our tech divisions and advanced product laboratories. Oh, Tom. Good." He threw his arm around Sanders. "Meet Tom Sanders, our division manager for advanced products. One of the brilliant young men who's made our company what it is. Tom, say hello to Ed Nichols, the CFO for Conley-White . . ."
A thin, hawk-faced man in his late fifties, Nichols carried his head tilted back, so that he seemed to be pulling away from everything, as if there were a bad smell. He looked down his nose through half-frame glasses at Sanders, regarding him with a vaguely disapproving air, and shook hands formally.
"Mr. Sanders. How do you do."
"Mr. Nichols."
". . . and John Conley, nephew of the founder, and vice president of the firm . . ."
Sanders turned to a stocky, athletic man in his late twenties. Wireframe spectacles. Armani suit. Firm handshake. Serious expression. Sanders had the impression of a wealthy and very determined man.
"Hi there, Tom."
"Hi, John."
". . . and Jim Daly, from Goldman, Sachs . . ."
A balding, thin, storklike man in a pinstripe suit. Daly seemed distracted, befuddled, and shook hands with a brief nod.
``. . . and of course, Meredith Johnson, from Cupertino."
She was more beautiful than he had remembered. And different in some subtle way. Older, of course, crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes, and faint creases in her forehead. But she stood straighter now, and she had a vibrancy, a confidence, that he associated with power. Dark blue suit, blond hair, large eyes. Those incredibly long eyelashes. He had forgotten.
"Hello, Tom, nice to see you again." A warm smile. Her perfume.
"Meredith, nice to see you."
She released his hand, and the group swept on, as Garvin led them down the hall. "Now, just ahead is the VIE Unit. You'll be seeing that work tomorrow."
Mark Lewyn came out of the conference room and said, "You met the rogues' gallery?"
"I guess so."
Lewyn watched them go. "Hard to believe those guys are going to be running this company," he said. "I did a briefing this morning, and let me tell you, they don't know anything. It's scary."
As the group reached the end of the hallway, Meredith Johnson looked back over her shoulder at Sanders. She mouthed, "I'll call you." And she smiled radiantly. Then she was gone.
Lewyn sighed. "I'd say," he said, "that you have an in with top management there, Tom."
"Maybe so."
"I just wish I knew why Garvin thinks she's so great."
Sanders said, "Well, she certainly looks great."
Lewyn turned away. "We'll see," he said. "We'll see."
A twenty past twelve, Sanders left his office on the fourth floor and headed toward the stairs to go down to the main conference room for lunch. He passed a nurse in a starched white uniform. She was looking in one office after another. "Where is he? He was just here a minute ago." She shook her head.
"Who?" Sanders said.
"The professor," she replied, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I can't leave him alone for a minute."
"What professor?" Sanders said. But by then he heard the female giggles coming from a room farther down the hall, and he already knew the answer. "Professor Dorfman?"
"Yes. Professor Dorfman," the nurse said, nodding grimly, and she headed toward the source of the giggles.
Sanders trailed after her. Max Dorfman was a German management consultant, now very elderly. At one time or another, he had been a visiting professor at every major business school in America, and he had gained a particular reputation as a guru to high-tech companies. During most of the 1980s, he had served on the board of directors of DigiCom, lending prestige to Garvin's upstart company. And during that time, he had been a mentor to Sanders. In fact, it was Dorfman who had convinced Sanders to leave Cupertino eight years earlier and take the job in Seattle.
Sanders said, "I didn't know he was still alive."
"Very much so," the nurse said.
"He must be ninety."
"Well, he doesn't act a day over eighty-five."
As they approached the room, he saw Mary Anne Hunter coming out. She had changed into a skirt and blouse, and she was smiling broadly, as if she had just left her lover. "Tom, you'll never guess who's here."
"Max," he said.
"That's right. Oh, Tom, you should see him: he's exactly the same." "I'll bet he is," Sanders said. Even from outside the room, he could smell the cigarette smoke.
The nurse said, "Now, Professor," in a severe tone, and strode into the room. Sanders looked in; it was one of