document you work with, every piece of music you listen to, every recipe in your mother's email box. All of it. Kevin is worth quite a bit of money to them."
"So why are they doing this?"
"Oh, Karma isn't responsible for this play we're watching. It's being put on by the competition."
"The competition being??"
"Karma wants to commoditize the computer operating system and replace it with the Internet. So who is threatened by that? Who makes the most popular operating system in the world?"
"Symbologix?"
"Got it in one! They need access to technical and strategic information, so they hire a beautiful woman to cozy up to a computer geek. Freenet itself is free and they can study it as much as they want, but a handful of hackers with spare time can't compete with the resources that a company like Karma can throw at the project. Karma's version is years ahead already. If Symbologix can put enough stars in poor Kevin's eyes, maybe they can erase some of Karma's advantage."
"So this is what, corporate espionage? An old friend of mine is about to marry a spy? That seems just a little farfetched."
"This kind of espionage predates the corporation by thousands of years. Haven't you ever heard the story of Samson and Delilah?"
"And as proof you show me a guest book with a bunch of fake names. This is fun and all, but what exactly is your part in this?"
Daisy smirked. "You'll figure out who I am eventually. But I would think the important thing is to let your friend know he's about to make a rather big mistake."
"Only if I believe your story."
"I think you do. Kevin wanted to catch up with you. Offer to take him out somewhere after the party, just you and him. Ask him about their relationship. If you're sufficiently convinced, meet me in the city tomorrow and we'll talk about how to get him out of her clutches." She scribbled a phone number on a napkin. Even her handwriting was girly, not exactly what you'd expect from someone who knew about things like open-source software and peer-to-peer networks. "Congratulations, you got my number. Call me in the morning."
She patted my hand, stood up and left me sitting at the table.
I was sure I wouldn't be able to get Kevin away from his fiance? after the party. Especially not if Daisy's story was true. If there was a conspiracy here, surely I'd be the wild card in the plan-the unexpected guest from out of town, the rogue element. Maybe I was starting to enjoy this idea a bit much. Anyway, I sweet-talked first Kevin and then Taryn (I couldn't bring myself to add the quotes yet) into taking him out for coffee after the party. "As long as it's just coffee, no more beer," she warned with an adorable wink. "And I expect to see him in less than two hours!" We took his car to a donut place, where I gave him the third degree about Taryn while trying not to go out of college-buddy bounds. It went something like this:
"So she's hot, bro. How did she end up with a loser like you?"
"I ask myself that every day. Met her at a karaoke bar one night back in June. I know, right? She was singing directly at me, so I bought her a drink. That's pretty much it."
"Nice. How did she do meeting the family?"
"Oh, well, she hasn't met them yet. They don't even know we're getting married. I was planning on telling them in a couple of weeks."
"They don't know about her?"
"They know I'm with somebody, just not that I'm marrying her. Me and her talked about it, and since we've only been going out a couple of months, and my family is kind of traditional and all?" He shrugged. "I've been too busy to fly back home and visit, and I knew my parents were going on a cruise or something this weekend, so we figured they could just skip the party and come out for the wedding, you know?"
"Uh huh. How do you think they'll take the news?"
"Oh, they'll be real excited that I found someone to take care of me. They think I need looking after, for some reason. And they'll love her when they meet her. She has this effect on people."
"Yeah, I kind of noticed. So she's the one, then?"
"What's not to like? She's beautiful-I never even used the word beautiful before her-and she adores me, and she puts up with the weird work schedule. She even asks me about work. Not that she, you know, knows much technical stuff, but she's interested, asks me to show her what I'm working on and stuff like that. I taught her how to read some of it. She comes in when we're both working from home and sits with me and brings me snacks. I'm so spoiled."
"Wait, what? She wants to know about what you're working on? No one's ever been interested in my work before. They just wave their hands and say 'he does something with computers'. And then they ask me to fix their email."
"I know, isn't it awesome? I thought it was kind of weird at first, but she's a fast learner."
"No kidding."
So that was the gist of what I learned about Kevin's girl. Enough to throw up a few red flags. A woman like that was interested in the details of his work? And Daisy had been right about his parents. Back at my hotel room, I set Daisy's number next to my phone and crashed.
At least, I tried to crash. Contrary to popular belief, caffeine and alcohol do not just cancel each other out. My body was tired out, probably not on Pacific Time yet, and I swear I could hear my brain actually buzzing. It was just not processing all this stuff about actors and giant software companies. And this chick I'd met-what kind of a name was Daisy, anyway?-was, what, some sort of corporate secret agent? Or she could be lying-for what reason, I couldn't begin to guess-or just nuts. Maybe she wanted Kevin for herself? That would be just great. Maybe I was being used to bust up a love triangle. Between a hacker, a supermodel and a psycho? It seemed improbable.
And Kevin-he was my friend, or at least he used to be. I couldn't remember him ever not being happy, but he was the king of the world right now. Would I be doing him a favor by telling him the truth-if it was the truth? I sat up and opened the curtain. It wasn't blocking much of the light anyway. Suburbia was painted a washed-out streetlight yellow. I believed the conflict between Symbologix and Karma was real. I did read the tech news sites, after all. Was it serious enough-no, serious wasn't the right word; was it comically insane enough-to mess with the personal life of a single software developer? And if so, what would they do to me if I got involved? A psychology professor did this study on corporations once. He took a personality test, and answered the questions as if he were a big corporation, and the test results said he was a clinical psychopath. Hardly the kind of action I wanted to bring down on my head.
I squirmed in the understuffed armchair next to the window as the sky changed color from mercury-vapor yellow to predawn gray. California waved at me from every passing car and billboard. All the Spanish names felt foreign to me, even though a hundred years of film and culture made it more American than anywhere else I'd ever been. The clash was strange and wonderful. Like Daisy, with her impeccable accent and punk-hipster attitude.
At six-thirty I couldn't sit anymore. I picked up my phone, decided girls like Daisy weren't likely to be up so early, and stumbled downstairs to check out the free breakfast.
The eggs were rubber and the sausage was cardboard, but the coffee was awesome. I had a couple of cups while sort-of checking out the TV. CNN was running a profile on one of the presidential candidates. I'd heard his story before. He'd made a name for himself cleaning up crime after his family was killed in a home invasion. He'd been gutsy enough to do the right thing, whatever it cost.
At eight I felt human enough to pick up my phone and call Daisy. She picked up on the fourth ring. "I'll see you at the Marina in two hours." No hello, no nothing. Well. OK then. Back to the city.
It had been sunny in Palo Alto, but rounding the hills into the city enveloped the train in clammy fog. Now this was what I had expected San Francisco weather to be like. I considered hopping a bus straight to the Marina, but found myself getting off at the cable cars again. I figured riding a cable car in the fog was like cr
uising the Sunset Strip in a convertible: if you get the chance, do it. No one else seemed to share my sentiment, so I didn't have to wait in line long. The clang of the bell was swallowed by the fog. Every now and then a breeze would sweep some of it away to unveil a swatch of bay in the distance, like scratching off a bit of a lottery ticket.
I strained to catch a glimpse of my rendezvous. A dozen movie scenes lit up my mind, starting and ending with Vertigo. I had no idea where my personal femme fatale might be waiting. The fog seeped through my sweatshirt and made me shiver. As I stepped on the concrete pier that curves out into the bay, I heard a phone ring. An old-fashioned sound, like a pay phone, straight out of one of those movies. I followed the sound to a bench and picked up a Karma K2 phone, with my name scrawled on a sticky note. Karma again.
"Hello?"
"Sorry I couldn't wait for you, dear. Something else came up."
"But-"
"I don't have time to say much more. If you care about your friend, get him away from that woman. There's more at stake than his self-respect."
Deep breath. "I'll do my best. And then?"
"Keep the phone. I'll be in touch. Just take care of Kevin."
"Will I see you again?" No. I did not just say that.
"If you do your job, you will. My plane's leaving. Gotta go. Best!"
From the direction of the bay, I heard the cough of an
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