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are entirely legal. We hunt, fish, drink, and discuss the world situation. The Constitution itself protects our right to assemble, to free speech, and to privacy. Correct?”
    Harry nodded.
    “Someone in your agency has overstepped his bounds and that person will be made to answer for his actions.”
    Again, Harry nodded. He believed Madox. This wouldn’t be the first time one of his bosses screwed up and ordered surveillance on some group or some person who wasn’t guilty of anything. On the other hand, that’s what surveillance was for—to see if a suspicion of criminal activity was accurate or justified. Harry said, “I think they screwed up.”
    “Oh, I
know
they did. And you just got caught in the middle.”
    “Right.”
    “You’re not an FBI agent?”
    “No.”
    “Or a CIA officer?”
    “Hell, no.”
    “You’re . . . what? A contract agent?”
    “Yeah. Retired NYPD. Working for the FBI.”
    “Low level,” suggested Mr. Madox.
    “Well . . . yeah.”
    “I’ll make sure you’re not punished.”
    “Yeah, and thanks for the jolt.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mr. Madox checked his watch and said, “I’m expecting company.” He stared at Harry. “Did you know I was expecting company?”
    “No.”
    “You just happened to be here on this particular day?”
    Harry didn’t answer.
    “Talk to me, Mr. Muller. I have a busy morning.”
    “Uh . . . well, I was told to . . . see if anyone . . .”
    “You were told to observe arriving guests, photograph them, take down their license-plate numbers, note their arrival times, and so forth.”
    “Yeah.”
    “How did these people you work for know there was a meeting here today?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Why did you take a photograph of my utility pole?”
    “Just . . . saw it. Ran into it.”
    “When did you get here?”
    “Last night.”
    “Is anyone with you?”
    “No.”
    “How did you get here?”
    “I drove my camper up,” Harry replied.
    “And these are the keys?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Where is the camper?”
    “On the logging road south of here.”
    “Near where you entered the property?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Are you supposed to make a telephone report?”
    He wasn’t, but he replied, “Yes.”
    “When?”
    “When I leave this property.”
    “I see.” Madox picked up Harry’s cell phone and turned it on. “I see you have a message.” He added, “In case you wondered why you have such good service here in the middle of nowhere, I have my own cell-phone relay tower.” He gestured toward the window. “Now you know what that tower is, and you can label your photograph. You can also indicate that it has a voice scrambler so that no one can listen to my calls.” He asked Harry, “Isn’t it nice to be rich?”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    “What’s your voice-mail code?”
    Harry gave it to him, and Madox dialed voice mail, punched in the code, and put the phone on speaker.
    Lori said, “Hi, honey. Got your message. I was sleeping. I’m going shopping today with your sister and Anne. Call me later. I’ll have my cell with me. Okay? Let me know if you have to stay over. I love you, and I miss you.” She added, “Be careful of those right-wing loonies. They like their guns. Take care.”
    Madox commented, “She sounds very nice. Except for that part about the right-wing loonies and the guns.” He observed, “She apparently thinks you may be staying here overnight. She may be right.” He turned off the power to the cell phone, and said to Harry, “I guess you know these things send off a signal that can be tracked.”
    “Yeah, that’s my job.”
    “That’s right. Amazing technology. I can call my children anytime, anyplace. Of course, they never answer, but they call back after five messages, or when they need something.”
    Harry forced a smile.
    “So,” said Mr. Madox, “you seem to be who and what you say you are. To be quite honest, Mr. Muller, I thought you might be an agent of a foreign