Instead of leaving the San Diego at El Segundo, he kept going till Redondo Beach Boulevard, then headed west instead of east. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the lot in front of the small skyscraper where Tim worked. He’d had lunch around here with his friend a few times; he knew where visitors’ parking was.

As with the RAND Corporation, you couldn’t just walk through the halls here. He asked the receptionist, “Would you buzz Tim Ishihara and tell him Jerry’s in the lobby, please?”

“Hold on for one minute,” she said. After she made the call, she told him, “He’ll be right down.”

“Thanks,” Jerry said.

Tim came out of the elevator. Jerry had intended to ask him to go back up and retrieve the manila envelope from the safe where he’d stashed it. He turned out not to need to; his friend already had it. Tim held it out to him, saying, “Here you go, man. You show up at this time of day, I figure you’re gonna want this.”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

“Am I? Way it looks to me, chances are I’m messing up your life, not saving it.”

“No.” Jerry shook his head. “With this, I’ve got a chance to fix things. Without it, I’m dead.” He knew how literally he meant that, too.

By Tim’s expression he had a fair idea himself. “Luck, buddy,” he said. They shook hands. Jerry wanted to hug him, but didn’t. He hurried out to the parking lot instead.

He didn’t want to go back to his apartment. He did it anyway. He parked across the street from the building, not underneath. If anyone was waiting, he guessed it would be there. If the hit man was already inside his place, he’d made his last mistake, that was all.

The only one waiting inside had four legs. The King of Siam must not have expected him—the cat acted glad he’d come in. Jerry rubbed his tummy and scratched him under the chin. Then he threw clothes, a Dopp kit, and the envelope he’d got from Tim into the little suitcase he’d carried onto the Glomar Explorer.

He had his hand on the doorknob when he hesitated. He needed to tell Anna something. If he disappeared without a trace, what would she do? Call the cops, what else? That was the last thing he wanted now. He grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote in large, looping letters: Family emergency up north. (He had cousins in Tacoma. He couldn’t stand them, but he didn’t think she knew that.) Heading that way. Don’t know when I’ll be in touch. Will call when I can. Some private stuff, so don’t tell anybody. Love you a lot. XOXOXO—Me.