“You won’t say anything,” she says. “Not about what I told you. Not about our source.”

“Why not? If I’ve been as emasculated as you suspect, maybe there’s something I want that they can give me in return.”

“Like what? Courage?” She’s up out of her chair. “You’re no lion and this ain’t no yellow brick road. Just the same, you won’t tell them.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because refusing to help me is not the same as helping them. And you know as well as I do that they can’t be trusted.”

“And I thought I was a skeptic.”

“Every government in the world thinks it owns the cartel on virtue,” she says. “Of course, none of them would use the bomb. Those that have it would love to get rid of it, but they can’t. They need it to keep other less noble and more warlike pricks from using it on them. And the angels who don’t have it would never pursue it, unless of course they have an excess of spent fuel rods that need to be put to some useful purpose, wasted resources being a terrible sin. In the meantime, bombs like the one on your truck have become war surplus, like old canteens and frayed fatigue jackets. I used to ask how long before some nutcase on a crusade got his hands on one. Now I guess I’m gonna have to come up with a new question, because we both know the answer to that one, don’t we?”

I don’t answer.

“Have it your way.” She slings the briefcase over her shoulder, stands up, and heads for the door. As she gets there, hand on the knob, she stops to look at me one more time. “You’re a hard sell,” she says. “You’re sure there’s no way I can persuade you? Make no mistake. It’s a watershed event. News of this would flash around the world before you could blink. It would force people to wake up. It would produce a backlash that those in power would not be able to ignore. Right now they’re asleep. What is it going to take to get their attention? Do you have any idea how many people would have died if that device had detonated? This office probably wouldn’t be here,” she says. “And we must be at least two miles away.”

“You know a lot. It was nice meeting you. And thanks for the stage direction. I’ll try to keep the dogs from humping my leg.”

She smiles. “You do that.”

“One piece of advice. I’d stay away from Mr. Diggs. He’s not as understanding as I am.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. If you try to lie your way into his office, he won’t have any difficulty at all ginning up anger. And as for his body language, you may find yourself suspended by your panty hose from the flag-pole in front of his office.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll be sure to wear pants,” she says. “I’m pretty good at it.”

I make a mental note to call Herman and warn him.

TEN

Dad, what is your problem? I’m just going out with a friend for the evening. I’m not running away. Though the thought has occurred to me.” Sarah stands near the foot of the stairs in the entryway, her arms folded as she taps her toe nervously on the hardwood floor. She looks at me with a twinkle in her eye and a maternal smile on her face, like flashing neon that says, “Poor Dad’s slipping around the bend.”

“I know, but it seems like I never get a chance to see you anymore.” I’m just getting in from the office and Sarah’s getting ready to go out.

“You mean, besides the three months camped out together in the condo?”

“I know. That couldn’t have been fun…”

“How can you say that? Do you know any other girl who gets to pick up her dates with an armed agent riding shotgun in the front seat? ‘Hello, Bill. This is Special Agent Smith. He’ll be frisking you before we leave.’”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” I tell her.

“Yeah. You weren’t there. Most of my dates were more interested in the driver than in me. One of them wanted to see his gun. Then he wanted to know how he could apply.”

“I wouldn’t go out with that guy if I were you.” I drop my briefcase on the floor and pry my dress oxfords off my feet without untying them.

“Not to worry, Dad. I’m sure he won’t call again. That is, of course, unless he’s filled out his application and wants to file it.”

It is a sore point with my daughter. And it’s not the first time that cameras and paparazzi have stalked us in our own house. It has happened before during trials.

At this moment she looks so much like her mother, Nikki, she could pass for her sister, auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail and the same dappled freckles across the nose.

“But you could stay home tonight,” I tell her.

“Dad, I’m twenty-two. I’ve been away at college for four years, on my own. Nobody was there to take care of me and I made it just fine. You have to learn to let go,” she says.

“I know. You’re right. I just need a little more time to get used to the idea. You have to remember, you’re all I have left.”

She glances at me. The sarcasm melts from her face as she drops the defensive posture and the folded arms. “Oh, Dad!”

In two strides she closes the distance between us, throws her arms around me, and we hug in the hallway, right next to the old register clock hanging on the wall. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “I’ll always be around. You’re not going to lose me.”

My wife, Nikki, Sarah’s mother, died more than fifteen years ago, leaving the two of us to fend for ourselves. As I hold Sarah the clock ticks in my ear and floods my mind with memories of a million happy mornings; of hastily cooked breakfasts, tuna sandwiches in waxed paper, fruit and cookies tossed into brown paper bags. And always capped by the hectic morning road race to school. I still drive the old yellow Nissan, the one I used ten years ago to ferry Sarah back and forth. A hundred and fifty thousand miles and I cannot bear to part with it. I am afraid that when it dies, so will I. It is my time machine, filled with remembrances of better days, echoes of laughter, and a few tears. I love the grown woman who returned from college, but I miss the little girl who once sat next to me in that big yellow car.

While she still has her arms around me, I start in again. “I just thought that maybe you could stay home tonight and we could enjoy an evening together.”

“I know, but I already made plans to go out with Jenny.” She gives me a final squeeze, slides her arms from around my shoulders, and looks at her watch. “She should be here any minute. You’ve never met Jenny.”

“No.”

“She’s really nice. You’ll like her.”

“I’m sure I will. Listen, I’ve got an idea. I could order out, get a movie, whatever you girls want to watch. If there’s someone else you want to invite, call ’ em up. Now that you’re back in town, I’d like to meet all your friends. And you know me, by ten o’clock I’ll hit the sack and you guys can have the run of the house.”

“Gee, we could put on our pajamas and have a sleepover.” She rolls her big brown eyes toward the ceiling and laughs. “Dad, please…”

She turns and glances through the double-glazed window in the front door, then checks her watch again. “Late as usual. Jenny’s a lot of fun, but she needs a clock.”

“You can do whatever you want. Have a party. Drink. Bring in guys. I don’t care. But why not do it here?” I tell her.

Sarah turns back and looks at me. “What is this? What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” I give her a look of innocence.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she says.

“No. Why?”

“Dad! I mean it.” She folds her arms again and looks at me straight on-the brown-eyed truth machine.

“I swear. There’s nothing.” My voice rises half an octave in denial.

“Are you sure?” She puts the same female glare on me that Joselyn Cole used to unravel me in the office. Where they learn this I don’t know. You could bottle it and dispense with trials by jury. “I don’t believe you.” She comes to the same conclusion Cole did. The woman was right. Children and dogs, they’ll get you every time.