“Sure.” In a whisper: “Now we just have to get new guns. There might be some in the supply cabinet, but Skinner has the key on his desk.”

“Lost your guns, too?” Never live it down.

Finch shook his head. “No. I’m going to get a real gun. Something more reliable. I’m done with guns that leak.”

Wyte raised an eyebrow at that. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“If I put a bullet in Stark, I want it to count.”

“If you put a bullet in Stark, make sure you’ve got a good reason. And that you’ve taken care of his men,” Wyte said.

Finch had no answer for that. He looked around. Blakely was by the coffee maker. Laughing at something Gustat had said. Dapple was hiding behind his desk, pretending to work. Trembling. Let the gray caps figure that one out from their surveillance. Skinner and Albin had disappeared for the moment. Good. No one except Wyte was watching.

Picked up the file. Opened it. Saw the Stockton logo. TOP SECRET stamped in red across the top. Scrawled note from Stark, in a spidery script: “My gift to you, Finch. Let me know when you crack the case. If it doesn’t crack you first.” Bastard.

“What is it?” Wyte asked.

“I don’t know.” And he didn’t. Not really.

He started to read, hesitated, then began handing pages to Wyte as he finished them. Wanted to say, “Don’t share this with anyone.” Instead said, “Remember, Wyte, you told me not to protect you…”

And, if you have made a deal with Stark, you’ll just be feeding back to him what he already knows …