“Then please arrest me now.” He said it in German: “Verhaften Sie mich.”

“How come?” said Ettinger, also in German.

“Because now’s the time when my innocence is most apparent.”

Ettinger shook his head sadly. “We’re not quite there yet.”

The next day it was in the newspapers. DOUBTS SABOTAGE IN HERCULES BLAST—FBI IS MYSTIFIED AS TO CAUSE OF EXPLOSION AT KENVIL, NJ.

Lauren, who in the last few weeks had treated him as though he were personally responsible for what by now were fifty-two deaths, who at the kitchen table pushed newspaper articles his way discussing warships, uniforms, maps, and tanks, grew milder.

He felt weary and drained. But it was with a certain relief that he climbed into the truck with Max the next day.

“So it wasn’t an attack, then.”

“You idiot!” said Max.

“What?”

“That’s a lie the American government is spreading. To prevent panic from spreading among the population!”

Josef started the engine. It was a cold December day, the streets slick. The accumulated smell of gasoline, cigarettes, and acrid sweat hung in the air inside the truck.

“There was no attack, you hear?” Josef simply said it a second time.

“You stupid oaf, you’ll believe anything! Sonnenstaub equals Hercules. End of conversation.”

“There was no attack!” He was shouting now.

“Calm down, little man.”

On Flushing Avenue he noticed Ettinger’s white mustache and baby-pink skin in the rearview mirror. Ettinger was driving a black Austin today; the FBI provided him with a different car every time. The Austin stuck to them like a magnet, with a buffer of about ten feet; no one could get in between them. Crossing Knickerbocker Avenue, Josef sped up. Ettinger sped up too, also ignoring the red light. “Hey, careful,” said Max behind him. “We don’t want any trouble, remember?”

He steered the truck carefully past clusters of pedestrians who stood in the median, driving at normal speed again. When the road ahead of them was clear of people, he floored it.

“Are you trying to get us thrown in jail?” shouted Max.

That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, thought Josef. He wanted to finally put an end to it. He stepped on the brake, there was a squeal, then crunching and shattering. His knee hurt, plus something on his arm.

“Shit, Josef!” Max shouted.

So Max was still alive. And he was still alive. He took a breath and waited.

“That was nothing,” Max called up to him. “Drive away, right now. We’re not at fault, he ran into us.”

“That’s precisely why we have to wait.” He had said it calmly and deliberately.

Max swore.