Paul sat a little straighter. “My father is offworld and has nothing to do with this. I am merely elucidating company policy.”

She leaned toward him and began to gently tousle his remaining hair. It smelled faintly of cologne and steroidal restorer.

“Now honestly, Mr. Paul. I’m going to trust you with my trust fund’s money. All I ask is that you trust me a little bit in return. If we’re going to be working closely together, and I hope and assume that we will be, we’re going to have to put ourselves entirely in each other’s hands.”

He tried to back away from her, but not very hard. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Ms. Kullervo. I’m sure we can work well together. But company policy …”

She sat back. “Company policy is set by company management. I won’t deal with someone who doesn’t have the backbone to be flexible.” Her smile illuminated possibilities he hardly dare imagine. “I was told that you had a flexible backbone, Mr. Paul.”

He swallowed. “I like to think so, but I’m still not sure that …

Very deliberately, she leaned forward a second time, and kissed him. Her mouth and tongue did fascinating offworld things. This time when she sat back his face was profoundly flushed.

“Look, Ms.…”

“Vyra. Just Vyra.”

“Vyra. I wish you wouldn’t …”

She kissed him again.

“I wish you …”

Again.

“I wish …”

Lingeringly.

“I … oh, shit …”

Manz stood staring at the blazing forest. Tongues of flame snaked skyward like reverse lightning while dirty, angry black smoke obscured the blue mountain sky. It was a very fine piece of kinetic sculpture. You could almost hear the wood crackling.

Except for the dominating artwork, the lobby was modestly decorated, businesslike but elegant. Personally, he would have preferred a dionamic of a rushing stream, or waves on a beach. The forest fire struck him as an odd choice, particularly in a climate like Juarez el Paso’s. There was no accounting for taste. He wondered what effect it was intended to have on supplicant businessfolk waiting for admittance to the company’s inner chambers.

“You may go in now, Mr. Manz.” There were two employees in the outer lobby, both human. An attempt to impress, or merely a reflection of conservative values?

The door was traditional, fashioned of wood-grained plastics and manually operated. He closed it behind him, finding the unfamiliar motion strange but not unpleasant.

The man who rose to greet him had some of the same comfortably aged character. Cardinal Monticelli couldn’t be compared to a great wine, but he had good color and full body. The matter of bouquet remained to be determined.

“Mr. Manz. Charmed.” He extended a hand. There was a ring on every finger, each fashioned of a different precious metal.

Manz shook hands. “No, you’re not.” The Minder bobbed at his shoulder.

“We are to be blunt, I see. As you wish.” He withdrew his hand and settled into a large armchair. There was no desk in the room, which resembled a den or study more than an office. Business machinery was cleverly concealed within walls and furniture. A small, real fire hissed in a slate-fronted fireplace.

Is this our fence, our king of jacks? Manz wondered. Or just a repressed pyromaniac? He availed himself of the chair opposite.

“I see no harm in being pleasant,” Monticelli told him. “I am by nature a pleasant man. Of course, should you decide to rise now and depart, I wouldn’t be displeased.” He gestured at the Minder. “Perhaps your shadow device can advise you.”

“Sorry. Questions first.”

The executive shrugged. “Ask away.” At a touch the arm of the chair popped open to reveal an aromatic, climate- controlled cylinder from which Monticelli extracted a long, tapered, olive-brown cigar. As he puffed it alight, the room was filled with a pungent organic smell. Tobacco, Manz thought. He’d heard of it.

“Your queries?” Monticelli prompted his visitor. “I’ve allotted you what I believe to a reasonable length of time.” He gestured with the cigar. Fire as pleasure again, Manz mused. “When this has become unsmokable I’ll expect you to leave. So let’s not waste any time. Drink?”

Manz shook his head. “Too early for me.”

Manicured eyebrows rose. “You surprise me.” He thumbed a control hidden beneath the upholstery. “Knick-knack, something to sip. The usual, well chilled.”

Despite Monticelli’s admonition to get on with it, Manz was forced to make small talk as a towering figure with a face like chipped ferrocrete entered from a door on the left. He held a tall, narrow glass between two cablelike fingers. Somehow the delicate stemware survived.

Monticelli accepted the glass. Instead of departing back the way he’d come, the monstrous attendant moved to stand next to the far wall. While some of the characteristics he displayed were decidedly machinelike, he was definitely no mechanical.

“What do you call it?” Manz nodded in the giant’s direction.

“Hmmm? Oh, that’s Knick-knack. Why?”

“I was just thinking that something like ‘Karg’ or ‘Unk’ would be more descriptive. Moves all by himself, does he? No wires, no remotes?”

The giant was aware that he was being spoken of in less than complimentary terms. Eyes narrowed. “How about I shove both your hands in your mouth, funny man? And then maybe pull them out your ears?”

Monticelli frowned. “Knick-knack, behave.”

“Please, Mr. Monticelli. Just one? I only choke him for a little minute.”

“No. Be quiet.”

“I’ll bet you could do that,” Manz commented admiringly. “I’ll bet you could shove both a man’s hands into his mouth. Or break his arms. Or his neck. Or the necks of two men. Police officers, even.”

Monticelli smiled ingratiatingly. “Mr. Manz, what is your purpose in coming here? Your credentials did not allow me to refuse you, but neither do they endear you to me. I am concurrent with the news. Your verbal baiting and veiled accusation of my associate lead me to assume that you are referring to the recent murders of two JeP police officers and the case they were monitoring.”

“You’re up on the news, all right. In advance of it, even, since neither event has yet to be mentioned in the media.”

Monticelli chuckled, took a puff on the cigar and a sip from his glass. “Give me a little credit, Mr. Manz. Anyone who has any dealings with pharmaceuticals or their manufacturers, or distributors, or retailers, is aware of the stories.”

“Looking to buy illegals?”

The executive was not in the least offended. “Looking to stay abreast of the competition. I am a competent businessman, Mr. Manz. More than competent, I like to think. I take both pride and joy in my life. Commerce is like a fire. You try to keep from being incinerated while hoping that the flames devour your competitors.”

“I wasn’t accusing you,” Manz told him, half honestly. “Just trying to find out what you know.” He crossed one leg over the other. The chair was very comfortable. “I’d be interested in your overview of the whole matter.”

“In contrast to what you might think, I find it all most distressing. Honest businessmen begin to wonder when even a concern as large as Braun-Roche-Keck cannot assure safe passage of their most valuable goods, and when the local authorities cannot catch jackers as bold as these. Much less prevent them from repeating their activities. Borgia ships a great deal of product offworld. So far we haven’t been jacked, but we worry each individual shipment through from warehouse to orbit. I tell you, Mr. Manz, it’s not conducive to one’s health.”

“Yeah, I can see that you’re all broken up about it. Remember a young woman name of Suhkhet li Trong? Liked to be called Sooky? Records indicate that she did temptech work for you.”

“For the company perhaps; not for me personally. I’ve met rather a lot of young women, Mr. Manz. A number are working hard for Borgia even as we speak. I don’t make it a point to meet each of my employees personally, not even the attractive ones. Even were I so inclined, it would leave me no time to do anything else. We’re a substantial concern here.”