Joyce walked in. She had a tray of food in one hand, and a Taser in the other. The gun was still holstered at her side.

From the shadows at the side of the room emerged a figure. Donny saw now there was a bed there, on which the figure had been lying.

It was a man. Donny expected to see Sig, but this was someone else. Middle-aged, wearing old coveralls. When he sat up, his bare feet glowed in the ambience of the surveillance feed.

It was President Mack.

49

Joyce set the food on the little table.

She had more food in a bag over her shoulder. Not people food.

The President looked at the food. Donny could smell the bread. The President could, too.

The President stood. He didn’t have his prosthetic arm anymore. He looked at the bag of food, picked it up with the one hand he had, and then poured the contents into a big metal bowl on the floor. He took some of the hot water from the tray Joyce had brought, and mixed it in.

He whistled.

A moment later, an old-looking lioness sauntered in, sliding past Joyce. And went to eat from the bowl.

While the lion ate, the President drank his water.

“Did you read your assignment last night?” asked Joyce.

He nodded. He didn’t look like the guy Donny had met in that conference room that day not two years before. He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even unconsciously malevolent. He looked like a tired old man, tired beyond his years.

“We’re leaving today,” said Joyce.

“Why?” he said.

“We have to go. Sig is getting provisions now. We’ll leave as soon as he returns.”

“What about her?” said the President, meaning the big cat. “And the others.”

“We can’t take them,” said Joyce.

“We can’t just leave them,” said the President.

“They’ll be fine,” said Joyce.

“Then just leave me with them,” said the President.

“I wish I could,” said Joyce. “I know you’re doing a lot better. You’ve done good work with these animals.”

“I feel better,” he said. “Everything before . . .” He drifted off. “Like it’s not real.”

“It was real. Very real. And while you are encouraged to become better, you are not allowed to forget. We are taking those with us.”

There were more postcards on the wall, back in the shadows around the cot. Donny zoomed the monitor to see. They weren’t postcards. They were pictures. Of people. Headshots, mostly.

Donny recognized one of them. Wade Camacho. He looked at more, and started to recognize others.

Donny pulled back the drapes to the right of the desk and looked out over the yard. He could see the building back there.

He grabbed the rifle and went outside.

50

As he stood there staring through the open door, Donny realized the President was staring back at him.

“Kimoe?” he said.