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thinking he was immune, at least until he'd seen Ben's eyes. After all, no one was going to drop a Russian agent. You'd have to be crazy.
    Son of a bitch. Maybe he hadn't killed the Russian, but he had a feeling he'd just killed a Russian.
    He thought, Oops, and in the giddy, adrenaline-charged aftermath, the thought was hilarious. He pushed the back of his hand over his mouth and shook with silent laughter.
    He hoped the brass wasn't going to be too pissed.

    Chapter 6 IMPLACABLE
    Once he'd canceled the meeting, Alex felt a little calmer. It was like running late to catch a plane-the stressful part was racing around, hoping you might still make it. Once you knew the plane was gone, you could relax, accept it, come up with an alternative.
    Except there was no alternative to Hilzoy. Hilzoy was a once-in-a-lifetime ticket.
    He worked on a few other matters, but he couldn't get Hilzoy out of his head. He wanted to find out what would happen to the patent application if Hilzoy were gone. Presumably it would be treated as part of Hilzoy's estate, and pass to his descendents or beneficiaries. But who would those people be? Alex didn't know the first thing about Hilzoy's family, other than that he was divorced and had no kids. Was there any way to salvage this thing without Hilzoy, with just the patent?
    His mobile rang. He checked the readout. It was a blocked number, but he was so hungry for news he answered anyway.
    Alex Treven.
    Mr. Treven, this is Detective Gamez of the San Jose Police Department. Am I reaching you at a convenient time?
    Alex's heart started kicking. Uh, yeah, it's a fine time. Is this about is it about Richard Hilzoy?
    There was a pause on the other end, and Alex wondered whether maybe he shouldn't have said that.
    There's been a crime, Gamez said, and we'd appreciate it if you could come down to the station to answer a few questions.
    Sure, Alex said. When?
    Right now would be best.
    Sure, Alex said again. Just tell me where you are.
    Two-oh-one West Mission Street. Use the front entrance and ask for Detective Gamez.
    I should be there in about a half hour. Can I just ask you-
    Let's talk when you get here, Gamez said. A half hour, right?
    Right, Alex said, and the line went dead.
    He started tidying up a few things on his desk, then realized he was being ridiculous. He was afraid of what he might learn, that was it, and was looking for a reason to delay. Or maybe he was seeking to impose some order on the universe by straightening up his desk. Please.
    He headed out. I just got a call from the police, he told Alisa as he walked past. I need to go down to the station.
    Is it Hilzoy? she called after him.
    We'll find out.
    He plugged the address into the M3's nav system, then followed it onto Page Mill Road toward 280. As he crossed Foothill Expressway, he remembered reading about some bicyclist who had died nearby about a year earlier. A freak accident, a broken neck. The memory increased his certainty that something really had happened to Hilzoy. He knew life was like that, knew it firsthand. Just when everything was fine, when it couldn't be better, fate liked to reach out and remind you of exactly how tenuous it all really was.
    He wondered why Gamez would be calling him. It had to be Hilzoy. But how had the police known to call him? And how had they gotten his mobile number?
    Then he realized. Hilzoy's mobile. The appointment with Alex and the VCs would have been in the electronic calendar. And Alex had called him, what, twenty times that morning? All those calls, and Alex's number, would have been in the log.
    He tried to imagine what the appointment and all those logged calls would look like to the police. He wondered if he could be a suspect. Jesus.
    San Jose Police headquarters was a fortress, all concrete blocks and ninety-degree angles and dark reflective windows. The two benches in front were bolted to the cement beneath and did nothing to leaven the formidable atmosphere of the place. Even the