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is into explosives—nice irony there, considering their owners—military-grade fuels, a bevy of industrial adhesives and acids, space-age polymers and a whole slew of other high-tech molecular applications. But there isn’t a single product in their repertoire that even closely resembles something as insignificant …” I changed my voice to that of a commercial, “… as commercial applications for making evening gowns last longer and look brighter after you take them to the dry cleaners.…” I spoke normally again. “The silicon molecule won’t, for example, dissolve bodies. It has no other application,” I emphasized.
    I took a long swig of my orange juice—perfectly sweetened—and set it on the counter. I wanted to let her mull on all of that, so I turned around and grabbed the two containers of chopped vegetables, quickly tossing each into the pans with a satisfying hiss. I went about sautéing them, glancing back to see her face. I caught her hands sliding nervously underneath the countertop as she eyed me with a calculating gaze.
    While the vegetables cooked down, I grabbed three eggs, wacked each with the edge of a knife, and poured the contents into a mixing bowl. I whisked them to a froth, threw in some spices, and with a final whisk, poured half of the beaten eggs into each pan. I waited silently while the bottoms cooked.
    “Perhaps they’re trying to increase the perception that they’re widely diversified,” she offered.
    “Perhaps,” I nodded, smiling broadly with my back to her. After a minute, the tops of the omelets began to solidify. I grabbed a pan in each hand, lifted them up, expertly flipped both omelets simultaneously, and caught them as they landed neatly into their respective pans. I set them down, threw on some grated pepper-jack cheese and folded them over into perfect half-moon shapes. A few quick flops melted the cheese inside. Turning off the burners, I lifted the pans once again and, spinning around with a dramatic flourish, dumped a perfect omelet onto each of the waiting plates.
    “Voilà!” I said triumphantly. “Breakfast is served!” The pans went into the sink next to me. I placed a fork on each plate, slid one in front of Natalia, grabbed my own, and leaned up against the stove, waiting to see if she would add anything. Seconds ticked by as I took a couple of bites, grinning widely despite mouthfuls of egg.
    “Delicious,” I said mostly to myself. The smile on my face was openly victorious, expectant, and accusatory all at once. I didn’t take my eyes off her.
    “As I said, diversification,” Natalia said evenly, not touching her plate.
    “Would it surprise you that Xen was being paid as a consultant for research and development into jet fuel ? On the books, at least.” I took another bite, chewed it and swallowed, smiling the whole time. “As far as SolCon is concerned, they’ll be getting more efficient planes, assuming the fuel ever works. And if it doesn’t, the cost of the project gets written off. Xen pretty much had carte-blanche and reported to only the project stake-holder.”
    “Interesting.” she said slowly. I could see her wondering how I could have learned all of this … and learned it overnight. We both knew I was spot on, and I could see it scared the hell out of her.
    “It is interesting,” I said cheerily. “And do you know who the stake-holder of the project was?”
    “Who might that be?” she said, smiling uncomfortably but knowing what I was going to say next.
    “Why, you .” I took another bite of the omelet and chewed thoughtfully. “The back of the car was empty last night. I didn’t think of it in the heat of the moment, but if someone had been back there, I’d like to think you would have mentioned it. People don’t just forget that their bosses are still in the car being shot at. They forget purses, not people. There was no mysterious employer in the car, because there’sno mysterious employer at all . You