'You know,' Thomas said with a shrug. 'Less than they hope, more than they admit. You wouldn't believe the bullshit.'

'I work for the FBI.'

'Even so.'

Sam grinned. 'Enough fun for now,' she said, gathering up the printed sheets and handing them to Thomas. 'We need to see if the boss is still lurking around.' She smiled triumphantly, as though anticipating brownie points.

Sam led him through a carpeted warren of workstations, some completely dark, others illuminated by kooky screen-savers. Something like shock accompanied his first glimpse of Agent Atta. She stood in a glass-enclosed conference area, talking to a tall black man in a stylish suit. It seemed hard to believe that just this morning she'd swept into his office bearing madness. Special Agent-in-Charge, Shelley Atta, destroyer of worlds…

Thomas paused in the gloom.

'Logan still hasn't called in,' Atta was saying. 'She doesn't have a clue what's going on.'

A tingle always accompanied eavesdropping, as though words could be bedrooms. He and Sam both froze in their tracks, intent on the conversation they had stumbled onto.

'What's her story, anyway?' the black man asked. 'Who'd she fuck to get sent up so quickly?'

'You mean you haven't hear—'

A vacuum hummed to life from the back of the office. Cleaning staff.

Thomas turned and saw Sam pale-faced and motionless at his side. It was always like this. No matter how much he reminded himself that the lives about him were every bit as impacted as his own, he found himself faintly astonished whenever he confronted that complexity. Of course Sam had skeptics and detractors—enemies even. Of course she had made one sketchy decision too many. Everyone was in the same boat. They just lacked the eyes to see past themselves.

'Fuck,' she whispered.

'Don't read too much into it.'

'Into what?' Her voice cracked. 'Having my reputation dragged through the mud?'

Thomas pulled her aside.

'People gossip. It's just part of being human. Some think it's the evolutionary key to our intelligence.' He fell silent, feeling slightly abashed. Nora had always laughed at his habit of thinking that knowledge could see people through difficult moments. A pensive moment passed. 'Who's that Atta's talking to, anyway?'

'Dean Heaney. Our DoJ advisor.'

'Do they know each other? Are they old friends?'

'No.'

He knew he was doing it again, but he couldn't stop himself. 'Well, there you go. The more slight the acquaintance, the more likely the person hearing accusations of deficiency will attribute those deficiencies to the accuser.'

'Really?' Sam said in a strange tone.

'Really,' Thomas replied, even though he knew he'd somehow caused more harm than good. Why? Why were facts so helpless in the face of pain? 'They call it trait transference.'