“Look, Rollie,” Russell said, taking a friendly step closer. Obviously he was playing good cop. “I can tell you that you’re not the first person to ask that question. And the proper courts have already affirmed its legality. Let me explain. During both World Wars and in Vietnam, the government imposed strict censorship regulations. The American people understood and accepted the need for them and went along. Whether you want to believe it or not, we’re in a similar situation right now. There are some very bad people out there, people who would just as easily slit your throat as whistle Dixie. Our job is to prevent that from happening. So right now the government has decided that if the information you possess should become public, it might cause serious harm. This is a national security issue now, and that gives us a lot of leeway. Do your country a big favor and don’t write about this, don’t discuss it with anybody, don’t…”

I just couldn’t resist. I’m sorry, Jen. “Can I whistle Dixie?” I interrupted. “Would that be legal?”

Detective Markopolos pushed himself off the wall and spoke for the first time. “Listen up, pally. For all I care you can shove that whistle up your ass and fart ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ But like these guys said, you go ahead and write about this, talk about it, or even hint to anyone that you’re not allowed to hint about it to, you’ll see me again.” He closed his eyes and shook at the prospect. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me again.”

In an earlier life I must have been in vaudeville. On a second-rate circuit. But be honest, if someone served you a straight line like that one, you wouldn’t be able to resist, either. “Have you made that offer to your wife?” I asked.

Reich winced, then put a restraining hand on my shoulder.

Markopolos started to respond, then caught himself. With a dramatic tilt of his head he told the agents, “Let’s get outta here.” He shot one final look at me, which I assumed was meant to be a warning, and left.

When they were gone, I asked Reich if he knew what the penalty was for violating that Secrets Act. He inhaled and shook his head, and we said simultaneously, “It’s a secret.”

He plopped himself down in the chair next to my bed. It seemed obvious that this threat had stunned him too. His demeanor had been stripped away and he was trying to process what he had just been told through the filter of a life spent inside the legal system. In a shaken voice he admitted, “I don’t have the slightest idea. This whole thing, it would require secret courts, enforcement mechanisms, confining people in places that we don’t even know exist.” He was thinking out loud. “Maybe that’s what they’re using Guantánamo for. But look, those guys were serious. As your lawyer I’ve got to advise to be really careful about what you do.” He picked up the now half-empty juice box and sipped from it. “You don’t mind, right?”