A Calculated Risk by Katherine Neville (most difficult books to read txt) 📕

knowing Kiwi wouldn’t hold forever. “How is your project going?”

“Last night I made a breakthrough,” she said. “I got the idea to print watermarks on the paper, using a glycerine-type oil. When you hold it to the light, it’s translucent, just like a real watermark. You could only detect it through X ray, I think. They surely don’t inspect them that carefully.…”

Kiwi had picked up a magazine and was leafing through it in irritation, crossing and uncrossing his legs as if he could hardly contain his impatience.

“And Thor’s been moving my equipment around—industrial engineering, he calls it—so we now can get eight certificates on a single photo plate. If we print hundred-thousand-dollar bonds, that’s nearly a million bucks per photo! Not bad, compared with fashion layouts, I’d say.”

I was doodling on my desk pad, keeping one eye on Kiwi, as she rattled on about expenses and complexities. I found it hard to concentrate, when Kiwi was about to blow.

He stood up, tossed down the magazine, and started pacing back and forth, coming a little closer to the phone each time. I tried to muffle the receiver in my shoulder, and began reducing my replies to monosyllabic grunts—but he was nearly breathing down my neck.

“So—what’s the bottom line?” I interrupted, to shut her up. “Are you going to meet the schedule? Are you ready for the next phase?”

“We’ll be ready next week—maybe earlier,” she assured me.

Shit, and I hadn’t even cracked one file.

“But, Verity, now that we’re close, I’m really getting panicky, you know? I mean—it’s illegal if we get caught before we’re through. Do I really want to do this? How do you feel?”

“Me too,” I said.

“I mean, we’re not keeping the money. My only excuse is, we’re doing something honorable.”

“Me too.”

“Of course—there is the aspect of adventure. When Zoltan told me about the bet, I said what the hell. I think your life could certainly use some improvement.”

“Me too.”

“On the other hand, if we did get caught, I think we should give all the profits to Mother Teresa—it would make me feel happier about going to prison, maybe.”

“Me too.”

Kiwi skidded to a halt before me, breathing in my face. He yanked off the sunglasses and glared at me.

“Me too, me too, me too!” he exploded. “What kind of conversation is this?”

“Excuse me,” I told Georgian, “an emergency has just arisen in my office.” Turning to Kiwi, I said, “I am speaking on the telephone. Perhaps we could schedule an appointment to continue this chat when it’s a little more convenient?”

“We’re talking, and we’re talking now, Banks,” he said, his face black with rage. “Neither wild horses nor God himself could drag me from here—I’m rooted to the spot. Now wind up this conversation of yours, and quickly.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Willingly,” Pavel said to Kiwi from the doorway. “I have Mrs. Harbinger on the phone. She says her boss would like to see you in his office—at once.”

Mrs. Harbinger was Lawrence’s secretary. I smiled sweetly as Kiwi stood there indecisive, rooted to the spot.

“Tell her I’ll be there shortly,” Kiwi muttered.

“Perhaps you’d better speak with her yourself then, sir,” Pavel told him. “She’s on my line—she says they’ve tried to reach you all morning, but you weren’t in your office.”

“Mr. Willingly has been in my office all morning,” I said casually.

Kiwi glared at me.

“Yes, they finally tried him here. It really seems quite important, sir,” Pavel said.

“All right, all right,” Kiwi muttered, stomping to the door. “But you’d better be here when I return, Banks. I want your ass in your office—in that chair—when I come back.”

He departed, cold with rage, as Pavel and I smiled at one another across the open space.

“What’s going on?” asked Georgian over the line.

“Some wild horses and God himself just came into my office and dragged my boss away,” I explained.

“Sounds like life in the banking business isn’t as dull as I’d always pictured it.”

“It’s a laugh a minute,” I assured her. “Let’s finish up—because I have to phone the building people in a minute to move my stuff. My ass will be in the same chair—in my office—when he returns. But my office will be on the thirtieth floor, not the thirteenth.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just mumbling to myself,” I told her. “Tell me now—exactly how far are you?”

“I’ve printed blank copies of every bond Thor gave me,” she said. “All I need is my first real security so I can print in the serial numbers and such. It should start any day now—any moment, in fact. Thor’s out looking for a job.”

“A job? What for? He owns his own company,” I said.

“I think he’ll need this job,” she assured me. “Let me tell you how it works.…”

TAKING STOCK

I was young. But that’s the time to start in. Early sow, early mow. During those days I was always on the go—never was one of your lazybones; better to wear out shoes than sheets, was my motto.

The early cow gets the dew.

—Bouck White,

THE BOOK OF DANIEL DREW

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 8

Duke Jimmy unbuttoned the fly of his trousers and took a nice warm pee in his favorite doorway on Third Avenue. Fastening up his pants again, he pulled down the soft old cashmere sweater that had been mended and given him by the St. Mark’s Rescue League. The sweater was a very pretty shade of burgundy, and looked nice with the tweedy, patched jacket he’d gotten from the Divine Light Mission.

He ambled on over toward Union Square, where he thought he could pick up his usual morning handout. A building near there had a nice hot-air grate he liked to sit near while he drank his breakfast. But the morning was colder than he’d realized. By the time he got to Union Square, his hands were cold and were shoved in his threadbare pockets, and he could feel the wetness of the snow working its way through the newspapers lining his shoes.

While he was sitting near the grate with