“I know I am,” Monfils said.

“We had better clear out,” Sill said. “The mall cops will be making their rounds soon. As you can imagine, it’s rather difficult to conceal Monsieur Monfils.”

“I’m tall,” the astronomer said, putting on his leather-sleeved baseball jacket. “It’s a liability in most situations.”

The sun was just coming up when Sill took me into a nearly empty diner. We sat across from each other in a booth, leaned back against the vinyl while a sleepy, older waitress wiped down the table.

“You boys eating?” she asked. She took a step back when she realized there was a dog on my chest. “We don’t allow pets in here.”

“Yes, you do,” Sill said to her. He handed her several hundred-dollar bills.

“Like I said, you boys eating?”

“Are we eating?” Sill asked me.

“Okay,” I said.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, bring us some coffee,” Sill said.

“I’ll bring you some menus.” The woman walked away.

“Where is Eigen?” I asked.

“She’s in a room at the Four Seasons.”

“What are you doing to her?”

“Why, whatever do you mean?”

“You’re using her,” I said.

“For what, Wala? What am I using her for?”

“I don’t know.”

The waitress delivered coffee and menus and left again.

“Sex,” I said. “Maybe sex. Is it sex?”

“Would that bother you?”

“It doesn’t bother me. I just want to know why you’re interested in her. She’s my friend and I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“Are you the big brother?”

The waitress came back.

Sill handed her both menus and smiled. “He’ll have two eggs poached, bacon, and wheat toast. I’ll have white toast.”

The waitress looked at me as if for confirmation. I nodded. “Poached is absolutely fine,” I said.

“Eigen is okay,” Sill said. “She’s enjoying herself. She’s never lived before. All she’s ever done is stand in front of a whiteboard drawing variables and equations and shit. She might come in handy. You never know.”

“How so?” I asked.

“I like to have smart people around me. That’s why I like you, Wala. It’s not because of your boyish good looks.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Of course you are. So, who do you think is following you?”

“An apparently very secret government agency. Believe it or not, my shadow is named Bill Clinton.”

“You didn’t offer to—” He stopped. “Sorry. Bad joke. Let me ask you this: Is he a thirtyish White guy with an eighties haircut?”

“I wouldn’t know what that is,” I said.

“Short in the front and longer in the back. And he’s got a Black partner.”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“They’re sitting across the street in that baby-blue sedan. Seems rather small for two such big guys.”

I looked, saw them, and returned my eyes quickly to the table. “That’s them. Do you think they can hear us?”

“Maybe.” Sill looked around the room. “They could be pointing a directional microphone at us. They probably are. That’s what I’d be doing.”

I pulled a pen from my pocket and wrote on a napkin: How do we lose them? I wasn’t sure why I was asking that, but it made sense. It turned out that I really hated being followed.