about?"

"No. It’s been quiet. You didn’t have any other calls." She hesitated. "Tom, I just want you to know, I don’t believe what they are saying."

"What are they saying?" he asked.

"About Meredith Johnson."

"What about her?"

"That you sexually harassed her."

She blurted it out, and then waited. Watching him, her eyes moving across his face. He could see her uncertainty. Sanders felt uneasy in turn that this woman he had worked alongside for so many years would now be so openly unsure of him.

He said firmly, "It’s not true, Cindy."

"Okay. I didn’t think it was. It’s just that everybody is-"

"There’s no truth to it at all."

"Okay. Good." She nodded, put the call book in the desk drawer. She seemed eager to leave. "Did you need me to stay?"

"No."

"Good night, Tom."

"Good night, Cindy."

He went into his office and closed the door behind him. He sat behind his desk and looked at it a moment. Nothing seemed to have been touched. He flicked on his monitor, and began going through the drawers, rummaging through, trying to decide what to take out. He glanced up at the monitor, and saw that his e-mail icon was blinking. Idly, he clicked it on.

NUMBER OF PERSONAL MESSAGES: 3. DO YOU WANT TO READ THEM NOW?

He pressed the key. A moment later, the first message came up.

SEALED TWINKLE DRIVES ARE ON THEIR WAY TO YOU TODAY DHL. YOU SHOULD HAVE THEM TOMORROW. HOPE YOU FIND SOMETHING . . . JAFAR IS STILL SEVERELY ILL. THEY SAY HE MAY DIE.

ARTHUR KAHN

He pressed the key, and another message came up.

THE WEENIES ARE STILL SWARMING DOWN HERE. ANY NEWS YET?

EDDIE

Sanders couldn’t worry about Eddie now. He pushed the key, and the third message came up.

I GUESS YOU HAVEN’T BEEN READING BACK ISSUES OF COMLINE. STARTING FOUR YEARS AGO.

AFRIEND

Sanders stared at the screen. ComLine was DigiCom’s in-house newsletter-an eight page monthly, filled with chatty accounts of hirings and promotions and babies born. The summer schedule for the softball team, things like that. Sanders never paid any attention to it and couldn’t imagine why he should now.

And who was "Afriend"? He clicked the REPLY button on the screen.

CAN’T REPLY – SENDER ADDRESS NOT AVAILABLE

He clicked the SENDER INFO button. It should give him the name and address of the person sending the e-mail message. But instead he saw dense rows of type:

FROM UU5.PSI.COM!UWA.PCM.COM.EDU!CHARON TUE JUN