It was time to go. Rubino asked if I could see Dr. Ginsburg Tuesday morning. I asked if we could meet at CIA headquarters—at that point, the idea of going in through the main door was actually reassuring—but he said no, that wouldn’t be wise. He would contact me Monday night with the details of when and where to meet.

He walked me to the door and extended his hand. He had a soft, moist glow in his eyes that conveyed satisfaction and pride. He was right about one thing. The best agents don’t have to be pressured. They recruit themselves.

“This is going to be hard for me, Tom,” I said. “It makes me nervous.”

His clear, cold eyes found mine. “Of course it does. This is scary stuff. You’re on the borderline now—on the edge of doing the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life. Of course it worries you. You’re a human being, not a machine. And it will be even harder over the next few days, because you can’t talk to anyone about it, except me. But it’s the right thing. You know it.”

I shook his hand, and walked down the stone steps, past his crocuses and daffodils and his daughter’s bicycle, abandoned by the driveway, resting upright on its training wheels.

I stopped by Annie’s house that afternoon. She was out back in her garden, clearing away the dead branches and other ravages of winter. She remarked on how much happier I looked than I did the last time I had visited, after my trip to New York to see Weiss. And it was true. I was pumped. Ever since I left Rubino’s, I had felt a surge of energy. I suppose that was why I had come. I wanted Annie to see that something in me was different.

I offered to help mulch her flower beds, which was a blessedly mindless job. She handed me a rake. I was aware of Rubino’s injunction not to discuss our conversation with anyone else, and I didn’t really want to talk. I just needed to be with someone while I assimilated what was happening. Annie was perfect for that. She was a Zen gardener, much as I had wanted to be a Zen tennis player. Her code in the garden was no-mind, all the time.

We took a break after half an hour. Annie fixed some iced tea and brought out some Pepperidge Farm cookies that tasted as if they had been on the shelf for months. I ate them anyway, popping them in my mouth one after another. She looked at me; she could tell something had changed, but she didn’t know what it was.