“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“Who needs to jump? The answer is staring us in the face. Regardless of how they got involved, these two are up to no good.”

“The microphone was just installed last night. It took us until lunch to finally get it working, and we’ve heard a total of five minutes of conversation. All I’m saying is that we should give it a bit more time. I want all the facts before we run in with guns blazing.”

“Trust me, we’ll get the facts,” Fisk said as he turned up the volume on the speaker. “The way these two are talking, by next week, Justice Hollis will be interviewing new clerks.”

“That’s it,” Rick said, slapping shut his cellular phone. “I’ve had enough of his shit.” He opened the passenger-side door and got out of the car.

Getting out of the driver’s side, Richard Claremont, American Steel’s executive vice president of marketing, asked, “What’d he say?”

Slamming the car door shut, Rick looked up the block, where he had a perfect view of the Court. “He was trying to stall.” Unfazed by the frigid wind that whipped down First Street, Rick didn’t even button his overcoat. “He sounded nervous, but he was definitely trying to stall.”

“He should be nervous. From everything you’ve said, it sounds like his life is ruined.”

“I don’t want him to be scared, though,” Rick explained, approaching the Court. “If he’s scared, he’ll go to the authorities. But if he still thinks he has a chance of catching me, we have a better chance of getting the decision.”

“So you think he may still go to the police?” Claremont asked.

“Actually, no,” Rick said, watching a busload of bundled-up tourists snap pictures of the nation’s highest tribunal. “Ben’s too concerned about his résumé to do that. That’s the reason I picked him in the first place. He’s got a great deal to lose.”

“Then why didn’t you pick Lisa? From your file on her, she’s got a similar background.”

“Ben’s a much better mark. Between the two, Lisa’s smarter. She never would’ve given up the original decision. Ben’s more anxious to please. I knew he’d bite.”

“If you say so,” Claremont said. “Though it sounds like he hasn’t been as predictable as you’d hoped.”

“He’s had his moments,” Rick said. “But this week has really worn him down. He’s exhausted.” Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Besides, he’s about to realize that this is no game.”

Even two-dimensional, you look good, Ober thought as he admired the most recent photocopy of his face. Sitting at his government-issue desk, he pulled open the bottom-left drawer, removed a thick file folder and added that day’s photocopy to the three hundred and twenty-six other photocopies already in the folder. Every day, Ober placed his face on the photocopier and posed for the world’s quickest portrait in an attempt to create a photo album unlike any other. After writing the date on his newest copy, he placed it in the folder with the others. As he returned the file to its drawer, he saw Marcia Sturgis, the staff director for Senator Stevens, standing in the doorway of his office.

“Ober, can I see you in my office?” Marcia asked abruptly. A Capitol Hill veteran, Marcia had started as a receptionist for Senator Edward Kennedy soon after she had graduated from college, then spent almost twenty years working her way through the bureaucratic ranks. In her view, the years of toiling in obscurity were well worth it-she was currently the most important member of Senator Stevens’s staff. With a workday that began at six in the morning and ended at eleven at night, Marcia controlled most of what the senator saw and heard. She attended committee meetings, organized floor appearances, and edited the senator’s speeches and press releases. She was also responsible for the most important decisions affecting the senator’s staff.

Following Marcia to her office, Ober tried to guess what he had done wrong this time. Since his promotion to administrative assistant, visits to Marcia’s office had become commonplace. There was one when his reply letter to an irate constituent simply said, “Relax.” There was another when he misspelled Mrs. Stevens’s name on a letter to another senator. And there was another when Marcia caught him making prank calls to Republican staffers, telling them to “Give up.”

As he stepped into Marcia’s office, Ober noticed the stiff-shouldered stranger sitting in one of the chairs facing Marcia’s desk. When he saw the solemn look on the man’s face, Ober knew this visit wasn’t about the coffee he had spilled on Marcia’s computer.

“Take a seat,” Marcia said, pointing to the empty seat next to the stranger. “This is Victor Langdon, from the FBI.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ober said, extending his hand.

“Can we get to the point?” Victor asked.

Marcia’s eyes were focused on Ober. “I wanted to tell you about an anonymous fax I got a few hours ago,” she explained. “It said that the death threat you investigated a few months ago was actually written by you. The fax also accused you of writing the threat to Senator Stevens in an attempt to advance your own career. Considering that your promotion was based on your handling of that situation, we were wondering what you had to say for yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ober said. Crossing his legs, he tried his best not to panic.

“I don’t want to play that game,” Victor said, pointing a finger at Ober.

“Ober, don’t lie about this one,” Marcia pleaded, her hands in tight fists on her desk. “This is serious.”

“It’s not the way it looks…” Ober stuttered.

“Do you deny it?” Victor asked.

“If you didn’t write it, and you know who did, tell us,” Marcia said.

Ober leaned away from Victor. “It wasn’t a real death threat. The senator was never in danger.”

“I already told the FBI that,” Marcia said. “Just tell them who wrote it.”

Trying to figure out a way to avoid implicating Ben, Ober was silent.

“If you don’t tell us who wrote it, I’ll be forced to ask for your resignation,” Marcia said.

“Attempted assassination means you’ll get life in prison,” Victor added, grabbing Ober’s armrest.

Ober pushed Victor’s hand away. “It was never an assassination.”

“Then tell us what happened,” Victor said. “Who wrote the letter?”

Again, Ober fell silent.

“Ober, please make this easier on yourself,” Marcia said, leaning on her desk.

“That’s it,” Victor said, standing up. “It’s clear we can’t do this here. I’m taking him in for questioning.”

Marcia shot from her chair. “No, you’re not. You promised me full jurisdiction with this. It’s clear the senator was never in danger.”

“Why are you protecting this kid?” Victor asked.

“I’m not protecting him. I just-”

“I wrote it,” Ober interrupted, whispering into his chest.

“What?” Marcia asked.

“I wrote it,” he repeated, his eyes focused on the floor. “I wrote the letter.”

“You did?” Marcia asked.

“I knew it,” Victor said, returning to his seat.

“Why would you do that?” Marcia asked.

“I can’t explain it,” Ober said, refusing to look up. “I wrote it. That’s it. That’s all I want to say.”

Victor grabbed his notepad from Marcia’s desk and started taking notes. “Was it a real threat to the senator?” he asked.

“No,” Ober said. “Not at all. The senator’s been nothing but terrific to me.”

“So it was for the promotion?” Marcia asked. “The fax was right?”

“It’s not a hundred percent right, but it might as well be true,” Ober said. “I wrote the letter, and the letter got me the promotion.” As silence filled the room, both Marcia and Victor stared at Ober. Looking up at his two interrogators, Ober’s eyes welled with tears. “What?” he asked. “What else do you want me to say? I wrote it.”

Victor turned to Marcia. “If you like, I can take him down to-”