“All we care about is getting the information. We don’t spend too much time pondering morality.”

“That’s about what I figured.”

“I need a commitment, Kyle. I need your word.”

“Do you have any Tylenol?”

“No. Do we have an agreement, Kyle?”

“Do you have anything for a headache?”

“No.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“In my jacket.”

“Let me have it.”

A minute passed without a sound. Wright’s eyes never left Kyle, who was motionless except for his fingers pressing gently on his forehead. Then Kyle slowly sat up and asked in a whisper, “How much longer are you planning to stay here?”

“Oh, I have lots of questions.”

“I was afraid of that. I can’t keep going. My head is splitting.”

“Whatever, Kyle. It’s up to you. But I need an answer. Do we have an agreement, a deal, an understanding?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“I don’t see one.”

“Neither do I.”

“So?”

“If I have no choice, then I have no choice.”

“Excellent. A wise decision, Kyle.”

“Oh, thank you so much.”

Wright stood and stretched as if a long day at the office were finally over. He reshuffled some papers, fiddled with the video camera, closed the laptop. “Would you like to rest, Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“We have several rooms. You’re welcome to take a nap if you’d like, or we can continue tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow.”

Wright was at the door. He opened it and Kyle followed him out of the room, across the hall, and into room 222. What had once been an FBI command center had now been converted back to a regular $89-a-night motel room. Ginyard and Plant and the other fake agents were long gone, and they had taken everything — files, computers, enlarged photos, tripods, briefcases, boxes, folding tables. The bed was back in the center of the room, perfectly made up.

“Shall I wake you in a few hours?” Wright asked pleasantly.

“No. Just leave me alone.”

“I’ll be across the hall.”

When Kyle was alone, he pulled back the bedspread, turned off the lights, and soon fell asleep.

Contrary to his best intentions, Kyle awoke several hours later. He desperately wanted to sleep forever, to simply drift away and be forgotten. He awoke in a warm, dark room on a hard bed, and for a second wasn’t sure where he was or how he had managed to get there. His head was still hurting and his mouth was dry. Soon, though, the nightmare returned, and he had the urgent desire to get away, to get outside, where he could look back at the motel and convince himself that the meeting with Detective Wright had not really happened. He needed fresh air, and maybe someone to talk to.

He eased from the room and tiptoed down the hall, down the stairs. In the lobby some salesmen were gulping coffee and talking rapidly, anxious for the day to start. The sun was up, the snow had stopped. Outside the air was cold and sharp, and he inhaled as if he’d been suffocating. He made it to his Jeep, started the engine, turned on the heater, and waited for the defroster to melt the snow on the windshield.

The shock was wearing off, but the reality was even worse.

He checked his cell phone messages. His girlfriend had called six times, his roommate three. They were worried. He had class at 9:00 a.m. and a pile of work at the law journal. And nothing — girlfriend, roommate, law school, or work — held the slightest interest at the moment. He left the Holiday Inn and drove east on Highway 1 for a few miles until New Haven was behind him. He ran up behind a snow-plow and was content to putter along at thirty miles an hour. Other cars lined up behind him, and for the first time he wondered if someone might be following. He began glancing at the rearview mirror.

At the small town of Guilford, he stopped at a convenience store and finally found some Tylenol. He washed it down with a soft drink and was about to drive back to New Haven when he noticed a diner across the street. He had not eaten since lunch the day before and was suddenly famished. He could almost smell the bacon grease.

The diner was packed with the local breakfast crowd. Kyle found a seat at the counter and ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, coffee, and orange juice. He ate in silence as the laughter and town gossip roared around him. The headache was fading fast, and he began plotting the rest of his day. His girlfriend might be a problem: no contact in twelve hours, a night spent away from his apartment — highly unusual behavior for someone as disciplined as Kyle. He certainly couldn’t tell her the truth, could he? No, the truth was a thing of the past. The present and the future would be a life of lies, cover-ups, thieveiy, espionage, and more lies.

Olivia was a first-year law student at Yale, a Californian, UCLA graduate, extremely bright and ambitious and not looking for a serious commitment. They had been dating for four months, and the relationship was far more casual than romantic. Still, he did not look forward to some stuttering tale of a night that simply vanished.

A body closed in from behind. A hand appeared with a white business card. Kyle glanced to his right and came face-to-face with the man he had once known as Special Agent Ginyard, now wearing a camel hair sport coat and jeans. “Mr. Wright would like to see you at 3:00 p.m., after class, same room,” he said, then disappeared before Kyle could speak. He picked up the card. It was blank except for the handwritten message: “3:00 p.m., today, room 225, Holiday Inn.” He stared at it for a few minutes as he quickly lost interest in the remaining food in front of him.

Is this my future? he asked himself. Someone always watching, following, waiting in the shadows, stalking, listening?

A crowd was waiting by the door for seating. The waitress slipped his bill under his coffee cup and gave him a quick smile that said “Time’s up.” He paid at the cash register and, outside, refused to scan the other vehicles for signs of stalkers. He called Olivia, who was sleeping.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“I don’t want to know anything else, just tell me you’re not hurt.”

“I’m not hurt. I’m fine, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I’m apologizing, okay. I should have called.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Yes you do. Do you accept my apology?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s better. I expect some anger here.”

“Don’t get me started.”

“How about lunch?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m busy.”

“You can’t skip lunch.”

“Where are you?”

“Guilford.”

“And where might that be?”

“Just down the road from New Haven. There’s a great little place for breakfast. I’ll bring you here sometime.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Meet me at The Grill at noon. Please.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He drove back to New Haven, refusing every half mile to glance at his mirror. He slipped quietly into his apartment and took a shower. Mitch, his roommate, could sleep through an earthquake, and when he finally staggered out of his bedroom, Kyle was sipping coffee at the kitchen counter and reading a newspaper online. Mitch asked a few vague questions about last night, but Kyle deflected them nicely and gave the impression that he had bumped into a different girl and things went extremely well. Mitch went back to bed.

COMPLETE FIDELITY had been agreed to months earlier, and once Olivia was convinced Kyle had not cheated, her attitude thawed a little. The story he’d been working on for several hours went like this: He’d been struggling with his decision to pursue public-interest law instead of taking a big job with a big firm. He had no plans to make public-interest law a career, so why go there to begin with? He would eventually work in New York, so why delay the inevitable? And so on. And last night, after his basketball game, he decided he had to make a final decision. He turned off his phone and took a long drive, east for some unknown reason, on Highway 1, past New London and into Rhode Island. He lost track of time. After midnight, the snow picked up and he found a cheap motel where he slept for a few hours.