“My operation’s not exactly high tech, Dud. No way I could rig up a laser on Forty-fifth Street. You see that stuff on TV all the time, but I work in the real world. And besides, I need more than just audio. I want to see into that office. The meeting itself isn’t as important as who’s present and what’s said after the meeting.”

“So,” Milkdud said, “why don’t you get in there and watch and listen yourself?”

“Me… hack my first building… in midtown… during business hours? Right.”

Jack had a vision of himself wedged into a ventilation duct, mewing like a kitten up a tree, while firemen and EMS men broke through walls and acetylene torched their way through the galvanized metal to cut him free.

And then his picture on the front pages of the Post and the Daily News. He could see the headlines:

AIR SHAFT AIRHEAD GETS CAUGHT!

He shuddered.

“No, thanks.”

“I’ll help you,” Milkdud said.

“What about the Milkdud Code?”

“It says I won’t plant any devices for you, but it doesn’t say I can’t show you how to hack a building. That would make me an apostle of the building hack. I’d be… St. Milkdud, a missionary, spreading the word to the unenlightened, making converts—”

“Okay,” Jack said, smiling and holding up his hands. “I get it.”

He thought about the offer. If Milkdud could get him to a spot where he could see and hear what went on in Thomas Clayton’s lawyer’s office…

“Let me get this straight,” Jack said. “You’re offering to be my guide into the bowels of the Hand Building—”

“Pathfinder would be more accurate. Trailblazer even more so.”

“Which means?”

“I’ll check my notes and rehack the Hand this weekend. You tell me where you want to be, and I’ll see if I can find a way for you to get there. If I do find one, I’ll get you into the building on the morning of the meeting and point you in the right direction.”

“You mean you won’t be coming along?”

Milkdud shook his head. “Uh-uh. The code, you know.”

“But what if I get lost or”—the Jack-as-kitten-up-a-tree vision flashed before him again—”stuck?”

“I’ll diagram your route and mark the passage. If you can follow directions and road signs, you should have no problem. And if it’ll make you feel better, bring along a cell phone. I’ll be outside. You get in trouble, call me.”

Jack drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. His instincts told him to find some other way. He wasn’t claustrophobic—he’d spent long hours in cramped places before—but he preferred multiple escape routes whenever he put himself into a situation. But with Milkdud available to back him up… maybe it could work.

“All right,” Jack said. “Let’s plan it out.”