walked Wu down the aisle. The section they were in had been roped off,
so that they sat in the middle of a block of four rows alone; the other
seats in the block were all empty. There were maybe forty people
already in their seats, with a few others trickling in.
Wu carried a fold-out laptop computer slung over one shoulder--and a
big tub of popcorn.
Ventura smiled at that. Had to give the man credit for style.
Ventura and Morrison both stood, and Wu moved to join them. He slipped
under the velvet rope to sit between Ventura and Morrison. While he
was talking and concentrating on the scientist, Ventura would be behind
him.
Wu held up the tub of popcorn.
'Want some? I think it's got real butter on it. It should be real, it
cost four bucks.'
Ventura was tempted to dig around and see if there was a pistol hidden
there--he'd have a small one under the popcorn--but both he and
Morrison declined the offer.
Ahead of them, the huge screen was still dark. There wouldn't be any
coming attractions or ads run today.
'What time does the movie start?'
'We have a few minutes,' Ventura said.
'Good, good, we can get this business taken care of and enjoy the
picture. Same people did this who did Quintan's Revenge, and it's
gotten good reviews.'
He sounded relaxed enough, and that was a good sign.
He'd brought in ten people, who were scattered around the theater with
their own tubs of popcorn or boxes of candy, so he ought to feel as if
he was in control of the situation, or at least be on a par with
Ventura. He either couldn't sense the sights lined up on his skull
from the projection booth, or he really was a chilly character not
afraid to die.
'Now you know we Chinese like to dawdle and make polite small talk
before we discuss business, but this is America and I like to fit in,
so what say we get down to it?' He slipped the computer off his
shoulder and unrolled the flexible pop-up LCD screen, locked it into
place, and then unfolded the keyboard. The computer came on with a
small chimed chord, and the screen lit up.
Mormon's computer was already up and running, on the seat on the other
side of him. He picked it up.
'Ah, here we are,' Wu said.
'Your bank account number?'
Morrison read off a fifteen-digit series of numbers and letters.
Wu typed it into his computer. He looked up at Morrison and smiled.
'And that was for ... three hundred million dollars, U.S.?'
'Four hundred million,' Morrison said quickly.
'A small joke. Doctor.' He tapped in the numbers. He said, 'It's a
fair-sized transaction, but nothing huge. It'll take only a few
seconds for them to verify the account we're transferring from, and
acknowledge the credit.'
Ventura did a sweep of the room. It seemed as if this might come off
