Aldrich said, “I’ll talk to the Wall Street Journal, but not the New York Times.”

The publicist kept smiling while she nodded. “And of course you can answer or not answer whichever questions you like. But your answers will be available to any and all of the participating news outlets.”

Aldrich scowled, but seemed satisfied to have had his say.

“And now on to the big event of the day,” said the publicist. “No matter where your political sensibilities lie, I think you’ll all be both proud and honored to be guests of the president of the United States this afternoon.” She kept talking before anyone—Aldrich—could interrupt. “He asks that you join him and Mrs. Obama aboard the aircraft carrier Intrepid, which is permanently moored on the Hudson River on the West Side. President Obama will be delivering remarks honoring the men and women of the armed forces on this July Fourth weekend. You know, of course, he is in town for the One World Trade Center dedication tomorrow morning, July Fourth.”

She then introduced Agent Harrelson, who strode to her side with the balance and ease of a man accustomed to handling groups of strangers. “First of all, let me just say that my hat goes off to all of you,” he began. “As a man whose profession it is to protect people for a living, I know that what you did on that plane took an immense amount of courage. So first let me add my voice to the rest of the country’s in thanking you personally for your bravery, for your selflessness, and for being people of action. You have my respect.”

The Six were blown away by the depth of Agent Harrelson’s sincerity, the honor his words did them. Gersten thought she detected a tiny bit of flattery in his presentation, which was perhaps advantageous in getting what he needed.

To that end, he held up six sheets of paper. “Each of you must complete a background form, standard procedure for anyone who is going to be in immediate proximity to the president. Yes, I know you have been answering questions and perhaps filling out similar forms since this all went down, and yes, I still have to ask you to do it one more time each. One page only, standard form. All we need to know are your full legal name, date and place of birth, names of your parents and children, occupation, addresses going back twelve years, and the names of three people to whom you are not related and who have known you for at least ten years.”

Agent Harrelson distributed the pages as he spoke. Each person took a form without comment. Aldrich, especially, had apparently been sufficiently pacified by Agent Harrelson’s praise, and offered no objections to an audience with the Democratic commander in chief.

“Because of the short window of time, I’m going to need you to complete these this moment, so we can clear everybody before the event this afternoon. The speech has a three o’clock start, I believe . . . ?” He looked to the publicist for confirmation.

“We will be leaving here no later than one thirty for the event,” she said. “Agent Harrelson will be part of our team from here on in, until we return from the event late this afternoon.”

Agent Harrelson added, “These might help you as well,” passing out hotel pens to each of The Six like congratulatory cigars.

Aldrich, his patriotism stirred, went right to work on his form. The others looked it over before starting in. Surprisingly, it was Alain Nouvian, the cellist, who objected, his voice quivering a bit with either emotion or uncertainty.

“What if we—I—no longer want to participate in any of this?”

Harrelson and the publicist looked at each other. The publicist was the first to answer.

“Mr. Nouvian, like it or not, you have become a public figure. I think political differences should be set aside at a time like this—”

“It is not a political issue,” he said, rubbing at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I was very happy to vote for Mr. Obama. I just . . .” He shook the sheet. “Why all this?”

Harrelson showed a little bit of professional suspicion. “Because I require it, sir. This is due diligence.”

“And if I would simply like to go home?” This Nouvian directed at Gersten. “I told you . . . I have a performance to prepare for, and I am very tired . . . This is still a free country, isn’t it?”

Jenssen looked up from his form, interjecting in his Swedish accent. “Unless you have something it wants, apparently,” Jenssen said.

Sparks looked back at Jenssen with surprise and a look of reproach. “I really don’t mind doing my part in all this,” she said. “But I do agree that this Patriot Act stuff is bullshit. Truly. I mean, look at us.”

Nouvian said, “How much of our background do we need to . . . ?” He shook his head. “We are reaching the point where we are being punished for stopping a hijacking.”

“Punished?” said Frank, looking up over his eyeglasses.

Nouvian shook his head, appealing directly to Gersten. “I don’t like to be on television. I don’t need to meet the president. What I need is time to practice my instrument, time to be alone. Is that so difficult to understand?”

Gersten said, “Of course, Mr. Nouvian, you are free to get the advice of a lawyer. Maybe file a writ of habeas corpus. But even that would take time. Until and unless we get a court order, nothing has changed. The ceremony this afternoon aboard the USS Intrepid is of course a very big deal. And, as with anything regarding the president, security is paramount. Your choice is to remain with the group and enjoy the afternoon, or I suppose stay here at the hotel. But to be honest with you—not going will have the effect of bringing more attention your way, specifically as to why you refused to participate.” Gersten checked with Harrelson as she continued. “And regardless, we’re still going to need these background checks.” Harrelson nodded sternly. “Is that the problem, Mr. Nouvian?”

“No.” Nouvian shook his head. “No, it is the general intrusion . . .”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. We have a full morning and afternoon, but as of right now the evening is completely free.”

Frank, the journalist, had removed his glasses, addressing Nouvian and Jenssen. “If I can just interject.” He stood up to address the group. “It’s one weekend. A celebratory occasion, and we find ourselves—rather unbelievably—as the toast of the town. I strongly advocate that we hang tight, play the game, be the people they want us to be, accept what we are offered . . . and at the end of this, all of us, The Six, could very well be set for the rest of our lives. You have children, Nouvian?”

Nouvian nodded.

“You?” Frank asked Jenssen.

Jenssen shook his head and smiled. The smile appeared to be in reaction to Frank’s careerism.

“It costs us nothing to participate, but the payoff could be huge.” Then Frank turned to Gersten. “But I have a question. About these newspaper interviews, how in-depth will they be?”

Gersten showed him a shrug. “Not my party,” she said.

He looked to the publicist.

“As in-depth as each of you chooses to be,” she said.

Frank waved it off. “No matter. We can huddle beforehand. I think we should keep our personal narratives to a minimum. That’s what people will want to know about—the ‘real’ us, the humans behind the heroes. But—never mind that right now. Let’s get through this first.”

He went back to filling out his form. Nouvian looked out the window and sighed, then picked up his pen and began completing his form too.

A doctor and nurse entered the adjoining room of the suite, and Gersten guessed why they were there. “Mr. Jenssen,” she said, “looks like you need to get your arm checked out again. Maybe you can take the form with you?”

Jenssen looked at his blue wrist cast, then pushed himself off the armrest to stand, following her to the doctor.

“Any pain?” asked Gersten.