“I’ll bring dessert in one minute,” the waiter said as he put dirty dishes on a tray. Jerry nodded. His father lit a cigarette. He always did right after dinner. A couple of other people in the restaurant were smoking, too. Jerry thought it was gross, but what could you do?

The waiter came back with a little lacquerware tray that held fortune cookies, almond cookies, and the bill. Hyman Stieglitz took that. “Hey, I was gonna pay,” Jerry said. “I’ve even got money for a change.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not broke.” His father opened his fortune cookie. “Good luck is heading your way. That’d be nice. What’s yours say?”

Jerry cracked his cookie, too. “You will succeed despite difficulties. How does it know I’m in grad school?”

“Magic. Ancient Chinese magic, probably from a cookie factory in Oxnard.” Jerry’d lived with his father till he got his bachelor’s degree. Since then, he’d tried to forget how much of the way he thought came from his old man.

His father put a ten, a one, and a couple of quarters on the tray. As they walked out together, Jerry said, “Thanks, Dad. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to, though. What are those difficulties you’ll succeed in spite of?”

What would he do if I told him? Jerry asked himself, and immediately answered his own question: He’d land in the CIA’s crosshairs, too, that’s what. Tim was now, no matter how much Jerry didn’t like it. Three men may keep a secret, if two of them are dead. If he knew what Benjamin Franklin had said, so would the Agency.

No more than half a second slower than he should have, he said, “Too much work. Not enough time. Not enough money—the time on the Glomar Explorer helped there, anyhow.”

“Good. You should have a little something socked away before you get married,” his father said. He’d been ten years old when the market crashed in 1929. He’d worked on and off from the following summer on, and studied in scraps of time he’d carved out somehow. The Depression scarred him for life. As much as anyone could be, he was a self-made man, and sometimes thought Jerry’s generation soft and spoiled. He might not be religious, but he passionately believed in suspenders and belt.

“I do my best, Dad, honest.” Young man and older went their separate ways.

XII

Monday morning, Jerry called Professor Krikorian. “So you’re back, are you?” his advisor rumbled. “Now you can tell me about how we’re going to get all our metal from manganese nodules from now on, right?”

“Not exactly,” Jerry said. “The machinery still has some kinks in it.”