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“I was up till three a.m. every night this week rewriting it.”

“You always worked best that way. You happy with it?”

“I will be. If I can keep Irving Bass from turning it into a polemic against capitalism.”

“Since when did you become such a capitalist?”

“I don’t want my play to be a polemic against anything.”

Kate left it at that, as running was her way of escaping from her worries, not dwelling on them. She changed the subject and told him she was moving, managing to steer clear of Buck Technologies and the DOJ audit, until Noah brought it up.

“I hope you don’t mind me talking a little shop.”

“I’d rather we didn’t. But truthfully, I’m totally walled off from your audit. I’d have nothing to say about it, even if I wanted to.”

“I was going to ask you about Patrick Battle. I understand he’s a friend of your family.”

“I used to babysit him when he was a boy. What do you want to know?”

A jogger passed with her chocolate Lab on a leash. Noah waited,then continued. “I gave the company a list of the first ten employees I wanted to interview. His name was on it.”

Kate forced herself not to react. “Wow. Baby Patrick, on your A list. That’s so amazing to me.”

Noah brought their walk to a halt, his expression serious. “When I sent the list, he was coming and going to work every day like normal. Then my list of names landed on somebody’s desk, and suddenly he’s gone, out of the country, supposedly on some kind of corporate bonding adventure.”

Kate didn’t volunteer anything. “I’m sure he’ll be back.”

“It seems that no one can tell me when that might be.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“This is not cool, Kate. Games like this inevitably make matters worse. Maybe you can mention it to your father.”

Kate felt a knot in her stomach. First her father had asked her to talk to Noah, and now Noah was using her as the go-between with her father. She was starting to feel like the scarf knotted around the frozen rope in a proverbial tug-of-war.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and then she checked her smartwatch. “Wow, it’s later than I thought. I’m going to head back. Lots of packing still to be done.”

“Good to see you,” said Noah.

“Likewise,” said Kate, and they headed off, Kate in her direction and Noah in his.

Chapter 15

Patrick woke to the patter of falling rain on a sagging canvas tarp. A proper tent was apparently too much to ask for on this corporate survival exercise. They’d been kind enough to provide hiking boots for the climb into the mountains, but beyond that, he had only the basics: a knife, a few lengths of rope, a pack of matches, a blanket to fend off the chill of the damp mountain air, and a tarp to lie upon on clear nights. Patrick had spent the previous two nights sleeping on the cold ground, each corner of his tarp tied to a banana tree for shelter from the misty rain.

Patrick still had no idea where he was. He’d flown commercial from Reagan National to Miami International Airport. An evening flight on a private jet, “window shades down,” had landed him on what appeared to be a private runway in a valley, the surrounding mountaintops glowing in the moonlight. A boat took him upriver. The pilot and his mate spoke no English, and even though Patrick was somewhat conversant in Spanish, they had no interest in answering his questions. The boat stopped somewhere in the jungle at dawn. There, he met Javier, who’d introduced himself as Patrick’s “safety net” and laid out the rules.

“I’ll be nearby at all times. I may choose to bandage a blister on your foot. I might take your temperature, if I think you look ill. I may even give you extra food, if I think you’ve earned it. But I’m here mainly in case of an emergency. However, if you call on me—if you use your safety net—you fail. Any questions?”

Patrick had answered in Spanish, guessing from the length of theflights that he was somewhere in South America, perhaps the Andes. Morning brought confirmation that he’d guessed correctly.

“Buenos días,Patrick,” said Javier. “You have company.”

Patrick sat up and looked around. The rain had suddenly stopped, and streaks of sunlight shone through the thick canopy overhead. Beyond the giant elephant-ear-leaf plants in the middle distance, he counted four other tarps like his strung from tree trunks, makeshift tents. His gaze drifted toward a wisp of smoke rising from a smoldering campfire. Three men and a woman were seated on an enormous log, warming themselves, their blankets draped around their shoulders.

“Is this my team?” asked Patrick.

“No. Your competition.”

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