“How’s tricks?” he asked.

She laughed, leaned forward, stuck the key in the ignition, and turned it halfway. She flicked on the radio. Country music filled the interior to the brim and then some. Lindstrom didn’t much care for Toby Keith—Bach was more his speed, the mathematical notes falling on his ears like the parts of a physics equation—but he understood that the raucous noise was more beneficial for blocking their conversation from any electronic surveillance that might be in the area.

“I require your help,” Valerie said.

“Whatever I can do,” Lindstrom replied, “within reason.”

Valerie peered through the windshield and at her side and rearview mirrors before continuing. “The NSA doesn’t have its house in order.”

Lindstrom appeared to roll this around in his brain for a time before he said. “That’s not good.”

“Nosiree, not for anyone.”

“Should I worry? I mean, Mobius is an NSA initiative. It’s completely shielded from the clowns on Capitol Hill. It’s also shielded from DOD, CIA, and the rest of the alphabet soup agencies inside the Beltway.”

“It should be shielded from us, as well,” Valerie said, “but you’re paid a small fortune into an anonymous overseas account to make sure Mobius runs smoothly, despite any government interference you might encounter. If NSA is compromised, then so might be Mobius.”

Lindstrom frowned. “You mean it might be shut down?”

“Or worse. If one or more pieces of your … project were to find their way into hostile hands—”

Lindstrom shuddered. “Please. I can’t even go there!”

“Precisely.” Valerie’s voice was cool and soothing. “And not only for the country. Your little side deal would possibly be exposed. Your money would be frozen, then impounded.”

Lindstrom cleared his throat. “Is there a plan afoot?”

Valerie was constantly amused by Lindstrom’s turns of phrase. “That,” she said, meeting his gaze, “is more or less up to you.”

The line between Lindstrom’s eyes deepened. “Frankly, I don’t see what I can do.”

“You’re in a unique position, Paulus. You understand that, don’t you?”

Again the pause while Lindstrom processed what she had said. “I’m afraid I don’t,” he said at length.

“Then let me enlighten you.” Valerie had the patience of a praying mantis, which was why Cutler had assigned her to Lindstrom. Irony was beyond him; so was sarcasm. She was used to spelling things out so he could see the angle. “DARPA is a nexus for all U.S. clandestine agencies, and your work, Paulus, is ground zero of that nexus. What you produce is of incalculable importance. Plus, you’re a scientist. You’re supposed to be dead neutral, to have no interest in either politics or the inner workings of the clandestine agencies’ hierarchies.”

“I don’t,” Lindstrom said.

This caused Valerie to laugh out loud.

“Have I said something amusing?”

“Yes, Paulus.” Impulsively, she leaned over and pecked him chastely on the cheek. She knew he had an aversion to being touched, but this one time she couldn’t help herself. “See, you’ve just answered your own question. Your very indifference to political maneuvering makes you the perfect candidate to listen and report.”