“Will we be seeing you again?” Berman asked.

“You never know,” George said flippantly.

At the door, George gave Whitney a kiss on the cheek, and she said she was pleased to have met him. George shook hands with Berman and took Pia’s arm as they descended the stone stairs, pretending he was helping her. When they got to the car, both he and Pia looked back up at the house. Berman and Jones were standing at the door, waving.

“That was an odd evening and an odd couple,” said George. He climbed into the car and fell into the seat, leaning back against the headrest. He exhaled noisily as if he were exhausted.

“Are you drunk?” said Pia.

“Oh, absolutely. That was the only way I was going to get through the evening.”

“You were very . . .”

“. . . drunk, is what I was. Am. C’mon, Pia, we’re sitting in the car again. Let’s get out of here.”

11.

EN ROUTE TO PIA’S APARTMENT, BOULDER, COLORADO

MONDAY, APRIL 22, 2013, 10:45 P.M.

At first George kept quiet in the car. He felt very full, of food and wine, and the motion of the car was doing unpleasant things to his stomach. He put his left arm around Pia’s shoulders, and while she hadn’t drawn closer, she didn’t pull his arm away, either. The evening had definitely been taxing, and George was tired and reeling. He felt Berman had skillfully choreographed the event, keeping Pia to himself while allowing Whitney Jones to apply her considerable array of charms on him. He was again irritated at himself for what he’d said to Whitney. Guiltily he looked over at Pia, but she was concentrating on navigating the dark, twisting road. As usual, she looked beautiful. He wondered if Whitney was going to tell Berman what he had said. If she did and Berman told Pia, there was going to be hell to pay.

“What were you talking about with Berman?” George asked.

“When?”

“Most of the evening. It was obvious that he was dominating your attention.”

“Work stuff, mostly, except when he was trying to get me to talk about Rothman and my being kidnapped.”

“He tried to pull me into that.”

“I know. I heard and I have to commend you for not allowing it to happen. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“He did pay me some compliments about my immunology work vis-à-vis the microbivores.”

“That’s not surprising. It’s deserved, too.” George shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

“He also told me that he wanted me to get back to work on the flagellum issue I told you about, which is really what I was hired to do.”

“Do you have any ideas for that?”

“I do. In fact, while I was talking to him, I gave it some more thought. I had the idea of programming the microbivores that are sent to deal with flagellated bacteria to roll their targets into a ball. You know what I mean?”