“So the government of the United States knows we’re dating,” I said, trying to lighten the conversation. “I hope they don’t tell Europe.”

She completely ignored the fact that I’d ignored her comment. “It was more than that. They’re investigating you. They didn’t even ask about the video. They asked me if you gambled or drank, if you owed anybody money. They even asked me if I thought you were mad at the government because, you know…”—she hesitated here, not certain how I would react—“… because of what happened to you.”

I literally could feel my anger rising, my face flushed. I pressed down hard on my emotions. My index finger, I noticed, was thumping away. Well, that was an interesting outlet for them.

“Rollie?”

“I’m here. It’s okay.”

She misread my silence. “I had to talk to them. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me not to cooperate with Homeland Security in an invest—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. Here’s what’s happening, I think.” I was as curious as Jenny was to hear what came out of my mouth, so I would know what my subconscious thought about this. “They know there’s no way I would give up my source, so they’re trying to intimidate me. Or us. They know how I feel about you, so questioning you is their way of warning me.”

“They do? Really? Sometimes I’m not even sure how you feel about me. Maybe I should be the one asking questions.”

“Jenny,” I said, lowering my voice to demonstrate that I was serious, “there is no one in this world I would rather roll with than you.” Sometimes being corny will suffice.

It was her failure to come back with some sort of snappy retort that made me uneasy. Instead she said she had to go back to work and would call later. After we hung up, I sat there trying to decide what was more difficult: understanding this woman or saving American democracy.

I focused on what I could handle. What the hell was Homeland Security’s objective? Maybe I was right, maybe they were firing a warning shot. Well, I definitely got that message, fuck you very much.

The Washington curfew was still in force; soldiers patrolled the mostly empty streets. Truck-mounted spotlights cast long angular shadows across the avenues and up the sides of buildings. I was stopped twice while walking to the garage to get Van. I produced identification without giving them the usual hard time. I just didn’t have the energy.

By the time I got home, I’d managed to compartmentalize my thoughts. I had to reassure Jenny. A comfortable night at home would help. We’d order in, I’d let her choose the restaurant. Even Mexican if she wanted. Okay, I thought, it’s time to have that conversation, time to take the next step.

Then I opened my front door.