After two rings it stopped and he heard the voice of Winston Bartlett, both outside the front door and in his ear. "Yes." He was too startled to respond, but he didn't need to, because an instant later he also heard the sound of a key and then the front door opened. A shaft of daylight shot across the room as Bartlett took one look and exploded. "Damn, so it's true. How the hell did--" "Hey, come on in," Stone said, trying to recover some poise and take marginal control of the situation. "I'm here by permission. The downstairs tenant, who you just evicted, or kidnapped too, gave me her key." "You don't get it, do you? I told you to keep--" "But we have signs of progress. I know all about Kristen." Well, that was hardly the case, but it never hurt to start off with a bluff to see how far you could get. "That's why I'm here. The question is, when are we going to start talking to each other? Because I'm putting together a hell of a story." "I don't fucking believe this." Bartlett slammed the door. "By the way, a special thanks for getting me sacked at the Sentinel. Now I'll have the leisure to concentrate full-time on the stem cell book. And Gerex." "I warned you, but you wouldn't fucking listen." He was peering around the living room as though searching for clues to explain why nothing was going right. "Like I said, I talked to Kristen yesterday." Stone stood his ground. "She's not a happy person." "If you bring her into this . . ." Bartlett glared at him. "I can't imagine what makes you think you can just run roughshod through my business and my life." "Here's how it is. You can abuse me, or you can use me. Keep in mind I'm accustomed to working for people who buy ink by the barrel. As I tried to explain before, if you won't let me get at the whole truth, I may end up spreading half-truths." Bartlett walked across the room and ran his fingers along the marble mantelpiece above the fireplace. "You know," he said, turning back, "up until now you've never asked me for anything. I have to say I've always admired that, but I'm curious why." "Maybe I thought it was your place to come to me," Stone said, puzzled by the left turn the conversation had suddenly taken. "You know, I have a life of my own. I have an eleven- year-old daughter you've never seen or--apparently--care to see. I'm wondering what that says about you. Your granddaughter's name, by the way, is--" "I know her name. I know quite a bit about our blood ties, or lack of." "Well, I'd bet she'd be just thrilled by that. Incidentally, she doesn't know a goddam thing about you and I'd just as soon keep it that way." "I knew having this conversation was a fucking mistake. This is why I never had it. Any real son of mine has got to have some of my character, my stature. You're a bean counter." "If you had any character, you wouldn't be hiding behind all this secrecy. I try to tell the truth, as much and as often as I can. That's my take on character."