Charles Gruver sat in the big chair in the systems operation center, two floors below the New York Stock Exchange trading floor. From this brightly lit room, hidden behind blastproof doors and protected by some of the most sophisticated security systems outside of the National Security Agency, the NYSE chief technical officer watched warily as the OptiMarx system assumed more and more of the Exchange’s total trading volume. The big wall display units showed the system humming along effortlessly, orders pouring in and consummated trades heading back out in seconds, the way they had expected it to do.

Stan Miller leaned over and cuffed him on the shoulder. “Looking real good, isn’t it?”

Gruver nodded to the SEC deputy. By experience, Gruver knew that Miller should have been gone long ago. He seemed to be hanging around to watch for something only he knew was going to happen. It was out of character for the prototypical bureaucrat. In all his years with the commission, the man had never shown the slightest interest in this room before. Miller hardly knew how to find the place, although it was the single largest reason for the existence of his job.

Gruver watched the trade volumes play across the screen for a few more seconds and then acknowledged Miller’s question. “Yeah, the system seems to be doing just fine. Still, I can’t help wondering what Catherine was so worried about. She’s usually right on.”

Miller shook his head. “No telling. She could go off on wild-goose chases sometimes. Believe me, I know. I work with her every day. You heard from her lately?”

“No, not a word. At least not since just after somebody tried to kill her.”

Miller seemed particularly interested in Gruver’s answer to that question. That didn’t seem in character, either. Miller never struck Gruver as a “people person,” as someone who would care about Catherine Goldman’s whereabouts or disposition.

Miller chuckled. The effort sounded forced. “Not surprised. We have her under protection. Hiding down in the Caribbean.” He changed the subject, his eyes still locked on the big screen. “So, looks like we’ve got a success here.” He waved his hand toward the scurrying numbers on the wall.

“Looks like it so far,” Gruver said, then hesitated a beat. He almost shut up but, for some reason, decided to go on. “You know, Stan, I got a funny feeling. I can’t put a finger on it, but something just doesn’t feel quite right about all this. I think I’ll have to do some more checking.”