Rambling on, making no sense to him now, or maybe he had just stopped listening, his head dizzy with it. Not a crash, a virus, some act of fate, but something willed, a scream of unhappiness. “I’m sorry for this news,” she’d said before he could ask more. “Is it possible for you to come now? He’s in a coma. So still alive. I don’t know how long. They don’t expect-so if you could come.” And then the reserved time was running out, and instead of questions there were logistics and plans. But what answers could anyone have? Something that only made sense to Danny, the most private act there was.

To his surprise, there had been no problem having the Army move up the trip. The problem was getting there, with the trains the way they were. Then something last minute opened up on the Chief, if he was willing to sleep sitting up on the Century to meet it, so he’d packed a duffel, sent the wire, and now found himself riding with Sol Lasner. Who could wait-the Army’s assignment-while he took his personal leave, brooding. Days to think about it, all the way to California. Meanwhile, Lasner was lighting the cigar, looking out the window and then at his watch, checking some invisible schedule.

“Any idea where we are?”

“Just past Schenectady.”

Lasner drew on the cigar, looking out again. “Upstate,” he said. “Goldwyn’s from here. Gloversville. They made gloves. That’s what he was, a glove man. Well, why not?”

Just talking to himself, not really expecting a reply, but suddenly Ben took the opening anyway. The meeting had fallen into his lap, personal leave or not.