THERE WAS ALWAYS something intimidating about meeting Charles Danko in person. Even at a fancy place like the Hunt-ington Hotel in San Francisco. Danko fit in anywhere. He was wearing a tweed jacket, pinstriped shirt, and a rep tie.

There was a girl with him, pretty, with a tangle of bright red hair. He always liked to keep you off guard. Who is she?

Mal had been told to wear a suit jacket and even a tie, if he could dig one up. He had, and he found it kind of funny - bright red with tiny bugles in the design.

Danko stood rather formally and shook Mal's hand, just another of his odd off-putting gestures. He waved a hand around the dining room. "Could there be a safer place for us to meet? My Gawd, the Huntington!"

He looked at the girl and they both laughed, but he didn't introduce her.

"Ricin," Malcolm said, "it's brilliant. What a great day - we got Bengosian! We can do so much damage here. Hell, we could wipe out this capitalist den in about a minute flat. Go over to the Mark and take out another hundred rich blood-suckers. Take the trolley and spring death on anybody we passed."

"Yes, especially because I figured how to make it as............