Now was the time Moira would find out if Peter was really interested in helping or if he had lost interest since she agreed to vote his way. She needed time for a telephone conversation with Brian, one that would provide the necessary words and phrases for the second part of her script. Without it, it was game over. She used the excuse of needing some final clarification and assurances that she couldn't get from he or Myles; it was a personal thing and she hoped he understood. She used what she believed to be her influence with Peter to arrange for a phone call that night. He was unusually accommodating and it triggered a small alarm but Moira felt confident that she was in control, and with a gush of thanks awaited his call.

The WesCat Alliance board was holding a strategy meeting that night and during the break, which Peter promised would take place at a specific time, Brian would be available. Timing was critical. She had to have the recording that night so that she could have the finished product ready at her home for the following evening. Barton would be staying in town after the meeting and wouldn't be home until late the next night. Nervously, she watched the clock and at the appointed time, placed the call on the unregistered cell phone.

If it worked as planned, Peter deserved a celebratory lunch. She would make arrangements.

•••

Howard Tillman pushed the plate away and wiped his hands on the paper serviette, crumpling it and dropping it in the remainder of his fried egg. The woman behind the counter watched him carefully through the mirror behind the counter, offering only once to refill his coffee cup; she felt shivery when he looked at her. He slurped some coffee and turned to look out the steamy diner window.

Howard was a denizen of the fringe. Messenger, strong-arm, bodyguard, whatever role necessary, Howard played them all with equanimity. If the money was good, the employer and the job were of little consequence. In this case, Howard had been contacted anonymously and directed to make himself available for a man representing some broad, which he had done successfully, and was now waiting for his instructions.

The clock with the soft drink ad on its face read two-fifteen and he checked against his wristwatch, muttering aloud.

"Pardon?" The woman asked without approaching. Her eyes locked onto the ugly tattoos decorating his arms.

"More coffee." He held her with his eyes until she had refilled his cup, changing his focus when the vibrator on his cell phone started up. "Yeah."

"Everything is set for tonight. I assume you're in touch with your friend."

"He'll be ready."

"It has to be back this evening-before midnight. You know that, right?"

"Fine." Howard pulled his lips back in a leer. "You aren't payin' me for what I don't know, are you?"

"Okay. Just checking. Remember, timing is critical and so is the elimination of any trail from your technician when we are done."

"I know how to do my job, you just make sure you can spell a lot of money on my cheque."

"You needn't worry. The money will be there... perhaps even a bonus if it all goes exceptionally well."

"I look forward to collecting."

Howard closed his phone and dug into his pocket for some money. He crossed behind the cash register and checked the kitchen area, satisfying himself that the woman was alone then he went to the door and locked it, pulling down the tattered shade.

"I'm waiting for another phone call so until it comes what say you and I have some fun."

•••

The call went through perfectly. Brian responded even better than she had imagined and her tape was filled with several minutes of damning conversation that would be edited into the previous material for use in the next step. The man Myles had hired picked up the tape as planned and Moira clapped her hands, praying it would be back that night on time. Meanwhile, Peter had agreed to her celebration plan and met her at the hotel suite for lunch.

The room service tray sat undisturbed except for the wine. Aimed at taking and maintaining charge, she had almost assaulted him when he came through the door of the hotel room and for the next hour they had consumed one another in a tumbling, rolling, sweaty bout of passion.

She was having a little bit of a struggle with her earring and she leaned closer to the mirror the better to see, her thighs pressing hard against the counter's edge. The movement drew attention away from the problem to her face, and Moira paused, running a critical eye over her features. Even with the afterglow of the previous hour's dalliance, her skin was less smooth than she remembered and tiny fault lines around the eyes and at the corners of her mouth defied the carefully applied makeup. Her lips still looked smooth and plump, thanks to the lip liner she conceded unhappily, and she pursed them seductively, tipping her face this way and that.

She finished with the earring and stood back; distance improved the image immeasurably. Her auburn hair, still light and stylishly cut, framed her oval face and helped the allure of her eyes, her best feature. She heard the outside door click shut in the other room and she closed her eyes happy to have this private moment to voice aloud the reaffirmation of her goal. Brushing the counter marks from the front of her dress, she returned to the sitting room.

Moira chose a small, baked clam on a cracker and ate it as she locked the room and walked arrogantly to the elevator and home to prepare for her final act.

•••

Davis looked up from his bench as the door opened and he slipped the magnifying lens off and smiled a welcome

"My favourite client, come in. Do you like flavoured coffee, there's a nice Swiss chocolate fresh made in the pot there." Harsh light glared from the fluorescent tubes over the bench, highlighting the folds around his mouth and eyes. He rolled back a foot on his chair and waited for a reply.

"I came by with the rest of the script and your money in exchange for everything you have that was used on this project." The coffee offer was flatly ignored. Howard was in a foul mood because Myles had called before he was finished in the diner and he had risked missing his timetable until he had. Now he was running late and Tubbs would have to make up the loss.

Davis picked up the script and read it through carefully, pleased that what was required wouldn't take more than a few hours. "Might as well have some, this is gonna take a while." He pushed his chair across to the wall and picked up a green garbage bag, slinging over to the man's feet. "Every scrap of tape, negative, paper and even the packaging for the materials I used. You can check it out while you wait if you like."

The man opened the bag and gave it cursory glance. "Guess I'll have to trust you, won't I Tubbs?" He tossed an envelope on the bench. "You can look at that when you're done. This better not take long."

Three hours of computer manipulation, editing and digitizing later, Davis arched his back and groaned, slipping the disk from the drive and waving it teasingly at his customer.

"We still have to send it down the phone line to the answering machine. Is everything ready at that end?"

"Just do what you do, Tubbs, we'll worry about our end."

Davis quickly rolled back to the bench and pulled the envelope close as he slipped the disk into the remote modem drive and dialed the number Howard gave him. "So how did it go?" He smiled as his equipment searched through the millions of circuits for the number of Brian's office phone and activated a call between it and the Weston home, playing the new information to the answering machine.

"What?" The word sounded flat and hard.

"Okay, okay. Don't ask. I get it. Just a professional curiosity. You just paid for some of my best work. The nicest touch is this playing the whole thing back down the phone line to your machine. Even if anybody checks they won't be able to say it didn't come from that number." Davis beamed at his client, his fingers pushing the envelope in tiny circles.

"Don't let your thrill with your skill make your mouth flap to anybody else, Tubbs."

Davis drew a zipper across his lips. "Our secret." He shut down the modem, checked the disk, and removed it from the drive, handing it to Tillman. "Done and done, my friend." They stared at one another for a silent moment. "What?"

"You didn't keep any souvenirs did you, Tubbsy?"

"I swear, nothing. It's all in the bag." He held his fingers still over the envelope, afraid to pick it up but equally nervous about leaving it lying there.

The man held out his hand and pointed to the computer. "I want to see that deleted."

"Such a cynic." Davis hit a few keys and leaned back so the man could see the program being erased.

"Good. We never met, right?"

"Never saw you before in my life." Davis waved as the man left and then he quickly tore open the envelope and fanned out the additional thousand he'd received for his creative editing. His heart didn't slow but it took on a more positive beat, relieved that the man was gone. "No souvenirs, partner, just professional business samples." Davis patted the hard drive and laughed aloud in the empty shop.