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these activities?”
    “I do . . . but not with me.”
    “Aren’t you supposed to carry the warrant with you?” He waved his hand over the desk and said, “We didn’t find anything, even when we looked up your rectum.” Mr. Madox smiled.
    “Hey, fuck
you
! Fuck
you
!” Harry stood. “You motherfucking scumbag piece of shit!”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Shove it up
your
ass. I’m walking the fuck out of here—” He reached for his things on Madox’s desk and an explosion of pain ripped through the right side of his body. He heard a crashing sound and a thump, then nothing.
    He realized he was lying on the floor, and a cold sweat covered his body. His eyes were blurry, but he could see Carl standing over him, tapping the cattle prod into his palm as if to say, “You want another jolt?”
    Harry tried to stand, but his legs were rubbery. The other guard got behind him, lifted him under his arms, and dropped him back into his chair.
    Harry tried to steady his breathing and his quivering muscles. His eyes were still unfocused, and everything sounded tinny in his ears.
    One of the guards gave him a plastic bottle of water, which he could barely hold.
    Mr. Madox said, “It’s amazing what electricity can do to a person. And there’s almost no visible evidence. Where were we?”
    Harry tried to say, “Fuck you,” but couldn’t get the words out.
    “I think you were trying to convince me that you were on a routine assignment looking for IRA training camps. I’m not convinced.”
    Harry took a deep breath and said, “It’s true.”
    “Well then, let me reassure you there are no members of the Irish Republican Army on my property. In fact, Mr. Muller, my ancestry is English through and through, and I have no fondness for the IRA.”
    Harry didn’t reply.
    Madox said, “Okay, let’s cut the IRA crap and go right to the heart of this matter. What, exactly, do your superiors think is going on here?”
    Again, Harry didn’t respond.
    “Do you need electrical encouragement to answer my question?”
    “No . . . I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything.”
    “But they must have said something like, ‘Harry, we suspect that the Custer Hill Club is . . .’ what? How did they characterize this place and its members? This is really important to me, and I want you to tell me. You’re going to tell me now or later. Now is easier.”
    Harry tried to clear his head from the electrical jolt and think about his situation. He’d never been on the wrong side of an interrogation desk, and he’d never had the experience or training that would guide him in a situation like this.
    “Mr. Muller?”
    He couldn’t figure out if he should stick to the IRA story, or if he should just tell this bastard the little he knew. The goal, obviously, was to get out of here alive, though he could hardly believe that his life was in danger.
    “Mr. Muller? We did bird-watching, then the IRA—which is actually a good story. But not the true story. You seem a bit confused, so let me help you. You were told that the Custer Hill Club was made up of a bunch of rich, old right-wing crazies who are conspiring to do something that may be illegal. Correct?”
    Harry nodded.
    “What else did they tell you about us?”
    “Nothing. I have no need to know.”
    “Ah, yes. Need to know. Did they mention that several of our members are very highly placed and influential people in society and government?”
    Harry shook his head. “I have no need to know that.”
    “Well, I think you
do
need to know. That’s why you’re here, whether you know it or not. Fact is, the members of this club hold a lot of power. Political power, financial power, and military power. Did you know that one of our members is the deputy secretary of defense? Another is a top national security adviser to the president. Did you know that?”
    Harry shook his head.
    “We don’t appreciate some government agency conducting an illegal surveillance of our activities, which