When Speiser stopped talking, Bianco stayed in a listening posture with his head to the side for a few minutes, then without a word he stood up, put the pack of cigarettes on the table, and went to the door.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Speiser asked from his chair.

Bianco opened the door and the MPs stationed on either side came to attention. Behind him Speiser called, “Don’t forget I warned you. Don’t forget they’ll live for years. . . .” Bianco slammed the door and took the stairs two at a time. But no matter how fast he ran away from that room, he thought he could hear Speiser’s voice coming from behind the heavy carved doors, “Alive somewhere . . . Palestine . . . America . . . somewhere . . .”

Abrams was in the lobby with the bottle, and right there, surrounded by inlays of green and rose marble, with the big-­busted blond WAC frowning at them from behind the receptionist’s desk, he opened it and handed it to Bianco.

“What’d he say?” he asked Bianco. Bianco took a swallow, handed the bottle back, and walked out onto the street. Abrams followed.

“What’d he say?” he asked again. “Why did he feed them?”

“He doesn’t know why he did anything,” Bianco answered. “He’s crazy.”

He left Abrams and hurried up the street toward Dürer House. He had six minutes to make the convoy. Abrams stood uncertainly on the Tribunal steps, then, clutching the bottle, he ran after Bianco. He caught up at the corner, but Bianco didn’t stop. The city was fogging up from the heat, the stone felt warm under their feet.

“He’s not crazy.” Abrams was out of breath. “Sick, scared, but not crazy.” Bianco ignored him and kept going. Abrams got a pain in his side and had to stop for a second, then he ran on, but by the time he caught up again, they were at the convoy. The headlights of the thirty or so trucks coming through the fog blinded Abrams and he thought he’d lost Bianco; then he saw him handing his orders to the convoy leader. Abrams wasn’t usually persistent, and even though he was drunk, he felt shy about asking Bianco again. But when Bianco got his orders back from the captain and started down the line of trucks, Abrams grabbed the other man’s arm. Bianco pulled away and swung up on his seat next to the driver.

“I know he’s not irrational,” Abrams shouted, but just then the motors started up. The roar was deafening, and Bianco shook his head to show that he couldn’t hear over the noise.