"I do," Paul said.
Ethan slammed down the twenty. "Javier hardly went to school. And Jaimie doesn't have any of those letters."
Mack tipped his chair back lazily. "Are you crazy, Ethan? She has three paragraphs' worth of letters behind her name and three or four pages of awards. Javier didn't need to go to a formal school. He worked with the best in the business and got his education hands-on, not to mention both of them are brilliant. You're betting against them?"
Brian tossed his money over Ethan's. "Jaimie graduated high school at eleven, you idiot. Jaimie, all the way. I'm in."
"Jaimie did your homework for you," Kane reminded.
"Where did she go to school?" Paul asked.
Mack deliberately smirked. "She received her B.A. summa cum laude from Columbia University." He tipped his chair forward and looked into Paul's eyes. "I believe that's the highest honors there, kid. If I remember my Latin correctly, summa trumps magna any day, am I right?"
Kane grinned. "And don't you think going to an Ivy League university instead of an engineering institute might give you a little more rounded education?"
"Not necessarily." Paul sniffed. "If you want to play around with other things."
"She was only what?" Mack turned his head toward Kane. "Sixteen or seventeen?"
"I don't think she was even that old," Kane replied.
"Where'd she get her PhD?" Paul asked, the smugness fading.
"She got her PhD from Stanford University." Mack tipped back his chair again, balancing on the two back legs. "She specialized in artificial intelligence." His grin was back. "AI sounds a whole lot sexier than 'analysis of algorithms' to me."
"Is that good?" Ethan asked Paul. "Why would you want to be artificially intelligent? You're the real thing, right?" His hand hovered over the twenty he'd thrown out.
Kane slapped his hand. "Back off, moron."
"Don't worry, Ethan," Paul said. "This is all about encryption."
Mack snorted. "And you're feeling really confident that she doesn't know much about that, right? Not her strong suit?"
Ethan groaned. "He's taunting us, man. That's not good."
Marc rubbed his jaw. "Maybe we should change the bet. We could put a time limit on her. What does it usually take to do something like this? Minutes? Hours?"
"Try weeks or months," Paul said. "Sometimes years, depending on the encryption."
Mack and Kane exchanged a long look, smug amusement mixed with pride in their grins.
Paul scowled. "It will take years. If they can even do it."
Ethan nudged him. "There's two of them and only one of you. We should get odds on this. And maybe we could blindfold Jaimie."
"Just tell us what you're dying to tell us," Paul said.
"She did her dissertation on a revolutionary, AI-based encryption algorithm." Mack delivered the killing argument with quiet satisfaction. "Her AI dissertation is entitled, 'An Experimental Schema-Based Approach to Mememetric Password Generation.'"
"I can't believe this," Paul said and wiped his face with his hand.
"Not so cocky now, are you?" Mack taunted. "Never, ever underestimate my woman." There was a wealth of pride in his voice.
"Are you saying she might be able to do it?"
Paul shrugged. "It's possible. Depending."
"Well." Ethan's hand slid across the table toward the twenties. "I got carried away."
"Oh, no, you don't," Kane said. "You placed a bet, you're in."
"You're so harsh," Ethan complained.
"Who ate all the lasagna?" Marc demanded. "I'm supposed to go relieve Gideon and there's nothing left." He turned his head toward the covered plate. "Unless . . ."
"Don't even think about it," Mack warned. "Anyone touching Jaimie's food loses their hand."
Marc snatched his hand out of harm's way and put it behind his back. "It's cold out there on the roof tonight." He grinned at Mack. "Those two idiots in the boat are freezing their butts off and Gideon says they aren't happy."
"Well, don't get your head shot off making fun of them," Mack cautioned as Marc sauntered out. He shoved his chair back and added to the others, "Let's get this kitchen clean and talk a little shop while we're waiting."
The men picked up their plates. Paul hesitated and when no one looked at him, he followed suit. As he approached the sink, his gaze touched briefly on the wooden block of knives and slid away.
"Don't," Mack warned wearily. "I'd hate to have to kill someone I like."
Paul blinked. "You don't like me. None of you do."
"Where'd you get a dumb idea like that?" Mack asked.
"I think you all made it obvious you didn't want me on the team."
Mack shrugged. "What's that got to do with liking you?"
Ethan took the dirty plate out of Paul's hands and rinsed it off. "You're a little sensitive, Paul. We've been a team for a couple of years now. We grew up together. Each of us knows how the other thinks. We know what any one of us will do in a given situation. That gives us an edge in combat. It's nothing personal."
"I keep my boys alive, Paul. That's my job. I do what's best for them," Mack said.
"How do you know whether I'm best or not?" For the first time bitterness crept in.
"Well, with the bullshit jacket Sergeant Major provided, of course I don't. That and you were spying on us."
"You don't know that."
"I know. And you're not very good, are you?"
"How would you know?"
"You got caught."
Ethan nudged him with a good-natured smile. "He's got you there, Paul."
"You don't have anything at all on me. I don't have a clue why you suddenly put me under g
uard and confiscated my laptop."
"You were pretty hostile," Brian pointed out. "Had a lot to hide or what's the big deal?"
"It's my private laptop. I don't want anyone going through it. You must have things on your computer you don't want to share."
Marc feigned puzzlement. "Just my porn, and everyone knows I'm a star in those videos. It's not like the world can't see me."
A snicker, a few hoots, and snorts of derision greeted his claim.
The intercom buzzed. "Jaimie wants one of her drinks, Mack," Javier said. "And I could use some coffee."
Ethan whooped. "They're getting frustrated."
"They're getting serious," Mack corrected. "You should know by now, Ethan, Jaimie only drinks caffeine when she means business. Gideon's coming in. He'll give us the rundown on our favorite terrorists and we can plan out a little surprise."
"I want to be the gun runner this time," Jacob volunteered. "Kane always gets that part."
"He looks mean and you don't," Mack said as he put on the coffee. "In any case, no one can impersonate Madigan, he's too well-known. And he's always in on a deal. There's never been a time that he didn't personally make the exchange. We can't pass anyone off as Madigan. We can get inside, though, and replace the guards. I don't think, once they've determined the guns are being stored there, that they'll wait for Madigan to get out of the hospital. More likely they'll kill everyone and just take them. Saves them money."
Kane sank into an overstuffed chair in the living room before anyone else could grab it, his fingers forming a steeple as he regarded the other men gathering around. He waited pointedly for Paul.
"You including me in this?" Paul asked, his tone edged with belligerence.
"I don't think you're Doomsday," Kane said. "Sheesh, kid. If you're that kind of spy, we'd kill you and be done with it. You aren't exactly going anywhere. And if you're clean, Mack's not going to give you a vacation just because your feelings are hurt." He leaned forward and gestured until Paul moved close. Kane lowered his voice to an over-loud whisper. "I'll let you in on a little secret. The boss isn't a particularly sensitive or nice man."
"That isn't exactly a secret," Paul said.
Mack slammed the coffeepot onto the tray with unnecessary force. "But he does have excellent hearing."
The men burst out laughing. Ethan slapped Paul on the back and then beat the kid to the next most comfortable chair.
"Jaimie doesn't have a lot of furniture," Lucas complained. "I see you bought a couple of beds. Did it occur to you that when we're hanging out here we'll need chairs?" He swung a kitchen chair around and straddled it.