“You can take it out of my paycheck, if you want. If I don't have a job, I can't pay you back at all.” It was a sensible way to look at it, and Addison knew it was true too, although he no longer expected to recoup the money. It was one of those losses that happened in that kind of business. What he liked about it was that Peter had an obligation to him.

“Why don't you come in and talk to me,” he said, sounding pensive.

“When?” Peter hoped it would be soon, but didn't want to push. And the secretary had said he was out of the country, which was probably a smokescreen.

“Five o'clock today,” Addison said, without asking if it was convenient for him. He didn't care if it was or not. If Peter wanted to work for him, he had to learn to jump when Addison told him to. Addison had fronted money for him before, but he had never actually employed him. This was different.

“Where do I go?” Peter asked in a dead voice. He could still say no if whatever Addison offered him was too outrageous, or too insulting. But Peter was fully prepared to be insulted, and used, and even mistreated. As long as it was legal.

Addison gave him the address, told him to be on time, and hung up on him. The address he gave Peter was in San Mateo. He knew it was where he held his legitimate business. He had a high-tech company that had been a mammoth success at first, and had trouble after that. It had gone up and down over the years, and had been booming at the height of the dot-com craze. The stock prices had fallen drastically after that, just as everything else had. They made high-tech surgical equipment, and Peter knew he had also made some big investments in genetic engineering. Addison himself was both an engineer and had a medical background. And for a while, at least, he had been thought to be a genius with money. But eventually, he had proven that like everyone else, he had clay feet, and he had overextended himself pretty badly. He had shored up his own finances by running drugs out of Mexico, and the bulk of his net worth now was in crystal meth labs in Mexico, and a land office business he did selling heroin in the Mission. And some of his best clients were yuppies. They didn't know they were buying it from him, of course, no one did. Even his own family thought he ran a respectable business. He had a house in Ross, children in private schools, he served on all the respectable charity boards, and belonged to the best clubs in San Francisco. He was thought to be a pillar of the community. Peter knew better. They had met when Peter was in trouble before, and Phillip Addison had quietly offered to help him. He had even supplied the drugs at discount rates at first, and told Peter how to sell them. If his own use hadn't gotten out of hand, and his judgment with it, Peter would probably never have gone to prison.

Addison was smarter than that. He never touched the drugs he sold. He was clever, and ingenious about how he ran his underground empire. Most of the time, he was a good judge of horseflesh. He had made a mistake in Peter, he had thought he was more ambitious than he was, and more devious. In the end, Peter was just another nice guy gone wrong, who had no idea what he was doing. A guy like him was a real risk to Phillip Addison, because he had all the wrong instincts. Peter had been a petty criminal, forced into it by circumstance and poor judgment, and eventually his own addiction. Addison was a major criminal. For him, it was a lifetime commitment. And for Peter, only a pastime. But in spite of that, Addison thought he could use him. He was smart, well educated, and had grown up with the right people in the right places. He had gone to good schools, was good-looking and presentable, had married well, even if he had screwed it up. And a Harvard MBA degree was nothing to sneeze at. When Peter and Phillip Addison had met, Peter even had the right connections. Now he had blown them, but if he could get on his feet again, with Phillip's help, Addison thought he could be useful. And with what he'd learned in prison in the last four years, perhaps even more so. He had been an amateur conman before, an innocent gone wrong. But if he'd turned pro, Addison wanted him, no question. What he needed to assess now was what Peter had learned, what he was willing to do, and how desperate he was at the moment. His minor claims of only wanting to work legally were of no interest to Phillip. He didn't care what Peter said. The question was what would he do, and the debt he still owed was only a plus in their dealings, from Phillip's viewpoint. It gave him a hold over Peter that appealed to Phillip immensely, and a lot less to Peter. It also hadn't gone unnoticed by Addison that Peter had never divulged his name or exposed him once he was arrested, which showed that he could be trusted. Addison liked that about Peter. He hadn't taken anyone down with him when he went down. It was the main reason why Addison hadn't had him killed. Peter was, in some ways at least, a man of honor. Even if it was honor among thieves.

Peter rode the bus to San Mateo wearing the only clothes he now owned. He looked neat and clean, and had gotten himself a decent haircut. But all he had to wear were the jeans and denim shirt and running shoes they'd given him in prison. He didn't even own a jacket, and he couldn't afford to buy a suit for the interview. As he reached the address on foot, he felt overwhelmed with trepidation.

And in his office, Phillip Addison was sitting at his desk, reading through a thick file. It had been in a locked drawer in his desk for over a year, and was a life's dream for him. He had been thinking about it for nearly three years now. It was the only project he wanted Peter's help with. And whether or not he was willing to do it was of no interest to Phillip. Whether he was capable of pulling it off was the only question. This was the one thing he was not willing to risk, or do badly. It had to be done with the precision of the Bolshoi Ballet, or the surgical instruments he made, with the infinite pinpoint perfection of a laser. There was no room here for slippage. Peter was perfect for it, he thought. It was why Addison had called him back. He had thought of it the moment he got the message. And when his secretary told him Peter was there, he put the file back in the locked drawer, and stood up to greet Peter.

What Peter saw when he entered the room was a tall, impeccably groomed man in his late fifties. He was wearing a custom-made English suit, a handsome tie, and a shirt that had been made for him in Paris. Even his shoes were shined to perfection when he came around the desk to shake Peter's hand, seeming not to notice the garb Peter wore, which he wouldn't have deigned to wash his car with, and Peter knew it. Phillip Addison was so smooth, he was like a greased marble egg sliding across the floor. You could never get a grip on him, or get the goods on him. No one ever had. He was above suspicion. And it made Peter feel uneasy to find him so friendly. His mild threats about the money Peter owed when he called seemed to have been forgotten.

They chatted inanely for a while, and Phillip indulged him by asking what he had in mind. Peter told him the areas that were of interest. Marketing, finance, new investments, new divisions, new business, anything entrepreneurial that Addison thought would be suited to him. And then he sighed and looked at Phillip. It was time to be honest.

“Look, I need the work. If I don't get a job, I'm going to be out on the street with a shopping cart and a tin cup, and maybe only the tin cup and no cart. I'll do whatever you need me to, within reason. I don't want to go back to prison. Short of that, I'd like to work for you. In your legitimate business obviously. The other stuff is just too risky for me. I can't do it. And I don't want to.”

“You've gotten very noble in the last four years. You didn't have quite as many compunctions five years ago, when I met you.”

“I was stupid and a lot younger, and pretty crazy. Fifty-one months in Pelican Bay gets your feet on the floor, and your head out of your ass. It was a good wake-up call, if you can call it that. I'm not going back there. Next time, they'll have to kill me.” He meant it.

“You were lucky they didn't kill you last time,” Addison said openly. “You pissed off a lot of people when you left. What about your debt to me?” Addison asked, not so much because he wanted it, but he wanted to remind Peter that he owed him. It was a fortuitous beginning. For Addison, if not for Peter.

“I told you, I'd be happy to work for it, and have you take it out of my paycheck over time. It's the best I can do for now. I have nothing else to give you.” Addison knew it was the truth. They both did, and Peter was being honest with him. As honest as you could be with a man like Addison. Honesty wasn't something he valued. For him, choirboys were useless. But even Phillip knew you couldn't get blood from a stone. Peter had no money to give him. All he had were brains and motivation, and for now that was enough.

“I could still have you killed, you know,” Addison said quietly. “Some of our mutual friends in Mexico would be happy to do it. More particularly there's one in Colombia who wanted to have you taken out in prison. I asked him not to. I always liked you, Morgan,” Addison said as though discussing his golf game with him. He played golf regularly with heads of industries and heads of state alike. He had important political connections. He was a fraud of such a lofty degree that Peter knew he would be helpless to go after him, if anything ever went wrong. He was a powerful man, an evil force, with absolutely no integrity or morals. None whatsoever. And Peter knew it. He was outclassed in every possible way. If Peter went to work for him, he would be a pawn in one of Addison's chess games. But if he didn't, sooner or later, out of sheer desperation, he could wind up back in Pelican Bay, working for the warden.

“If that's true, about the guy from Colombia, then thank you,” Peter said politely. He didn't want to lie to him, and in response to Addison saying he had always liked him, Peter didn't respond. He never had liked Addison. He knew too much to like him. Addison looked good, but was rotten. He had a very social wife, and four very lovely children. To the few who knew him well, and knew the many masks he wore, they compared Phillip Addison to Satan. To the rest of the world, he seemed successful and respectable. Peter knew better.

“I figured you'd be more useful to me alive one day,” Addison said thoughtfully, as though he had something in mind for him, which he did. “And that time may have come. It seemed like a waste having you die in prison. I have an idea for you. I was thinking about it after we talked today. It's sort of a precision issue of sorts. A highly technical, carefully organized, synchronized combined effort between experts.” He made it sound like open heart surgery, and Peter couldn't figure out what kind of project it was, from what he was saying.

“In what field?” Peter asked, relieved to be talking about work finally, and not threats to have him killed, or the money he owed him. They were getting down to business.

“I'm not prepared to explain it to you yet. I will. But I want to do some more research. Actually, you're going to do the research. I want to think about the execution of the project. That's my job. But first, I want to know that you're in. I want to hire you as the project coordinator. I don't think you have the technical knowledge to do the job. Neither do I. But I want you to line up the experts who will do it for us. And together, we'll share in the profits. I want to cut you in on this deal, not just hire you as an employee. If you do this right, you'll have earned it.” Peter was intrigued as he listened. It sounded interesting and challenging, and profitable. It was just what he needed to get on his feet and make a few investments of his own again, maybe start his own company. He had a keen sense for investments, and had learned a lot before he got off on the wrong track. This was the chance he needed to start over. It was too good to hope for. Maybe his luck was turning. Addison was finally doing something decent for him, and Peter was grateful.

“Is it a long-term research project, to be developed over several years?” There was job security in that, although it might tie him to Addison for longer than he wanted. But it would also give him plenty of time to get on his feet, which was something. He might even get visitation rights with his girls again, which Peter still dreamed of, when he allowed himself to. He hadn't seen his daughters in five years, and his heart ached when he thought of it. He had screwed everything up so badly in the past, even his relationship with his children, while they were still babies. He hoped one day to get to know them. And with financial stability again, he could approach Janet more reasonably, even if she had remarried.