“I love you, phula,” he said to Raysa.

“Love you, Daddy.”

He looked her in the eye, then lowered his voice. “Don’t forget what I always tell you.”

“I won’t.”

They dashed off across the sidewalk. Musil watched until they were inside the yard and then got back into the car for the drive to the Terminal.

Parked across the street and about a third of the way down the block, Grigor watched from the Subaru Outback he had rented using the Wendell Balen identity. His hair was dyed black, and he was wearing sunglasses. As Musil drove off, he pulled out of his spot and cruised slowly past the schoolyard, staring through the chain-link mesh at the girls.

Then somebody behind him tapped the horn impatiently, and he sped up toward the corner.

At exactly nine forty-five, Harris stepped across the hall for a ten-o’clock meeting with Carol Morse. He had arranged for it late the previous afternoon after Musil brought him up to snuff about the Fake Gelfland business.

Harris figured his being fifteen minutes early would aggravate Carol, who was a compulsive overpreparer. But he wasn’t big on talking points and notes. Also, she was both his ex-wife and higher-up at Net Force. Though he felt they worked well together, his theory was that regularly getting on her nerves made for a healthy, balanced postmarital and professional relationship. Like daily vitamins. Lousy tasting but good for you. Otherwise, they might get along even better, a worrisome proposition. Namely because she was long remarried, and Leo had spent years struggling to convince himself that he didn’t wish it was still to him.

So he had the whole thing hashed out. Or thought he did. Except that when he entered the room, Carol was at her desk looking past a guy who was already seated opposite her, his back to the door.

She said, “Leo, glad you’re early. We’ve been waiting for you.”

He frowned in defeat. Then he noticed the guy’s thick red hair.

“Prof?” he said.

Alex Michaels shifted around in the chair. He was whip thin, bearded, with clear, intelligent eyes.

“Leo,” he said and stood up. “You look great.”

“Last time you saw me I was on a ventilator.”

“True.”

“No wonder you say I look great.”

Michaels faced him and smiled. “Well, you’re definitely snazzier out of a hospital gown.”

Harris looked down at himself. He was wearing a blue plaid blazer with an orange striped shirt. He looked back up at Michaels.

“What are you doing here?” he said. “I thought they were keeping you busy in Washington.”

Michaels came across the room. Leo put out his hand, but he didn’t stop to shake it, and instead clasped him in a long-armed bear hug.

“Good to see you again,” he said.

“Same, Prof.” Harris briefly hugged him back. “How’s the pooch?”

“Julia’s fine. She misses you.”

“Misses my treats, y’mean.”