"Maybe." Milkdud stayed cool. "Don't know about any official code, but I, know it goes against Milkdud's."
Jack leaned back and sipped his Pepsi. "Damn, Milkdud. I was counting on you."
"You want to eavesdrop these days, you don't need anything in the room. You just bounce a laser beam off the window glass and you'll hear every word they say."
"I'm fresh out of lasers today."
"You can buy one in dozens of these 'executive security' places all over town. I think there's even one on Fifth Avenue around the corner from the Hand."
"My operation's not exactly high tech, Dud. No way I could rig up a laser on Forty-fifth Street. You see that stuff on TV all the time, but I work in the real world. And besides, I need more than just audio. I want to see into that office. The meeting itself isn't as important as who's present and what's said after the meeting."
"So," Milkdud said, "why don't you get in there and watch and listen yourself?"
"Me… hack my first building… in midtown… during business hours? Right."
Jack had a vision of himself wedged into a ventilation duct, mewing like a kitten up a tree, while firemen and EMS men broke through walls and acetylene torched their way through the galvanized metal to cut him free.
And then his picture on the front pages of the Post and the Daily News. He could see the headlines:
AIR SHAFT AIRHEAD GETS CAUGHT!
He shuddered.
"No, thanks."
"I'll help you," Milkdud said.
"What about the Milkdud Code?"
"It says I won't plant any devices for you, but it doesn't say I can't show you how to hack a building. That would make me an apostle of the building hack. I'd be… St. Milkdud, a missionary, spreading the word to the unenlightened, making converts—"
"Okay," Jack said, smiling and holding up his hands. "I get it."
He thought about the offer. If Milkdud could get him to a spot where he could see and hear what went on in Thomas Clayton's lawyer's office…
"Let me get this straight," Jack said. "You're offering to be my guide into the bowels of the Hand Building—"
"Pathfinder would be more accurate. Trailblazer even more so."
"Which means?"
"I'll check my notes and rehack the Hand this weekend. You tell me where you want to be, and I'll see if I can find a way for you to get there. If I do find one, I'll get you into the building on the morning of the meeting and point you in the right direction."
"You mean you won't be coming along?"
Milkdud shook his head. "Uh-uh. The code, you know."
"But what if I get lost or"—the Jack-as-kitten-up-a-tree vision flashed before him again—"stuck?"
"I'll diagram your route and mark the passage. If you can follow directions and road signs, you should have no problem. And if it'll make you feel better, bring along a cell phone. I'll be outside. You get in trouble, call me."
Jack drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. His instincts told him to find some other way. He wasn't claustrophobic—he'd spent long hours in cramped places before—but he preferred multiple escape routes whenever he put himself into a situation. But with Milkdud available to back him up… maybe it could work.
"All right," Jack said. "Let's plan it out."
"First thing I'll need to know is the location of the meeting. The exact location."
"I can get that." I think.
"Good. Next thing is, you've got to get yourself some hacking clothes."
"Such as?"
"Well, in the summer, when the AC is on, I use long Johns. But in the winter, it can get hot in those ducts. Even in the returns. So I'd recommend a lightweight coverall—sans buttons, or a rugby shirt and panty hose."
"Panty hose? Jeez, Dud!"
"You're gonna be belly-crawling every which way you can, Jack. You gotta be able to slide, man."
"Yeah… but pantyhose?"
Another Post headline flashed before his eyes:
PANTY-HOSED PEEPER PINCHED IN PIPES!
Jack said, "I'll go with the coveralls, I think. What else will I need?"
"A three-piece suit."
"Aw, no!"
2.
"Where did we meet?" Alicia said, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she unwrapped half a turkey sub from the Blimpie's down the block. "In Gordon Haffner's office. He's Thomas's lawyer."
She'd waited all morning to hear from Jack. He'd been so excited last night after finding that magic marker squiggle in the Hand Building lobby. He'd started babbling about building hackers—whatever they were—and somebody named Milkdud. He'd taken her home, checked out her apartment to make sure it was empty and secure, then left her, saying he'd call in the morning.
Well, he hadn't called. And she'd had some very bad moments walking to the hospital this morning. She'd kept to the center of the sidewalk, eyeing every van near the curb, every passerby, tensing at every set of hurried footsteps behind her. She'd never been so relieved to see the guard at the front door.
Her relief had turned to dismay when she saw Hector's blood culture report: Candida albicans, the opportunistic fungus that rode into AIDS patients on the backs of other infections. She'd added IV amphotericin B to the mix of meds flowing into Hector, and crossed her fingers.
His foster mother probably hadn't been giving him his prophylactic Diflucan either. At least Alicia hoped that was the reason for the infection. If not, it meant he'd picked up a resistant strain, and that could be bad. Very bad.
She took a bite of her sandwich. She hadn't had dinner last night, hadn't been able to stomach breakfast this morning; it had taken until noon for the thought of food to occur to her. And now, just as she was starting lunch at her desk, Jack called.
"Gordon Haffner," Jack said. "Where's his office on the floor?"
She swallowed. "I'm not sure."
"It's important, Alicia."
"All right, then. Let me think."
She replayed that afternoon in her mind, walking through the glass doors on the twenty-first floor with Leo Weinstein, sitting in the reception area, then being led down a hall to Haffner's office. She remembered looking out the window and seeing the blue canopy of the Chemists' Club across the street below.
"He overlooks Forty-fifth Street."
"That's a start. But I need to know exactly. Is it a corner office?"
"No. But it's right next to a corner office—the east corner."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely. I remember thinking that Thomas might not have the top man in the firm, but he seems to have someone close to the top."
"The office next to the east corner overlooking Forty-fifth," Jack said. "Got it."
"What's up?" she said.
"You're going to have a meeting with Mr. Haffner Monday morning. You're going to tell him you're ready to sell the place."
She almost choked on a mouthful of turkey. She coughed and swallowed.
"Like hell, I am!"
"Easy. Just listen. You're going to ask an absurd amount, say, ten million."
"They'll never go for that."
"Of course not. The offer isn't the point. It's the meeting we want. I'll explain all the details later. Right now you should be freeing up Monday morning so you can be there. A guy named Sean O'Neill will be calling you this afternoon. He'll be your lawyer on Monday."
"My lawyer? But he doesn't know a thing about—"
"He doesn't need to, and believe me, he doesn't want to. Sean's greatest pleasure in life is driving other lawyers crazy. He'll set up the meeting for you."
She checked her calendar. Monday morning… she'd have to excuse herself from the monthly meeting of the infectious disease department… but nothing else was pressing.