I considered the possibilities. “I’m good.”

The next afternoon we began the legal process. I was officially requesting political asylum, I said, claiming that if I was deported to the United States I would be arrested and prosecuted as an enemy of the state. I turned to Laura. Her head was lowered and she didn’t say a word.

“Miss?” the Canadian official prompted her.

She shook her head.

“What?” I asked.

In a soft voice, looking at the floor, she said, “I have to go back.”

I was incredulous. “What are you talking about?” I said. “You can’t go back. They know who you are now.”

There was a complete absence of drama in her voice as she responded, leaving no doubt that she had thought this through and made her decision. “We have to fight them, Rollie. I’m not going back to Washington, that would be crazy, but there are a lot of other places I can help. This is just the beginning. We’re just getting organized. You, you can fight them from here; you can write and make a difference. I can’t, and I have to do what I can.”

I ran a complete inventory of all applicable movie lines, searching for something ironic or amusing that would take the edge off the moment. Sadly, “Wow” was the best I could do, which was woefully insufficient. I even said it a second time: “Wow.”

I asked her to stay a few more days to work with me in releasing the information we had brought with us. It was going to create significant problems for Wrightman, I hoped, and I wanted her to get the credit she’d earned. But my real purpose was to try to convince her to change her mind. There was nothing good waiting for her in the United States.

We worked through the days, slowly climbing through the levels of the Canadian government intelligence apparatus. I found myself humming Brain’s codes so often that my lips began hurting. Gradually I began to get some traction. We went all the way from incredulous to interested.

I hesitated to call Jenny. That decision had nothing to do with Laura. There was no good ending to this conversation, so I put it off as long as possible. I waited until the next evening, hoping she would be home. Home, at her apartment. As I dialed her landline, I felt the same insecurity I had in junior high, when I was calling my crush to ask her to go to a movie. My butterflies were wildly flapping. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t answer so I could just leave a message. Even as the phone was ringing, I had no idea what I would say. I figured the words would just come out. She answered, “Rollie?”

“Hello, Jen, it’s me.”

She screamed, literally screamed, then started crying. In one great burst she unloaded her fears that had been growing the last few days. Are you all right? Where are you? What happened? They’ve been here three times to ask if I’ve heard from you. I spoke to Howie and he’s holding up … She caught herself, snapping back into her surprised and excited mode. She missed me so much, she said.