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idiot?” “Do you want to die stupid?” “You’re not even a half-wit.” When really annoyed, he threw pencils and notebooks, and screamed, “Assholes! You’re all fucking assholes!”
    TechGate employees put up with the tantrums of “Death March Doniger” because he was a brilliant physicist, better than they were; because he knew the problems his teams were facing; and because his criticisms were invariably on point. Unpleasant as it was, this stinging style worked; TechGate made remarkable advances in two years.
    In 1984, he sold his company for a hundred million dollars. That same year, Time magazine listed him as one of fifty people under the age of twenty-five “who will shape the rest of the century.” The list also included Bill Gates and Steve Jobs.
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    “Goddamn it,” Doniger said, turning to Gordon. “Do I have to do everything myself? Jesus. Where did they find Traub?”
    “In the desert. On the Navajo reservation.”
    “Where, exactly?”
    “All I know is, ten miles north of Corazón. Apparently there’s not much out there.”
    “All right,” Doniger said. “Then get Baretto from security to drive Traub’s car out to Corazón, and leave it in the desert. Puncture a tire and walk away.”
    Diane Kramer cleared her throat. She was dark-haired, in her early thirties, dressed in a black suit. “I don’t know about that, Bob,” she said, in her best lawyerly tone. “You’re tampering with evidence—”
    “Of course I’m tampering with evidence! That’s the whole point! Somebody’s going to ask how Traub got out there. So leave his car for them to find.”
    “But we don’t know exactly where—”
    “It doesn’t matter exactly where. Just do it.”
    “That means Baretto plus somebody else knows about this. . . .”
    “And who gives a damn? Nobody. Just do it, Diane.”
    There was a short silence. Kramer stared at the floor, frowning, clearly still unhappy.
    “Look,” Doniger said, turning to Gordon. “You remember when Garman was going to get the contract and my old company wasn’t? You remember the press leak?”
    “I remember,” Gordon said.
    “You were so worried about it,” Doniger said, smirking. He explained to Kramer: “Garman was a fat pig. Then he lost a lot of weight because his wife put him on a diet. We leaked that Garman had inoperable cancer and his company was going to fold. He denied it, but nobody believed him, because of the way he looked. We got the contract. I sent a big basket of fruit to his wife.” He laughed. “But the point is, nobody ever traced the leak to us. All’s fair, Diane. Business is business. Get the goddamn car out in the desert.”
    She nodded, but she was still looking at the floor.
    “And then,” Doniger said, “I want to know how the hell Traub got into the transit room in the first place. Because he’d already made too many trips, and he had accumulated too many transcription defects. He was past his limit. He wasn’t supposed to make any more trips. He wasn’t cleared for transit. We have a lot of security around that room. So how’d he get in?”
    “We think he had a maintenance clearance, to work on the machines,” Kramer said. “He waited until evening, between shifts, and took a machine. But we’re checking all that now.”
    “I don’t want you to check it,” Doniger said sarcastically. “I want you to fix it, Diane.”
    “We’ll fix it, Bob.”
    “You better, goddamn it,” Doniger said. “Because this company now faces three significant problems. And Traub is the least of them. The other two are major. Ultra, ultra, major.”
    :
    Doniger had always had a gift for the long view. Back in 1984, he had sold TechGate because he foresaw that computer chips were going to “hit the wall.” At the time, this seemed nonsensical. Computer chips were doubling in power every eighteen months, while the cost was halved. But Doniger recognized that these advances were made by cramming components closer and closer