The Scotch stopped halfway to Drummond’s mouth. “What?”

“It’s not important. We’ll just have to be careful.”

“Jesus.”

Milo didn’t share Drummond’s anxiety; he wouldn’t even later when he was heading home again, feeling the eyes of a young guy with glasses on the same subway car. The fact was that Milo had become the kind of dreaded creature that feels more comfortable evading surveillance and calculating the flow of information than discussing his feelings with a Long Island therapist while the eyes of his wife are on him.

He said, “If so, they saw me come here, but that’s fine. I’m visiting my old employer, asking for help finding work. The important thing is that I know they’re watching. Hopefully we’ll find a way to use that to our advantage.”

“Makes me wonder why you’re bothering with this at all. Don’t you have a marriage to suture back together?”

“Maybe I like you, Alan. Maybe I don’t want to see you lose your job. Maybe-and this is sort of disturbing-maybe I really buy your line about making Tourism humane.”

“That would make you the only one,” Drummond said, then laughed despite himself. He took another sip of his Scotch. “You still like him, don’t you?”

“Irwin?”

“No, Zhu.”

Milo shrugged. “He’s played this brilliantly.”

Drummond’s smile went away. “Before this is over, I’ll lay odds you lose that hero worship.”

“We’ll call it a bet.”

They both looked up at a knock on the door. “Yes?” Drummond called.

Penelope opened the door and knotted her arms. “Fellas, this fifties thing is getting pretty old. Is one of you going to cook me some dinner, or what?”

2

She began angry and, as hours passed and she kept getting recorded messages from his phone, moved steadily into the realm of worry. By the time she was giving Stephanie her bath, the worry was inching closer to panic. She showed none of these conflicting emotions to Stephanie, but children are antennas tuned to the frequency of hidden emotions. Stef knew something was up, and as she wiped shampoo from her eyes she said, “Where’s Dad?”

“He had some work to do.”

“But he doesn’t have a job. He’s unemployed.”

“Don’t you think he’s trying to find a job?”

“This late?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Then how come you keep trying to call him?”

Tina blinked at her. She was asking these questions with no particular malice, absentmindedly pushing a plastic power boat around the tub. “I want him to pick up some groceries,” Tina lied.

“Why don’t you go downstairs and buy stuff?”

“Because I’m giving you a bath.”

“I can take my bath myself. I am six. I’m big enough.”

“No, Little Miss. Not alone in the house you’re not.”

So it went, distracting Tina from her anger and worry, and once the water in the bath was draining and Stephanie was wrapped in a towel that stretched to her toes, they both heard the front door open, and Stephanie ran out in her towel shouting, “Dad! Dad!”

“Whoa,” Tina heard him tell their daughter. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

As they had done many times during their life together, they temporarily set aside their conflict and focused on Stef. He apologized for missing bathtime, sounding earnest, but it was a sign of her trust issues that she even questioned that.

They finished the drying together, and Milo read a chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to Stephanie, while Tina took care of the dishes. She set aside a plate of chicken fingers and peas for Milo and placed it inside the microwave and left the door open-she had a feeling that if she didn’t, he’d eat it cold. He sometimes became that absentminded when his mind was elsewhere. Once, when he’d been dealing with some particularly vexing problem at the office, he’d even left the house without shoes, not noticing until he’d reached the street.

“She asleep?” she asked when he came out.

“Not yet. She wants to Skype with some friend in Botswana. Did you know she had a friend in Botswana?”

“That’s Unity Khama. It’s a class project. We used to do pen pals, but these days they don’t even know what a pen is.”

He snorted a laugh and heated up the dinner.

“So I guess you’ve got some talking to do,” she said.

“Can you wait a sec?”

He left as the microwave bleeped, and when he returned again he was carrying both of their coats. “Here,” he said, handing hers over. “Put this on. We’ll go upstairs.”

“What about Stef?”

“I told her we’d be out a few minutes, and not to unlock the door for anyone. Come on. She’ll be fine.”

“Why can’t we talk here?”

“Can you just indulge me?”

She wasn’t entirely sure, but she was willing to try. Dr. Ray had said that mistrust breeds more mistrust, and that the danger of this was that it spiraled out of control, particularly when it remained locked inside you. So she said, “Milo, right now I’m not feeling very indulgent.”

“I wouldn’t either,” he admitted, “but please.”

She put on her coat and went back to check on Stephanie, who was talking via video link to Unity, a bright-eyed black girl in Gaborone. They were both laughing, so she left them to their jokes and withdrew.

When they left the apartment, Milo made a show of locking the door from the outside, then led her upstairs to the rooftop-access door, which took a heavy key. A cold evening breeze scattered their hair. She said, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of bugs.”

“Then I won’t tell you. But I’m trying not to hide things from you anymore. You don’t deserve it.”

“I think I’ve heard that before.”

“A few weeks ago, when I saw Yevgeny in Berlin, he told me that I didn’t give people enough credit, least of all you. He was right. You don’t deserve that. Come here,” Milo said and led her to the edge of the roof. Beyond it rooftops led toward Prospect Park; to the left lights twinkled in the distance, heading toward Manhattan. Milo was pointing directly down, though, to the right, at Garfield Street. “See that Chevy? The blue one.”

“Yeah?”

“The guy in it, he’s following me. I can’t be sure how long, but probably ever since I returned home.”

“It’s probably just a neighbor,” she pointed out. “Neighbors don’t spend the night in their cars.”

“Why’s he following you?”

“I’m guessing he’s working with some people who were following me in Europe. They’re working for a senator.”

The word “senator” didn’t belong in that sentence. “Wh-” she began. “What senator?”

“Nathan Irwin, a Minnesota Republican.”

“Fucking Republicans,” she muttered.

“It’s nothing to be worried about,” he assured her. “I’m just trying to explain why we’re talking up here. They probably didn’t bug our apartment, but I’m not taking chances.”

She looked at him, at the Chevy, and then back. The wind was making her eyes water, and she hoped he wasn’t going to misinterpret it as weeping. She waited.

“About Dr. Ray’s. I’m sorry, really sorry. But when we were talking my mind just switched into autopilot, and I realized something very important. About the department.”

“The department you don’t work for anymore.”

“Yes. But I… look. I’m trying to tell you without actually telling you. Not because I’m trying to hide anything, but because it’s not the kind of thing you should know. Maybe it wouldn’t put you in danger, but maybe it would. I’m not willing to take the chance.”

“Then try to make some kind of sense, Milo. Figure it out.”

He seemed to accept the gentle scolding; he nodded. “I had to go talk to the new director about it, because if I’m right, then the department is in serious trouble. It could be destroyed.”

She could see he was trying, and she appreciated that. “Didn’t you tell me the other night that it didn’t deserve to exist? What changed your mind?”

“It’s easy to say that, but the department’s made up of people. You start worrying about all the people who’re going to lose their jobs, and some other people who are now in real danger.”