As he lay there wondering what the hell could be worth so damn much and be small enough to hide in a house, he noticed Thomas and Kemel heading for the door.
Jack felt like singing that old Peggy Lee song, "Is That All There Is?"
What had he learned here?
Well, he'd seen Kemel. That was something. And he'd learned that whatever was in the Clayton house was damn near priceless to some very rich folks from the Middle East. And he'd learned that Thomas's people weren't the only ones interested in it. They were concerned about it falling into "the wrong hands." Whose hands were the "wrong" hands? He didn't think they meant Alicia's. Another Middle East power? Israel? Or someone else?
But he'd hoped for more, especially after risking his butt in an elevator shaft, sweating and crawling through filthy heating ducts, and wedging himself into spaces where he could barely breathe.
He cursed them for being so damn oblique. What was this mysterious it? Why couldn't they just come out and say what was in the house? He grinned—hell, it wasn't as if anybody was listening in on them.
But maybe the it they were after was so important, so valuable, that they instinctively avoided referring to it by name.
As Jack wiped some sweat from his eyes, his overall sleeve caught the lens on his headlamp and knocked it off. He snatched at it but it slipped from his fingers and landed with a clunk on the floor of the duct.
Jack froze as Kemel stopped at the threshold and whirled.
"What was that?"
"What was what?" Thomas said, poking his head back in from the hall.
"That noise." Kemel was moving around the conference table and heading for Jack's position. "It came from over there. From that heating vent, I think."
Jack grabbed the lens and slid back as far as he could without completely withdrawing from the duct. He didn't think he could do that without making more noise, so he lay silent and waited.
He held his breath as a bearded face popped into view beyond the louvers.
"It came from in here," Kemel said. "I am sure of it."
"So?" Thomas said from somewhere behind Kemel. "Probably a mouse or something."
"This was not a mouse." Kemel tried to force his fingers between the louvers but the spaces were too small. "Quick. Give me something to remove this grate."
Jack inched back a little farther. If that vent plate started to come loose, he'd have to take off.
"You've got to be kidding," Thomas said. "What do you think you're going to find?"
"Perhaps someone has been listening."
"From in there?" Thomas laughed. "Look, Kemel, I don't know about the level of espionage technology in Saudi Arabia, but over here if we want to eavesdrop on someone, we don't stuff a midget into a vent. We do it electronically: We plant a bug."
He's right, Kemel, Jack thought. Don't be a jerk. Listen to the man.
"I know what I heard," Kemel said. "Get me a screwdriver."
"I didn't think you Moslems drank."
"This is not a matter for joking! I want to look in here!"
"All right, all right. Here. It's my nail clipper. You can use the back end there as a screwdriver."
Jack knew this was his signal to chuck caution and vamoose. He backed into the larger duct and began his return trip.
Behind him, Kemel's voice rose in pitch and volume.
"There! Do you hear that? Someone is in there, I tell you! Call Mr. Haffner. Tell him to call security. Someone has been spying on us!"
Jack paused to turn on his headlamp and replace the lens, then he resumed his crawl. He followed Milkdud's red return arrows and didn't stop until he reached the big vertical shaft.
Sweating and panting, he clung to the ladder to catch his breath and cool off. He unzipped the front of his overall to let in some air—damn thing must be insulated.
This was not good. Depending on the size of the building's security force and whether or not they called in the city cops, this little jaunt might well end with Jack's arrest. The charge would be piddly—what could they hold him for besides trespassing?
But the charge would be irrelevant. The arrest itself would do all the damage. Arrest meant photos and fingerprints and giving an address. Suddenly he'd be Citizen Jack. Officialdom would have a record of his existence. They'd want to fill in all the blanks on their forms, and so they'd start prying at his doors and chipping away at his walls, bringing down all the barriers he'd spent his whole adult life erecting between his world and. theirs.
He needed out of here. Now.
Jack pulled out the cell phone and speed-dialed Milkdud.
"Yeah," Dud's voice said after the second ring.
"It's me," Jack said in a low voice. "They know I'm in here. What's the quickest way out?"
"The quickest? Jump out a window."
"That's not a big help right now, Dud."
"Sorry. The quickest way out is to go through the door from the HVAC area into the building proper, then take the stairs down. But the door's alarmed, and that'll let them know where you are and give them a chance to cut you off. Best way out is exactly the way you came in. Climb up to the HVAC area ASAP, get back into that business suit, and wait by the door to the elevator shaft. I'm on my way now, moving as we speak. When I have the left elevator all to myself on the top floor, I'll call you. Got it?"
"Got it."
Jack hit end and left the cell phone's power on, but he switched off the ringer and activated the vibration option. When Milkdud called back, Jack would feel it rather than hear it.
He climbed up the ladder and exited the duct system into the HVAC area. At last—someplace cool. He stripped off the sneakers and dusty coverall, stuffed them back into the briefcase, then wriggled back into his suit and wing tips.
At least he didn't have to retie the tie.
When he looked like a lawyer again, he buckled the briefcase into his belt, turned off the room lights, stepped over to the door to the elevator shaft, and waited for Milk-dud's call.
But a couple of maintenance guys arrived first.
Jack heard their voices on the far side of the other HVAC door, the alarmed one that led into the building proper. He opened his door, swung out into the elevator shaft, and closed the door behind him.
"Here I am, Dud," he whispered. "Now where the hell are you?"
He looked down. All three elevators seemed to be at the lower end of the shaft at the moment, and it looked like one godawful long way down. Jack pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear what the maintenance men were saying.
"Y'ever hear anyt'ing so fuckin' stupid?" said a faint voice. "A guy crawling t'rough d' heating ducts? I mean, what's dat all about?"
"Yeah. I think maybe someone's been hittin' the nose candy a little hard, if y'know what I'm sayin' and I think you do."
"Right. Tis the season to be jolly an' all 'at shit. But let's go t'rough d' motions an' make 'em happy."
Jack thought he heard footsteps coming his way on the far side of the door, so he hurried down the ladder and hung at about the spot where he'd stepped off the top of the elevator.
He looked down and saw that same old elevator pulling to a stop at the twenty-sixth. Too early for Milkdud to be inside. He looked down at the top of the car, where he'd crouched, clutching the sling bar.
Above him, the door handle rattled. Christ, were they going to check the elevator shaft?
Check the ventilation ducts first, you idiots!
They'd see the lights he'd left on in the shaft and think he was still in there.
But the door was opening. The elevator had stopped just below him, and Jack didn't see that he had much choice. He didn't want another ride, really he didn't, but—