“Go fuck yourself,” I said. I hadn’t left my legs in the desert to be lectured by an asshole. Are you kidding me? “Seriously?” I asked. “You’re actually threatening me?” I would have stepped toward him, but honestly, rolling close to someone lacked the inherent threat of closing that gap.

Howie saw what was coming. “Rollie, c’mon.”

“Just hold on a second,” Francis said in the least threatening tone he could muster. “Don’t get us wrong. We’re not trying to tell you what you can write or post. We’d just like you to show a little loyalty to your country.”

“Show some loyalty?” I questioned. “Show some fucking loyalty?” My voice rose. “How the fuck do you think I got into this chair?”

Howie stepped between us like a fight referee. “Stop! Just stop!” He looked at them. “You guys have made your point. We get it.” He faced me. “Right, Rollie?” I was too angry to answer, so he repeated with a little more insistence, “Right, Rollie?”

Dick didn’t wait for an answer. “Look, Stone,” he said, “we’re not your enemy—”

“Yes,” I told him, “you are.”

“That’s it,” he said, turning, “I’m outta here.” When he reached the door, he stopped and waved a cautionary finger at me. “You’ve been warned.”

The door closed slowly behind them. I looked at Howie and shook my head with disappointment. “Well, you sure were a big help. You still don’t get it, do you? You still don’t see it?”

Howie leaned backward, bracing himself against a sink. “I need you to come with me later,” he told me. There was a firmness in his voice that made it clear this wasn’t optional. “Don’t ask me any questions.” As we were leaving the men’s room, he added, “And don’t mention this to anyone.” He paused and then repeated for emphasis: “And I mean anyone.”

I have to admit that Little Dick was right about one thing: My increased visibility had made me a go-to person for anyone who believed they had evidence of government malfeasance. Since the garage, I had been regularly receiving emails from people describing every type of plot from CIA agents implanting transmitters in their teeth to a secret agreement with China to take control of the world. I dutifully printed them all out and stored them in a folder. Eventually it would make a good story. That turned out to have been a smart thing to do; when I checked my in-box later that afternoon, many of them had simply disappeared.

I got the message.

There were a measly eight empty coffee cups piled on my desk when I took a late-afternoon meditation break. Usually I was able to dismiss my thoughts and flow easily and briefly into a deep state of relaxation. Not today, though. My mind was churning, and when I lowered my conscious defenses, a cavalry of disturbing thoughts came charging into my mind. The theft of American democracy was taking place in plain sight and nobody was doing anything to stop it. When I was in the hospital, government agents had ordered me not to report a story, and this morning they had returned to warn me against sharing my opinions. That wasn’t America. That was an alternative America, a place where the president openly used the Justice Department to pursue a political enemy. That was 1984. That was a Trump/Barr wet dream. There were no realistic limits to a president’s power; citing national security, he or she could simply ignore the Constitution, and the secret Homeland Security courts would support that.