He put the Rambler in park, turned off the engine, and pulled the hand brake. Not hurting for money was one thing. This, this right here, was something else again. Throwing a stack of greenbacks like that at him?

“Why, in God’s name?” he said as he got out and locked the car.

As soon as he asked the question that way, he saw the likely answer. What did they think they were buying with so much money out of the blue? What could it be but his silence? We’ll make you happy, they had to be saying. Now you keep your mouth shut and make us happy, too.

He looked around the quiet parking garage before he headed for the stairs. No hit man lurking behind a Ford Pinto. Wouldn’t rubbing him out have been cheaper than bribing him? Maybe not. Always the risk that the cops might uncover more than the Agency wanted them to, or even that the gunman would wonder why he’d plugged a harmless grad student and start poking around. Money would do the job as long as Jerry played along.

He’d thought about the Bank Error card before. To the CIA, that was what fifty-seven grand and change added up to: Monopoly money. They might not print it themselves, but they sure knew the people who did.

“Crazy. Fucking crazy,” he said, and went on up to his place.

The next day, he got a letter in a Summa Corporation envelope. It had been postmarked the Saturday before in Honolulu. That gave him a running start at guessing who’d actually written it.

When he opened the envelope, the letter inside also proved to be on Summa Corporation letterhead. It was handwritten, though, which he couldn’t imagine any real corporation big shot doing. He had no trouble reading Dale Neuwirth’s script.

Dear Jerry, the mission director wrote,

As I told you when you were leaving the project, everyone here was delighted with your cleverness and resourcefulness, which played a vital role in our successes up to this point. Talk is cheap, though, and sometimes a more material show of appreciation can be welcome. Accordingly, it was my pleasure to award you a bonus equivalent to two years’ salary. This amount, minus deductions for federal and state taxes, should have been deposited in your bank account by now. You’ve earned it, believe me. And, as I also told you before, you have only to ask if I can be of any further assistance. Sincerely—

Dale’s signature followed. He wrote Neuwirth, though that surely wasn’t his real last name. Jerry wondered what that name was in fact, and also wondered whether he’d ever learn it. He had his doubts.