But he’d hoped for more, especially after risking his butt in an elevator shaft, sweating and crawling through filthy heating ducts, and wedging himself into spaces where he could barely breathe.

He cursed them for being so damn oblique. What was this mysterious it? Why couldn’t they just come out and say what was in the house? He grinned—hell, it wasn’t as if anybody was listening in on them.

But maybe the it they were after was so important, so valuable, that they instinctively avoided referring to it by name.

As Jack wiped some sweat from his eyes, his overall sleeve caught the lens on his headlamp and knocked it off. He snatched at it but it slipped from his fingers and landed with a clunk on the floor of the duct.

Jack froze as Kemel stopped at the threshold and whirled.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Thomas said, poking his head back in from the hall.

“That noise.” Kemel was moving around the conference table and heading for Jack’s position. “It came from over there. From that heating vent, I think.”

Jack grabbed the lens and slid back as far as he could without completely withdrawing from the duct. He didn’t think he could do that without making more noise, so he lay silent and waited.

He held his breath as a bearded face popped into view beyond the louvers.

“It came from in here,” Kemel said. “I am sure of it.”

“So?” Thomas said from somewhere behind Kemel. “Probably a mouse or something.”

“This was not a mouse.” Kemel tried to force his fingers between the louvers but the spaces were too small. “Quick. Give me something to remove this grate.”

Jack inched back a little farther. If that vent plate started to come loose, he’d have to take off.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Thomas said. “What do you think you’re going to find?”

“Perhaps someone has been listening.”

“From in there?” Thomas laughed. “Look, Kemel, I don’t know about the level of espionage technology in Saudi Arabia, but over here if we want to eavesdrop on someone, we don’t stuff a midget into a vent. We do it electronically: We plant a bug.”

He’s right, Kemel, Jack thought. Don’t be a jerk. Listen to the man.

“I know what I heard,” Kemel said. “Get me a screwdriver.”

“I didn’t think you Moslems drank.”

“This is not a matter for joking! I want to look in here!”

“All right, all right. Here. It’s my nail clipper. You can use the back end there as a screwdriver.”

Jack knew this was his signal to chuck caution and vamoose. He backed into the larger duct and began his return trip.

Behind him, Kemel’s voice rose in pitch and volume.