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You called them and told them I was coming up to the cabin, just like they told you to. Only they didn’t go after me. They killed Frank, the fat fuck. Now give me your phone.”
    She looked at the floor. She looked at the window and at the TV showing a soccer game. I stared at her until she put her hand in her purse and slid the phone toward me. “They called me. It comes up private, no number.”
    I checked. The private call came in four times, earlier in the day. All the other incoming and outgoing calls were local numbers. “Describe them.”
    â€œDerek was a skinny guy, tallish. Shaved head. Flame tattoo running up his neck. He had an English accent. John was a little shorter than you, a little thicker. Dark complexion. I doubt those were their real names.”
    â€œWhich one did you sleep with?”
    She slapped me. I took it and smiled. She got up and I grabbed her wrist and stood beside her. The bartender had come around the bar, but he stopped when he saw us standing close together. “I need to know,” I said.
    â€œJohn. He was more my type. Just like you are.”
    ______
    No leads. Not many clues. I needed help. Major Hensel, who ran SHADE, had kept the reins loose and I ran as freely as I could. I hardly knew him and I resented how well he seemed to know me, so I kept communication to a minimum to test him, and to set a standard. But now I had reached the limit and knew I needed his help. I called him while I sat in my car in the hotel parking lot. His first words were “Do you know where Frank’s killer is?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen you should get away from there fast as you can.”
    And, by then, the local police were approaching my car from three sides.

5
    F rom the tenth-floor corner office, I had a view of two parking lots and a toll road.
    I counted the cars for a while and bet myself about which parking spots they would pull into. Black and silver were the predominant colors. Having completed my parking-lot accounting duties, I pushed the desk aside and began my tai chi, though I was not positive this was sanctioned executive behavior. Agent Hanrihan came in so soon after I began that I wondered if he had been watching. “Put that desk back,” he said. I put the desk back and sat down in the big executive chair and put my feet up. “Get up. Now.”
    â€œIt’s time you learned to share. You’ll have your turn later,” I said.
    â€œGet up or I’ll pull you up.”
    I smiled at him and gave a look asking if he really wanted to try that: He didn’t. I had been there all morning, and every half hour or so, Agent Hanrihan came in to scold me or question me. He wore a blue blazer and striped tie and beige pants, which made him look like a security man at an NBA game. Agent Sampson followed him in. Her light hair was pulled back tight and clipped into a ponytail. I guessed she was about forty. Her face was lean and her skin was tight and smooth. She wore black slacks, a white shirt and a black jacket and heels that weren’t too high. She carried a coffee cup with both hands.
    â€œWe’ve been looking for you. Why did you run away from Havre, Montana?” Hanrihan’s blond hair fell sideways across his forehead, surfer-dude style, but it was a false impression: He wasn’t laid back; he was a bully.
    â€œI didn’t like it there.”
    â€œMajor Hensel told us you would cooperate.” He pulled one of the chairs facing the desk close to mine and sat down. He moved his bangs aside with a vain, practiced gesture. Agent Sampson had assumed my spot at the window. “Are you aware that it is unlawful for the Army to operate on American soil?”
    â€œI’m not in the Army.”
    â€œThe military. A soldier in Havre had a rifle, a loaded rifle, which he was deployed to use. That is in direct violation of federal law.”
    â€œThat soldier was shot and killed. That’s a