"Well..."

"Excuse us, gentlemen."

The two mercenaries looked up to find a trio of men standing at a short distance from their table. One was Oriental, the other two Caucasian. All were in business suits and carried attach_ cases.

"If you would be so good as to join us in a private room, I believe it would be to our mutual advantage."

"The pleasure is ours," replied Tidwell, formally rising to follow. He caught Clancy's eye and raised an eyebrow. Clancy winked back in agreement. This had contract written all over it.

As they passed the bar, Flo flashed them an old aviator's "thumbs-up" sign signifying that she had noticed what was going on and their table would still be waiting for them when they returned. To further their hopes, the room they were led to was one of the most expensive available at the bar-that is, one the management guaranteed for its lack of listening devices or interruptions. There were drinks already waiting on the conference table, and the Oriental gestured for them to be seated.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Yamada. " His failure to introduce his companions identified them as bodyguards. Almost as a reflex, the two mercenaries swept them with a cold, appraising glance, then returned their attention to Yamada.

"Am I correct in assuming I am addressing Stephen Tidwell?" His eyes shifted. "Michael Clancy?"

The two men nodded silently. For the time being, they were content to let him do the talking.

"Am I further correct in my information that you have recently been dismissed by the Communications Combine, Mr. Tidwell?"

Again Steve nodded. Although he tried not to show it, inwardly he was irritated. What had they done? Gone through town posting notices?

Yamada reached into his pocket and withdrew two envelopes. Placing them on the table, he slid one to each of the two men.