Procedure was the word she used. I looked closely at her eyes that were looking at me. I had a hunch. “Do you think our apparatuses are compatible?”

“Wouldn’t they have to be?”

“Do you like riddles?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Imagine this,” I said. “There are three sheepherders who come to a bridge controlled by a troll and his two sons. He demands of them thirty sheep before they can pass. Each shepherd cuts out ten sheep from his flock and they give them to the troll. Once they have crossed, the troll decides that he should only have asked for twenty-five. He sends his sons after the men with five sheep. The sons decide to keep one sheep each and give three back to the herders. They do. Now it is the case that each shepherd has paid only nine sheep. Nine times three is twenty-seven. The troll sons kept two. Twenty-seven plus two is twenty-nine. Where is the missing sheep?”

Gloria’s head tilted, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular, a muted hum came from her mouth. I waved my hand in front of her face and she neither acknowledged my action nor blinked. Gloria was a robot.

I left her, it, sitting on the bed and found my way to the library. I didn’t know why I was headed there, but I knew where it was. From there I would begin my search for Eigen. When I arrived at the library, the sounds of helicopters had ceased. When I looked outside, I saw no mercenaries moving.

I wandered about the large room and I had the feeling someone was watching me. It being Sill’s house, I had no doubt that there were cameras everywhere. But this felt different. I could almost smell someone in the room with me.

“Psssst.” It was Bill Clinton. He was on the floor behind a low shelf filled with Beat poetry. He was dressed in black like the men outside. His partner, Mitchell, was lying on the floor beside him. Mitchell appeared to be reading a text on his phone.

“How did you get in here?” I asked.

“Don’t look at me. Pretend to read the Ferlinghetti.”

I picked up a volume of poems and pretended to read. But with the book open I couldn’t help but read and so instead of pretending to read to fool the cameras, I was pretending to pretend to read to satisfy Clinton.

“Good,” Clinton said. “What have you found out?”

“You ask that as if we’re working together,” I said.

“Well, aren’t we?” Clinton asked.

Mitchell put his phone away. “Women,” he said. “She thinks I ought to be there because her mother is visiting.” He looked at me. “Professor. Ready to save the world?” He pulled out his pistol, pulled back the slide, and peeked in the chamber. “Ready to rock and roll?”

I looked at Clinton. “Too many movies,” he said.

“I know nothing,” I said.

“Yeah, we get that,” Clinton said. “That’s supposedly why you’re here, but it doesn’t make a damn bit of sense to me.”