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Counterterrorism.”
    â€œA-Dick,” Jack says, smiling, throwing it out there.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat’s what they call an assistant director. An AD or A-Dick. Not necessarily a term of affection.”
    â€œAs I was saying,” Teddy says, elbowing his way back into the conversation, “there’s some indication that Assistant Director Bevins is a friend with benefits.”
    â€œThey sleep together?”
    â€œPast tense, if it happened. But they’re still close.”
    â€œJack?”
    â€œA matter of speculation,” he admits with an indifferent shrug. “Nobody knew for sure and they certainly weren’t saying.”
    â€œOkay. The counterterrorism connection is interesting, given what’s happened,” Naomi points out. “Let’s keep that in mind as we move on.”
    â€œHow did he first get in the business of rescuing kidnapped kids?” Dane wants to know. “Was that part of his purview at the Bureau?”
    â€œNo. Later, after the accident, while he was undergoing therapy for a sleep disorder. An acquaintance asked for help, he managed to recover the child and found a new calling.”
    â€œBack up there,” Naomi says. “Sleep disorder?”
    â€œYeah. I don’t know if it’s weird or ironic or what, but ever since he woke up from the accident, Mr. Shane has suffered from a peculiar, possibly unique sleep disorder. Like they’ve studied him, written articles about it.”
    â€œIronic would not be the correct term,” Naomi suggests. “Tragic would be the correct term. Is that agreed?”
    â€œGreat song, though,” Dane interjects airily.
    â€œNuts,” Jack says, suddenly animated. “If you don’t know what ironic means, don’t use it in the lyrics. Rain on a wedding day isn’t irony, it’s bad weather. It sucks, but it isn’t ironic.”
    Naomi interjects, “Enough on the golden-oldie lyrics. Back to subject, please. Teddy?”
    â€œA death row pardon two minutes too late is definitely ironic,” Teddy points out, in a small, hesitant voice.
    â€œTeddy!”
    â€œOkay, okay. Took a while to separate the facts from the legend, but despite or possibly because of his sleep disorder, which means he sometimes stays awake for days at a time and eventually hallucinates, Randall Shane is considered to be among the best solo operatives who specialize in child recovery.”
    â€œNot among,” Jack says, arms folded. “The best, period. Randall Shane is the last of the real kid finders. They broke the mold.”
    Teddy shrugs his narrow shoulders, as if to concedethe point. “Unlike many in the field, which can be pretty shady, monetary gain does not seem to be his primary motivation. For him it’s a calling.”
    â€œMost of his cases are pro bono,” Jack concedes.
    â€œSeventy percent,” Teddy says.
    â€œWhatever, Shane ain’t about the money. He can’t even afford to drive a decent car,” Jack says.
    Teddy suddenly has a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Current ride, a five-year-old Townie, previously registered to John B. Delancey of Gloucester, Mass.”
    Jack shrugs his wide, well-tailored shoulders, but he’s no doubt impressed. “Donation to a good cause. And no, I didn’t get a tax deduction because Shane has never registered as a nonprofit, although he should.”
    Teddy keeps going. “Current residence, Humble, New York. Small town in the general vicinity of Rochester.”
    â€œHumble?” Dane says, grinning. “Is that ironic?”
    Naomi sighs loudly, which effectively stops the banter. “You have more?” she asks.
    â€œTons,” says Teddy. “I found more than a hundred references to the so-called Shane’s Sleep Disorder Syndrome. Plus interesting facts on a variety of his cases.”
    â€œExcellent, but hold for now,” Naomi says.