Charlie Fitzgerald was doing leg lifts (no, I didn’t take that personally) and responded, “You know what, Rol, I have to tell you, if I have to give up a little privacy if it means all of us are a little safer, then as long as they don’t tell my wife anything I don’t want her to know, then it’s okay with me. I mean, c’mon, what do I have to hide?”

I rested the weight bar on the stand and looked at him with disbelief. “Charlie, you’re a lobbyist.”

His mouth fell open with feigned astonishment. “Oh, oh yeah. Wait a second, I take that back. I never said what I said. What I’m really in favor of is an invasion of everybody else’s privacy!” He thoroughly enjoyed the laughter he got. “You got to lighten up, Rollie. You’re making more out of this than it’s worth. This is just turning de facto into de facts.”

That whole discussion was still resonating in my mind when I walked into the office and discovered Dick and Francis waiting for me. They were sitting comfortably in Howie’s office, looking as smug as a Homeland Security bug in a Persian carpet. They were wearing, as far as I could determine, the same nondescript gray suits. Maybe that was a new uniform. They clearly had established their authority over the space.

Howie was actively ignoring them, overdoing his “I don’t want to talk to you” paper-shuffling act. As I approached, Little Dick stood and asked me to come inside.

“Can’t,” I said, spreading my hands to indicate that Mighty Chair was wider than the doorway. “Sorry.” That wasn’t true, obviously—all I had to do was flip up Chair’s arms—but they didn’t know that. Howie flashed me his oh-you-naughty-guy semi-smile.

“Is there a place we can speak in private?” Francis asked.

“Absolutely,” Howie said with enthusiasm. He stood and commanded, “Let’s go to the executive suite. Follow me!”

As we walked single file through the office, down a short corridor, I began softly whistling the “Colonel Bogey March” from The Bridge on the River Kwai. We all squeezed into the men’s room. A toilet flushed and we waited patiently as a man washed his hands and left with nary a curious glance. To demonstrate my respect for these agents, I backed Mighty Chair into the extra-wide handicapped stall and waited there with the door wide open. “Thank you for coming to my office, gentlemen,” I said.

“Mr. Stone,” Dick began, “you’ve been identified by Homeland Security as an opinion maker, and…”

“Wow. Gentlemen, thank you. Seriously, thank you. Hear that, Howie, just like I’ve been telling you. About that raise…”

Dick did not appreciate my attitude. “Hey, let’s stop shitting around here, okay?”

It was impossible not to laugh. I mean, literally impossible.

“Okay, I get it,” Dick said, letting his anger seep through. “You’re the smart one and we’re the bad guys. Know something else, smart guy? I don’t give a fuck what you think. Things have changed a whole lot in the last few days and people like you better get used to it. We’re legally at war now and there are serious penalties for subversion. None of us want—”