Watching Laura ease him into a pleasant conversation was fascinating. The two of them were close to the same age, but she had quickly taken control. She completely won him over. It took me a minute to figure out her trick. It was obvious, there was no trick. She was genuinely curious about his life. In his fumbling way, it suddenly became clear to me, Gunn was explaining how all of this had happened in America. The young police officer had small dreams. He had grown up on a farm (hence his delight at discovering my cowbell), and all he wanted was the middle-class American life he had been promised: a woman who loved him, a comfortable house, some kids running around, mowing the lawn on Saturday morning, complaining about visiting the in-laws on Sunday. And he had seen those things slipping away, beyond his reach.

He had become a police officer, he explained, because it was good, honest work. It offered stability and provided him an opportunity to help people. “It was okay the first couple of years,” he said, “but it’s much better now, since President Wrightman. People just look at us differently now. They really respect us, you know what I mean. They know we’re their first line of defense against the terrorists. People like…” He pointed at me.

Laura ignored that. “So you really like the president?”

“Love him,” Gunn said firmly, sitting straight up in that chair. “The man said what he was going to do and he’s doing what he said he would do.” Not only did he respect the president, his whole family did. “He’s doing a damn good job protecting this country. Maybe we’re not in favor of everything he’s doing,” he continued, “but you know what, nobody’s perfect.”

Laura asked, “What about all the rights the government has taken away? Doesn’t any of that bother you?”

He shut his eyes and shook his head. “Truthfully, we don’t even notice that. Most of that comes from people who like to complain about everything. They’re just angry ’cause they can’t complain. Me and my family, we’re just regular people minding our own business, so that stuff doesn’t affect us.”

As their conversation continued, I drifted a few hours into the future. There were certain assumptions I could make: Homeland Security agents, presumably Dickie and Francis, were on their way. They would take us into custody and move us back to Washington. We would be detained there indefinitely and questioned. I wasn’t overly concerned about that because I was pretty confident it would never get to that point. What did concern me was Laura. How was she going to respond when the time came? I looked over at her; she was waving her hands descriptively, making some point. Young Officer Gunn was nodding in agreement, completely won over by her. She was giving him what he needed most: attention and respect. Attention and respect, it didn’t seem that hard; but apparently it was.

Anyway, there was nothing that I could do until the agents got there; and when it was time, I needed to be alert, so I willed myself into a light sleep. When I opened my eyes, the sun was shining and Gunn was gone. Another officer, Sergeant G. Hicker, tall and blond with thinning hair, was sitting in Mighty Chair. “This is pretty comfortable,” he said pleasantly. “I ordered you guys some coffee. I sure need some.”