We had finally ended up in his living-room,on the beige suede couch in front of the small fireplace. Exotic native south-Americanartwork and furniture...adorned the delicate chamber, hung on the walls, stoodon the ground, covered with carpets and flokatis surrounded us and provideda magical atmosphere, which fitted the dreamlike, hazy quality of our timetogether. A big mug a maté-tea stood onthe small table in front of us, my head lay on His lap again and while welingered each in his own reverie. Right?" Well ... right, I guess," I said."You guess? Or it's what they said?" It's what they said," I admitted."OK, then. Now, they could be wrong. Spook was, about Estrada last time, wasn't he?" Yeah," I told her. "And that's exactly what's 'eating me away, ' as you put it. Suppose he is? Suppose somebody else out there knows about Carstairs being Heyward, and knows what Heyward can do—is supposed to be able to do, hacking the whole world? And suppose that one just picks up where Estrada left. More

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