Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

W >> Winn Schwartau >> Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

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"What I wanted was a break." Scott poked at the steaks. In the
pool Arlene Duncan and Sonja kicked their feet and chattered
aimlessly. The perfect respite. The Times made Scott the most
generous tenure offers in a generation of writers, and Scott
recognized the fairness of the offers. It was not now, nor had
it ever been a question of money, though.

"What's next?"

"The book, I suppose. The Trial of Miles Foster."

"And then back to the Times?"

"Maybe, maybe. I haven't given it much thought," Scott said
watering down the coals to reduce the intensity of the barbecue
inferno he had created. "I promised to help out once in a while.
Officially they call it a sabbatical."

"How long do you think you can hold out on this rock before going
nuts?"

"We've managed pretty well, so far." Scott said admiring his
bride whose phenomenal physical beauty was tightly wrapped in the
high French cut one piece bathing suit that Scott insisted she
wear in honor of their more conservative guests. Tyrone, he was
sure, would not have minded Sonja's nudity, but Arlene would have
been on the next flight to Boston and her parents.

"Three months so far, and nine months to go. I think I can take
it," he said staring at Sonja and motioning to the view.

Tyrone silently conveyed understanding for Scott's choice of an
island retreat to get away from it all. But Tyrone's choices
demanded his presence within driving distance of civilization.

"So the bureau wasn't too upset about your leaving?" Scott
changed the subject.

"I guess not," Tyrone said laughing. "I was approaching mandato-
ry anyway and I'd become too big a pain in their asses. Using
your hackers didn't endear me to too many of the Director's
staff."

"What about your friend?"

"You mean Bob Burnson?"

"Yeah, the guy we met at Ebbett's . . ."

"He got his promotion right after I left. I guess I was holding
him back," Tyrone said with tongue in cheek. "On the other hand,
I could have stayed and really made his life miserable. We're
both at peace. Best of all? Still friends."

"I have to say, though, I never thought you'd go through with
it," said Scott turning the steaks. "You and the Bureau, a
thirty year affair."

"Not quite thirty . . ."

"Whatever. You've certainly built up a practice and a half in
six months."

"Yeah," chuckled Tyrone. "Like you, I never planned on becoming
a big player . . .Christ. Who ever thought that Computer Law
would be the next Cabbage Patch Doll of the courts?" Tyrone saw
the smirk in Scott's face. "O.K., you did. Yes, you predicted a
mess in the courts. Yes, you did Mr. Wisenheimer. I just saw it
as a neat little extension of constitutional law and then whammo!
All of sudden, computer litigation is the hip place to be. Every
type of lawsuit you predicted is somewhere in the legal system -
SEC suits, copyright suits, privacy suits, theft of data, theft
of service."

"Sounds like everyone who was scared to admit they had a problem
in the past is going balls to the wall."

"The Japanese lawyers are living their worst nightmare: OSO
Industries is up to top of its colon with lawsuits, including one
asking for OSO to be denied any access to the American market for
100 years."

Scott whistled long and loud, then laughed. "And that's fun?"

"You're goddamned right, it's fun," Ty asserted, popping another
beer from the poolside cooler. "It's a shit load more interest-
ing that rotting here," he spread his arms to embrace the lush
beauty from their 1500 foot high aerie. "How much sun and peace
and quiet and sex and water and beach can one man take?" He
spoke loudly, like a Southern Spiritual Minister. "Too much
scuba diving and swimming and sailing and sunsets and black
starry nights can be bad for your health. This is a goddamned
Hedonist's Heaven." He brought his hands to his side and gave a
resigned sigh. "I guess if you can stomach this kind of life."

"Jealous?" Scott asked gently. He knew about Arlene's reticence
to try anything new, out of the ordinary. She was very pleased
with her life in Westchester. She felt that knowing someone who
lived in Paradise whom she could visit once a year was new-ness
enough.

"No, man," Tyrone said genuinely, speaking as himself again. "I
got exactly what I wanted." He cocked his head at the pool,
where Arlene seemed more relaxed than she had in years. "Can't
you see? She's miserable, but she's mine. Scott, you've lived
your fantasy, made a difference. Now, it's my turn."

Scott looked over at Arlene. "Hey, shit for brains," he said to
Tyrone. "She's no slouch. It's what the hell she's doing with
you I never understood." Scott lunged at Tyrone's attention-
getting sized abdomen with the steak fork.

"Nice and juicy," retorted Tyrone, patting his prominent stomach.

"You're not my type. I like mine lean. I cut off the fat,"
Scott barbed. Before Tyrone could get in his jibe Scott called
out, "Steaks' on. Outside black, inside mooing."

The girls smacked their lips in anticipation and sat in the
elegant all weather PVC furniture. A red sailor's delight sun
was mere inches above the horizon, setting to the west over
Hassel and Water Islands which provide umbrage to Blue Beard's
harbor of choice.

The men were providing all services this evening and the ladies
were luxuriating in this rare opportunity. Little did they know,
or little did they let on, that they knew the men enjoyed the
opportunity to demonstrate their culinary skills without female
interference. Beside, thought Scott, it was the maid's day off.

"Seriously, though," Tyrone said quietly as Scott piled the
plates with steaks and potatoes. "I know you better than that.
I don't see how you can do nothing. You don't know how to sit
your ass still for ten minutes. It's not your personality.
Don't you agree Arlene?"

"Yes dear," she said, still talking to Sonja.

"And that room you call your office, Jesus. You have more equip-
ment in there than . . ."

"It looks like more than it is . . ." Scott downplayed the point.
"Mainly communications. The local phone company is a joke, so I
installed an uplink. No big deal."

"C'mon, man, I just can't see you sitting on the sidelines."
Tyrone stressed the word 'you'. "Not with what's happening now?
There must be a thousand stories out there . . ."

"And a thousand and one reporters. Too much noise, too busy for
my liking. After the Homosoto story, if there's one luxury I've
learned to live with, it's that I can pick and choose what I do."
Scott spoke much too reserved for the Scott Mason Tyrone knew.

"Aha! So you are up to something. I knew it. I gave you one,
maybe two months, but I never figured you'd last three."

They carried the four plates laden with steaks and potatoes over
to the table where their spouses waited. Fresh beers awaited
their much appreciated efforts.

"I do get a little itchy and I read a lot." Tyrone glared at
Scott with disbelief. "No really, just a little research,"
laughed Scott in mock defense. "O.K., I received a call, and it
sounded kind of interesting, so I've been looking into it."

"Poking around, here and there and everywhere?"

"Kinda, just following up a few leads."

"Just a few?"

"Well, maybe more than a few," Scott admitted.

"When did this little project begin?" Tyrone asked accusingly.
He suspected Scott was hiding a detail or two.

"It's not really a project . . ."

"Don't skirt the issue. When?"

Scott lowered his head. "Two weeks after we got here."

Tyrone stifled what might otherwise have become a volcanic roar
of laughter. "Two weeks? Ha!" Tyrone needled. "You only lasted
two weeks? How did Sonja feel about that?" He looked over
Scott's at better half listen in.

"Ah, well, she sort of insisted . . ."

"You drove her nuts? In two weeks?" Sonja shook her head vigor-
ously in agreement but kept speaking to Arlene Duncan.

"Kind of; semi-sorta-kinda-maybe." Scott grinned impishly.
"But, yeah, I have been working on something." He couldn't keep
it to himself.

"Dare I ask?"

"Off the record?" Scott sounded insistent.

"This is a twist. How about attorney-client privilege?" Tyrone
asked. Scott didn't disagree. "Good," said Tyrone. "Give me a
dollar. That's my yearly fee."

Scott complied, finding a soaking wet dollar bill in his swim-
ming trunks. He laid it next to Tyrone's plate.

"Well?" Tyrone asked with great interest.

"Well, I discovered we never developed the A-Bomb to end World
War II."

"Excuse me?"

"Someone gave it to us."

****************************************************************

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