The Ghost

work on.”
    “The manuscript stays in America,” said Kroll flatly. “That’s one of the reasons Marty made the house on the Vineyard available. It’s a secure environment. Only a few people are allowed to handle it.”
    “Sounds more like a bomb than a book!” joked Quigley. Nobody laughed. He rubbed his hands unhappily. “You know, I will need to see it myself at some point. I am supposed to be editing it.”
    “In theory,” said Maddox. “Actually we need to talk about that later.” He turned to Kroll. “There’s no room in this schedule for revisions. We’ll need to revise as we go.”
    As they carried on discussing the timetable, I studied Quigley. He was upright but motionless, like one of those victims in the movies who get stuck with a stiletto while standing in a crowd and die without anyone noticing. His mouth opened and closed ever so slightly, as if he had a final message to impart. Yet even at the time I realized he’d asked a perfectly reasonable question. If he was the editor, why shouldn’t he see the manuscript? And why did it have to be held in a “secure environment” on an island off the eastern seaboard of the United States? I felt Rick’s elbow in my ribs and realized Maddox was talking to me.
    “How soon can you get over there? Assuming we go with you rather than one of the others—how fast can you move?”
    “It’s Friday today,” I said. “Give me a day to get ready. I could fly Sunday.”
    “And start Monday? That would be great.”
    Rick said, “You won’t find anyone who can move quicker than that.”
    Maddox and Kroll looked at one another and I knew then that I had the job. As Rick said afterward, the trick is always to put yourself in their position. “It’s like interviewing a new cleaner. Do you want someone who can give you the history of cleaning and the theory of cleaning, or do you want someone who’ll just get down and clean your fucking house? They chose you because they think you’ll clean their fucking house.”
    “We’ll go with you,” said Maddox. He stood and reached over and shook my hand. “Subject to reaching a satisfactory agreement with Rick here, of course.”
    Kroll added, “You’ll also have to sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
    “No problem,” I said, also getting to my feet. That didn’t bother me. Confidentiality clauses are standard procedure in the ghosting world. “I couldn’t be happier.”
    And I couldn’t have been. Everyone except Quigley was smiling, and suddenly there was a kind of all-boys, locker-room-after-the-match kind of feeling in the air. We chatted for a minute or so, and that was when Kroll took me to one side and said, very casually, “I’ve something here you might care to take a look at.”
    He reached under the table and pulled out a bright yellow plastic bag with the name of some fancy Washington clothes store printed on it in curly black copperplate. My first thought was that it must be the manuscript of Lang’s memoirs and that all the stuff about a “secure environment” had been a joke. But when he saw my expression, Kroll laughed and said, “No, no, it’s not that . It’s just a book by another client of mine. I’d really appreciate your opinion if you get a chance to look at it. Here’s my number.” I took his card and slipped it into my pocket. Quigley still hadn’t said a word.
    “I’ll give you a call when we’ve settled the deal,” said Rick.
    “Make them howl,” I told him, squeezing his shoulder.
    Maddox laughed. “Hey! Remember!” he called as Quigley showed me out of the door. He struck his big fist against his blue-suited chest. “Heart!”
    As we went down in the lift, Quigley stared at the ceiling. “Was it my imagination, or did I just get fired in there?”
    “They wouldn’t let you go, Roy,” I said with all the sincerity I could muster, which wasn’t much. “You’re the only one left who can remember what publishing used to be like.”
    “‘Let you go,’” he said bitterly. “Yes, that’s the modern euphemism, isn’t it? As if it’s a favor. You’re clinging to the edge of a cliff and someone says, ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry, we’re going to have to let you go.’”
    A couple on their lunch break got in at the fourth floor and Quigley was silent until they got off to go to the restaurant on the second. When the doors closed, he said, “There’s something not right about this project.”
    “Me, you mean?”
    “No. Before you.”