“I know. I want to thank you for helping.”
“Of course. However, and I hate to be blunt and to the point, but have you considered how to go forward with the project?”
Jacob knew what Johnson’s attitude would be, but he still had to restrain himself. “We have. We are working on a new plan.”
“I assume it involves your employee, Two-Step?”
“He’s not my employee, but it does. That brings up something I want to know.”
“I will do my best to answer your questions.”
“Just how do you know so much about me? About all of us?”
Johnson placed his hands on the edge of the table. “Information is my job, Mr. Quince. It is what I do. I am sure you understand when I tell you that I can not divulge my means of gathering my information.”
“A magician never reveals his tricks.”
“Precisely.”
“What about that day at the parking garage? Was that your men who came to our rescue? You never gave me a clear answer at the hospital.”
“I thought you might want to revisit that subject.” Johnson paused. “I believe they work for the NirvanaWare Corporation. I suspect you have come to that conclusion yourself. It is my understanding they were retaliating for a hijacking involving some of their technology.”
Jacob grunted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“But I did. They were not, how did you put it, my ‘men.’ They work for NirvanaWare.”
“And you? Do you work for NirvanaWare?”
“Mr. Quince, as I have said...”
Jacob cut him off. “Your employer is unimportant. I get it. I think I have my answer either way.”
Johnson leaned back. “Let me give you an analogy. You have performed several jobs for the SRS, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Does it matter to you who may have hired the SRS in any of those cases?”
“It’s the SRS.”
“That is true, on the surface, but is it possible someone hired them for the job?”
Jacob nodded.
“Were you ever concerned with who that might be?”
“No. But if I thought someone hired them for a job I was taking part in, I would want to know who it was. I just like to know who I’m working for.”
“I understand. In this case, you are essentially working for me.”
Johnson sat with an air of smugness as if he were trying to provoke Jacob.
He didn’t take the bait and said, “Maybe. I’m doing this job for you, and when it’s done, we’re done.”
Johnson pushed his chair out and stood. “Perhaps. Who knows what the future holds, Mr. Quince.”
Jacob stared up at him.
“You will keep me informed on your progress,” Johnson said.
“I think you’ll find out anyway, but, as you like to say, of course.”
Chapter 39
The walls in Mr. Craig’s waiting room no longer played nature videos. Instead, a constant stream of rally car crashes occupied the floor to ceiling screens, making the cars appear life-size as they raced across the walls. The effect was disorienting, much more so than the images of animal combat. Even on the wall screens, the animals appeared distant, there was a noticeable space between the viewer and the hunt. But the cars, often coming within inches of the camera recording them, gave Johnson an urge to move out of the way. As he sat waiting, he found himself flinching more than once as a car entered the edge of his vision, tumbling end over end, hitting a tree, or careening off the road. It was unnerving, but he would never admit this.
However, by the time Mr. Craig was ready to see him, Johnson had grown used to it and found himself enjoying it. When he entered the office, Evgeny Tal sat in one of the chairs in front of Mr. Craig’s desk. Seeing the Russian caused Johnson to hesitate slightly as he shut the door.
“Johnson, I believe you know Mr. Tal,” Mr. Craig said with a sweeping gesture in Evgeny’s direction.
Evgeny stood, extending his hand. Johnson shook his hand, giving a slight smile, maintaining eye contact.
“Hello again,” Evgeny said.
“Hello.”
“Please, be seated, gentleman. We have much to discuss.” Mr. Craig turned to Johnson. “Did I detect the slightest bit of surprise on your face Johnson?”
“The slightest bit,” Johnson said, waiting for Evgeny to sit before he did.
Mr. Craig seemed pleased. “It is a special day. You see Mr. Tal, Johnson is the best in the business of gathering information and predicting outcomes. If you want to know something that has happened, or that may happen, Johnson is the man to call. He knew Mr. Li would not be open to further our relationship, and he recommended you be given the opportunity. Regrettably, I made the mistake of listening to a team of probability programmers who insisted their AI had crunched the numbers flawlessly before I approached Johnson. By then, Mr. Li let his intentions be known. Thankfully, it worked out in the end. Would you agree?”
“Yes,” Evgeny said.
“Excellent. Now, I hate to do business with an empty glass. Was it too presumptuous of me to have had vodka delivered? I rarely drink it myself.”
“Vodka would be fine,” Evgeny said. He seemed unsure if he should smile or be insulted. He smiled.
“Johnson is a whiskey man. As am I,” Mr. Craig said, going to his wet bar and fixing the drinks. He gestured at the wet bar. “You know, my wife says I should do away with this old bar. She thinks I should modernize and get one of the new automated models. Every drink is measured to precise amounts, and the AI program monitors how intoxicated you are and adjusts the alcohol level in the drinks it serves you. I tried explaining to her there is something special about feeling the weight of the bottle in your hand as you pour a drink, the satisfaction of getting a mixed drink just so. She does not understand. She just wants convenience. Much like my team of probability programmers. Well, I am rambling. Shall we get to the business at
