Miriam thought furiously. “I’m busier than I was right after I left The Weatherman, but I figure I can fit it in. Only thing is, I’ll need a month’s notice to start delivering, and I’d like to keep a couple of generic op-ed pieces in the can in case I’m called away. I’m going to be doing a lot of head-down stuff in the next year or so. It won’t stop me keeping up with the reading but it may get in the way of my hitting deadlines once in a blue moon. Could you live with that?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said. “I’m willing to make allowances. But you’re a pro. You’d give me some warning wherever possible, right?”

“Of course, Steve.”

“Okay. File that copy. Bye.”

She put the phone down for a moment, eyes misting over. I’ve still got a real life, she told herself. This shit hasn’t taken everything over. She thought of Brill, trapped by family expectations and upbringing. If I could unhook their claws, I could go back to being the real me. Really. Then she thought about the rest of them. About the room at the Marriott, and what had happened in it. About Roland, and her. Maybe.

She picked the phone up again. It was easier than thinking.

Iris answered almost immediately. “Miriam, dear? Where have you been?”

“Ma?” The full weight of her worries crashed down on her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you! Listen, I’m onto a story. It’s—” She struggled for a suitable metaphor. “It’s as big as Watergate. Bigger, maybe. But there’s people involved who’re watching me. I’d like to spend some time with you, but I don’t know if it would be safe.”

“That’s interesting.” She could hear her adoptive mother’s mind crunching gears even on the end of a phone. “So you can’t come and visit me?”

“Remember what you told me about COINTELPRO, Ma?”

“Ah, those were the days! When I was a young firebrand, ah me.”

“Ma!”

“Stuffing envelopes with Jan Six, before Commune Two imploded, picketings and sit-ins—did I tell you about the time the FBI bugged our phones? How we got around it?”

“Mom.” Miriam sighed. “Really! That student radical stuff is so old, you know?”

“Don’t you old me, young lady!” Iris put a condescending, amused tone in her voice. “Is your trouble federal, by any chance?”

“I wish it was.” Miriam sighed again.

“Well then. I’ll meet you at the playground after bridge, an hour before closing time.” Click.