Nooney pointed a rigid finger my way. He raised his voice. “I know how you work. And I know what you’re after—you don’t want to be part of a team. Or to be controlled or influenced in any way. Well, it’s not going to happen that way. We don’t believe in golden boys or special situations. We don’t think that you’re more imaginative or creative than anyone else in your class. So get back to your exercise, Dr. Cross. And wise up.”

Without saying another word, I left the office, fuming. I returned to the fake accident scene which Agent Marilyn May soon neatly connected to the fake robbery that had been staged in Hogans Alley. Some program that Nooney had written. I could have done a better one in my sleep. And yeah, now I was mad. I just didn’t know who I was supposed to be mad at. I didn’t know how to play this game.

But I wanted to win.

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

ANOTHER PURCHASE HAD BEEN MADE—a large one.

On Saturday night, the Couple had entered a bar called the Halyard, on the water in Newport, Rhode Island. The Halyard was different from most of the gay clubs in Newport’s so-called Pink District. There was the occasional glimpse of a bad-ass boot or spike-studded wristband, but most of the men who frequented the place sported tousled hairdos and boating dress, and the ever-popular Croakie sunglasses.

The deejay had just selected a Strokes tune, and several couples were dancing the night away. The Couple fit in, which is to say that they didn’t stand out. Slava wore a baby blue T-shirt and Dockers, and had gelled his longish black hair. Zoya had on a raffish sailing cap and had made herself up to look like a pretty young man. She had succeeded beyond her own expectations, for she had already been hit on.

She and Slava were looking for a certain physical type, and they had found a promising prospect soon after they arrived. His name, they would learn later, was Benjamin Coffey, and he was a senior at Providence College. Benjamin had first become aware that he was gay while serving as an altar boy at St. Thomas’ in Barrington, Rhode Island. No priest had ever touched or abused him while he was there, or even come on to him, but he had discovered a like-minded altar server, and they became lovers when they were both fourteen. The two had continued to meet through high school, but then Benjamin had moved on.

He was still keeping his sex life a secret at Providence College, but he could be himself in the Pink District. The Couple watched the very handsome boy as he chatted up a thirty-something bartender whose toned muscles were set off by the track lighting over his head.

“The boy could be on the cover of GQ,” said Slava. “He’s the one.”