He smiled and pulled my pistol from his waistband and laid it on the table. He had taken it out of my holster two minutes and twenty-six seconds earlier, when he’d leaned forward to shake my hand. I’d seen him do it, but I wasn’t going to blow my cover. He was a Mark VII as well—or even a Mark VIII. “Guilty as charged,” he said with a laugh. “How did you figure out I was a Day Player?”

“Simple,” I replied. “You’ve sipped the coffee several times, but the quantity in the cup hasn’t gone down. You’ve no esophagus, so you can’t swallow. And your spectacles. They’re clear glass. The real Jack is farsighted.”

He picked the pistol off the table and released the safety. “I’m sorry, Thursday. It pains me to do this, especially as you showed me such compassion over my wife, but corporate matters always come before friendship.”

He pointed the gun at me.

“Here’s how it goes: ‘Police were today called to the offices of the newly appointed chief librarian, killed by a deranged Goliath representative who blamed her for his wife’s death. The Goliath rep then turned the gun on himself.’ What do you think?”

“I’d certainly agree with the ‘deranged’ bit.”

“Luckily, it’s not important what you think. I would have hoped for a less ignominious end for us both—no, wait, for you. I get to wake up in a hotel suite. Your end will be permanent.”

I pretended to give out a long, dispirited breath. He still hadn’t figured I was a Synthetic. As soon as he shot me, I’d wake up too—but probably somewhere less comfortable, and certainly without room service.

“Well”— I sighed—“this had to happen sooner or later. I’m amazed I survived so long, to be honest. What about Protocol 451?”

“I lied about that, too. It was rescinded a week ago.”

“And the palimpsests? If I’m going to die, then at least let me know what it was you were doing.”

He leaned closer to me, grabbed my jacket and pulled me closer. “Krantz was weak and disloyal. He can’t help you. Do you know what a Whistleblower is?”

“Someone who feels that he won’t compromise his ethical responsibility as regards corporate malfeasance?”

“No, that’s what we at Goliath call ‘a loathsome snitch.’ A Whistleblower is a small device no bigger than a grain of rice implanted in the medulla oblongata, the part of the brain that deals with involuntary functions, like breathing and cardiac control.”

“I know what the medulla does.”

He raised an eyebrow. I was being too calm, so I quickly engineered a nervous tremor in my leg and set my heart rate up from 90 to 120. If I could have sweated, I would have done that, too. But it was subtle enough to allay suspicions.