A couple of more friendly dinners followed, but then, out of the blue, the presents started coming. First flowers, then expensive wine, chocolates and jewelry, culminating in the car. Other than the flowers, which couldn’t be returned, the only gift Pia kept was the VW she’d talked herself into accepting, and even that, she recognized, would have to go. The last time they had met privately, Pia had to fend off her boss, who told her how smitten he was with her, after trying to push his way into her apartment. Pia had managed to extricate herself without having to resort to her expertise in martial arts.

She was more than adept at tae kwon do, which she had learned at the Hudson Valley Academy for Girls, a derelict institution where she had been incarcerated in the name of foster care. That last evening with Berman, she was proud of the way she’d handled the situation while leaving her inebriated boss’s dignity intact. That had been a week before he had left on his trip to China, and now he was back, trying to contact her, whether she had a gentleman visitor or not.

“What do you want to do this afternoon?”

“I was going to take a nap,” Pia said. She was suddenly exhausted after her near all-nighter that had only ended that morning. She resolved to ignore Berman’s text, as she had the three previous ones. Pia was sure Berman wanted to quiz her about George. And she knew George was dying to ask her more about Berman. Perhaps it was best to let them both think what they wanted, and allow both of their imaginations to run wild. And a couple of hours’ sleep really would do her a world of good and give her a bit of perspective. Sunday was a day that was meant to be taken a little easy.

6.

NANO, LLC, BOULDER, COLORADO

SUNDAY, APRIL 21, 2013, 6:04 P.M.

The man had been in this strange place only a few hours when he was hauled out of a deep sleep, given athletic gear to put on, and led to the room he was standing in now. A countryman of his, but not one who had accompanied the four of them on the plane ride, was reassuring him that everything was fine; they just needed him to run a couple of tests on a stationary bicycle. The man in the suit seemed friendly enough but didn’t offer any explanations of where they were. His accent suggested he was from a different province from his own.

The cyclist looked around the brightly lit room, at the bike, and at the shelves lined with banks of equipment with flashing lights. Where he was exactly, he had no idea. All he knew is that it was somewhere in the United States. Four Westerners in medical scrubs, hoods, and face masks stood around checking the equipment. They looked like the man who had given the four of them an injection soon after they arrived. One of the masked figures said something, and it was time to get on the bike.