There are no truly invisible men, Klay reminded himself. Every person wants something. He inventoried what he knew. Botha was here, so that meant: ego. He’d brought a stack of media reports: authority. And an orange: power. Botha hated anyone with leverage over him. And that translated into a single word. Botha’s abiding desire was for respect. Hunger for validation fueled his outbursts at trial, his refusal to wear a prison uniform, all of the special accommodations he demanded here. It was in every one of his stories. His tales of conquests over women, grand money-making schemes, and powerful friends all added up to a lifelong search for respect.

Klay looked at the orange in front of him. Terry Krieger had stolen the Kimber from Botha. To take a Boer’s land was just short of taking his life. It was humiliation.

Klay picked up the orange and bit into its skin. “Last time we did this,” he said, slowly peeling the fruit, “you told me, ‘I’m in here because of you.’ What did you mean by that?”

Botha didn’t respond. He chewed his own orange and watched Klay’s fingers. Klay kept peeling, slowly, as if he didn’t care. As if he didn’t have any desire of his own. When he had the fruit peeled, he looked across the table for Botha’s answer. Botha raised his eyebrows and indicated Klay’s orange with his eyes.

Klay put an orange wedge into his mouth and began to chew.

Botha cleared his throat. “Now do you hear me, counselor?”

“I’m listening,” Klay said.

“You’re listening. I need you to hear me. Do you hear me?”

Klay swallowed the slice. He looked directly into Botha’s eyes. “You haven’t said anything.”

Botha smiled. “You are Agency property. Sum and total, that’s all you are and all they want. You”—he stabbed a finger hard into Klay’s chest—“don’t exist for them.”

Play along, Klay told himself. Go with the flow until you see it. “That’s right,” Klay said. “What they want is my shadow.”

“Your shadow?”

Klay watched Botha roll the word around in his mind.

“Okay,” Botha said. “Yeah, that’s good. Your shadow is what they want. They’ll cut your throat to keep your shadow alive. And you don’t mind because you’re looking the other way, happy to be rid of what’s behind you. You don’t want to be you. That’s what makes you useful. Makes you a good asset. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

“I hear you,” Klay said in a tone suggesting he was still waiting for Botha to say something meaningful.

Botha nodded. “When they told me the plan, I said yes just to fucking meet you again. I said yes just to lock eyes with the fucking guy that could be so fucking good and still fall for it.”