"Boone's effective. Smirnoff is just pathetic."

"You admire Boone."

"You know I can't say that. I sincerely don't like violence. Honest to God."

"That's why you threatened Smirnoff with a knife."

"Second-degree. It's premeditated violence I can't stand. Look. Boone isn't even necessary. The corporations have already planted their own bombs. All we have to do is light the fuses."

Rebecca sat back with those green eyes narrowed to slits, and I knew some sort of profound observation was coming down the pipeline. "I didn't think you were scared of anything, but Smirnoff scares you, doesn't he?"

"Sure. Look, GEE rarely does illegal things and we never do violent things. The worst we do is a little property damage now and then-and only to prevent worse things. But even so, we're bugged and tapped and tailed. The FBI thinks I'm Carlos the fucking Jackal. And we never talk about anything over the phone. 'Regular professionals. But that clown Smirnoff is trying to organize an openly terroristic group- over the fucking telephone! He's about as shrewd as your brain-damaged Lhasa Apso. Shit! I wonder if we could sue him for defamation, just for mentioning our name."

"I'm not a lawyer."

"I could definitely see a defamation suit, though, if a news organization tried to connect us in any way."

She was more amused than furious. I knew she would be; she thinks I'm cute when I'm angry. After you've fucked a man on a Zodiac in the middle of Boston Harbor on your lunch hour, it's hard to distance yourself from him, say what you want about objectivity and ethics.