“Sharon had the shirts designed by one of her old clients. They wanted your size by the way. I said extra-large. Don’t you read your email?”

“Where’s Erin?” Klay said. “And Fox?” He searched faces. “Where’s Ernst? And Charlie from Archives?”

“They’re all gone.”

“Gone?”

Tenchant read aloud an email from Fox: “‘Well, it fucking happened. For those of you not present, and for my lawyers, I’m writing this down. Last week, as you know, Sharon sent out an email notifying everybody to be available at ten a.m. Friday for a meeting with their department head. No exceptions. Here’s what happened. They lined us up and called us individually into our boss’s office, where we were either fired or handed a fucking safari shirt. Correction. They fired everyone, then those they wanted back, to work for Perseus Group Media, they gave a fucking safari shirt. It took all morning. There were lines all through the building. Then around five that afternoon Sharon called the department heads back into her office, same ones who just did the firing, and she axed them one by one. Some got rehired. Fucking Russian roulette. Bodies everywhere. I’m looking for work. Any ideas, let me know.’”

Klay was not listening. He was searching faces.

“They fired Erin?”

“I don’t know.”

“What a fucking place. Jesus.” Klay stood for a moment, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “What do you want for dinner?”

“I ate already,” Tenchant said.

“What did you have?”

“You didn’t ask about our status.”

“Our status?” Klay was confused. The possibility of being fired took a moment to register. He’d assumed, as he always had, that changes in personnel wouldn’t affect him. But Klay worked for Perseus Group now. “You’re right. What’s our status?” he asked.

Tenchant read another email. “Porfle says decisions on anyone currently in the field will be announced Friday—Fridays are designated kill days apparently. Travel is rebooking us to come home. But he says not to worry.”

“Don’t respond to any travel emails, Tenchant. We’re not available. In fact, don’t respond to anyone. We’re in the field, bad comms.”

“Okay, but Porfle said not to worry.”

“Porfle said that?” Klay said.

“Yeah. So, that’s good, right?”

“Porfle did?”

“Shit,” Tenchant said.

Klay looked at the expectant father. “Don’t worry, Tenchant. I never leave a man behind.”

FLUKE

Pretoria, South Africa

Thanks, bru,” Klay said, handing the room service waiter a tip. “Touch up the minibar, would you?”