They giggled again, then stepped forward together and hugged him around the waist.

“Don’t worry,” Jani said. “We’re careful.”

“We are!”

“And you’re the best dad in the world.”

“You aaare!”

He wrapped them both in his arms and drew them closer.

“Thank you for putting up with me, girls,” he said. “See you later.”

Musil watched until they were in the schoolyard, then returned to the Acura and started it up. As he pulled into the street, he glanced at his dash display and noticed Ki Marton had called and left a voice message. He’d left his phone in the car while standing outside with the girls.

He pressed the voice command button on his steering wheel and played the message.

“Jot, it’s the Ki-Man. Get back to me ASAP. I have major news.”

Musil was thinking it would have to be major for him to phone this early. It wasn’t even eight thirty in the morning. At a stop sign, he signaled a left turn and pressed the V/C button again to call him.

Ki answered on the first ring.

“Dude, there you are,” he said. “Listen. It’s about Fake Gelfland. I was going to tell you last night. But it was kind of late, and I figured you’re alone with the kids—”

“Ki.”

“Yeah?”

“What were you going to tell me?”

“Right,” he said and rattled it all off in his manic way, explaining about his database search and then the blocked file.

When he finished five minutes later, Musil realized he had distractedly driven straight past the bridge while listening to him. Worse, he’d gone a full five blocks past the entrance ramp, a turn he made every morning on his way into Manhattan.

“Call Harris right now,” he said. “I’m on my way in.”

“Right.”

“And Ki?”

“Yeah?”

“Today is the day.”

“Zowie,” Ki said. “What day?”

“Your day for lunch,” Musil said. “On me.”

“Seriously?”

“You will feast on limitless Punjabi.”

“Wow!”

“Be ready, my friend.”

Musil got off the line. The rush-hour traffic on Queens Boulevard was too thick for him to make a U-turn, so he abruptly swung up the nearest side street to double back.

Major news, yes.

Even though he didn’t have the foggiest idea what it meant.

“Boss?” Ki Marton said over the phone.

Leo Harris held the receiver to his ear and glanced at the office wall clock. It was still a little before nine in the morning, his chair not even warm, and the phone was already goddamn ringing. He felt cranky and desperate for caffeine, having been awake until the wee hours thinking alternately about the pending CloudCable subpoenas and his plans with Rach.

“Technically I ain’t your boss anymore, but let’s leave that aside for now,” Leo said. “What’s up?”