against the wall opposite the door with an impact that jarred him to the bone.
He brought his face in close to Nimec, his features a quivering mask of rage, his breath gusting into his nostrils.
'You want to fight, I'll break your fucking neck right here!' he bellowed, shaking Nimec, battering his head against the wall. 'Right here like I did to that other American!'
Nimec's eyes widened. His heart pounded and swelled within him until its beating seemed to fill the universe.
Like I did to that other American.
Groaning from exertion, he pushed against the pirate's wrists, pushed, pushed—
Right here.
That other American.
Pushed—
For an instant he thought the pirate's grip would never relent… and then, miraculously, it did.
Shoving off the wall, Nimec brought his knee up fast, driving it into his crotch. Xiang's hands fell away from his head. Nimec hit him again, hard to the face with his fist, kept pressing. Threw another jab, another, another.
The giant started to sag, but Nimec didn't let up. He just kept thinking that Max was dead, and this was the man who'd killed him.
Two, three, four more powerful jabs, and then Xiang surprised him. He fell forward heavily, lumbering into Nimec and knocking him backward.
In that moment, as the two men separated, Xiang lifted his bloody face, his lips twisted into a sneer, and pulled his kris from its sheath.
Nimec froze, staring at that long, wavy blade, but Xiang didn't give him time to react. The giant lunged forward, the knife flickering toward Nimec's throat.
Nimec moved back a half step, pivoting on the ball of his left foot, and reached out. His right hand caught the back of Xiang's knife hand. His left hand slapped the inside of the giant's elbow, then turned and lifted the elbow up and out. Without pausing, Nimec stepped forward, pulling the giant toward him, and buried the knife deep into Xiang's chest, directly below the rib cage and angling up toward the heart.
Xiang remained on his feet another few seconds, looked down at the knife jutting from the center of his rib cage with an expression of utter astonishment, and dropped onto his face.
Nimec stepped back, breathing hard, the pain of his wounds rising up within him, and looked down at the fallen giant.
It was, at last, over.
EPILOGUE:
'Just days ago, i sat here and explained TO someone how I knew about Marcus Caine's crimes without being able to prove them,' Gordian was saying. He placed his hand on the wallet-sized digital recorder on his desk. 'Now I've got proof, thanks to you.'
'And Max,' Kirsten said from the seat opposite him. 'If not for him, I'd never have gotten it. And to be honest about it, might have kidded myself into thinking nothing strange was going on at Monolith.'
Gordian looked at her, his frank blue eyes meeting her brown ones.
'For a while, maybe,' he said. 'But sooner or later you'd have stopped kidding yourself. And you'd have done exactly what you did.'
She shrugged. They were silent a moment, just the two of them in the office. Outside the window behind Gordian, Mount Hamilton rose through the late afternoon smog, massive and somehow benign in its fixed solidity.
'Maybe you're right,' she said at last. 'But I'd noticed a lot of unexplained payments to American lobbyists crossing my desk. Sums that went far beyond what they should have been receiving for their services. And as I started paying closer attention to them, I realized they always followed visits to my department head from someone who was with the Canbera bank in Indonesia.' She shrugged again. 'Anyone with open eyes could have seen the money was graft to American politicians. The lobbying group to whom it was going was specifically hired to promote deregulation of cryptographic technology in Washington. But it wasn't until I mentioned it to Max that I allowed myself to see the truth.'
'And it was Max who convinced you to snoop around in the computer databases for financial discrepancies.'
'And plant the voice recorder in the Corporate Communications director's office.' She shook her head. 'It's hard for me to believe how indiscreet they were. I mean, I walked right in there every day before my boss arrived, tucked it behind the sofa, and picked it up every evening between the time he left work and when the maintenance woman came to do her cleanup. Then I'd walk back to my own office and upload everything onto a computer disk before heading home. It went on like that for two months.'
'People get away with murder long enough, they get arrogant. They get arrogant, they start to think nothing can touch them. And as a result we've got half a dozen conversations about the payoffs between the director and Nga Canbera… and a couple with Marcus Caine's voice added to the mix. Coming over your former boss's speakerphone loud and clear.'
'The CEO of Monolith himself imparting his wisdom about which government officials to target for bribes,' Kirsten said. 'Incredible, really.'
They were quiet again for a while. Then Gordian leaned forward, meshed his fingers on the desk, and looked steadily at her face.
'Kirsten, I didn't ask you here to the States because I needed to have the voice recorder and disks hand- delivered,' he said. 'I wanted to tell you in person how deeply I appreciate what you've done. And also let you know that I'd be honored to have you working for UpLink — wherever in our organization you'd prefer— should you want a job with us.'
She smiled a little. 'That's a very generous offer… but I hope you won't be offended if I decline to accept it, at least for now. I'd like some time to myself. Time to.. regroup. You understand?'
His eyes were still holding steady on her.
'Yes, yes, I do,' he said. 'As long as you understand that the offer stands if you ever change your mind. And that I never forget my friends.'
She nodded, her smile growing larger. It was very genuine and very beautiful, and Gordian thought he knew what Blackburn must have seen in it.
'Is it back to Singapore for you, then?' he said.
She was quiet a moment, then nodded again.
'For a time, anyway. But there's one more thing I have to do here in America before I go.'
Armitage sat by the answering machine in his office, his eyes staring out of his wasted features with a cold vitality which seemed to demand and consume all that was left of his life force — like small, mean creatures arising from detritus, feeding on decay.
There had been a number of messages from Marcus Caine waiting for him this morning, each more panicked and desperate than the one preceding it.
No more of that, he thought.
Bound to a failing body and his wheelchair, he was determined to cast off unnecessary ballast. It was hard enough to manage without the dead weight.
''Erase messages,' he said, activating the device with a voice chip produced in one of Monolith's San Jose factories. He paused a moment, then set it to screen and disconnect any calls originating from Caine's home or office, verbally inputting the numbers to be blocked.
He did not want to be dragged down with Marcus as his role in the SEAPAC affair, the campaign finance scandal, and numerous other damning episodes became known. Indeed, any association with him at all would be a severe liability.
