An elevator ride to the third floor, a walk down a corridor that could have belonged to a prosperous corporation anywhere in the world, a stop at a door with Steve’s name and “Director of Communications” on it. Angela Simmons knocked. Steve opened the door. “Hi, Jerry,” he said, and then, to the woman, “Thanks for bringing him up, Angela.”

“You’re welcome, Doctor Dole,” she said. “I’ll wait here to take him down again.”

“Okay.” Steve waved Jerry in, then shut the door behind him. The office also could have belonged to any prosperous corporation anywhere. Steve sat down behind his aircraft carrier of a desk, Jerry in front of it. “What can I do for you?” the older man asked.

“I was up at UCLA turning in a book request. Long as I was close by, I figured I’d stop in and see if you wanted to have lunch. It’s getting close to twelve.” As Jerry spoke, he pointed to corners of the room where walls met ceiling. How did you suggest a place might be bugged without yelling, Hey, this place might be bugged?

He’d never been great at charades, but Steve got the message. “Sure, we can do that,” he said. “Did you see that place just when you were getting off the freeway?”

“The one with the penguin outlined in neon on the sign?”

“That’s it. It’s called the Penguin Coffee Shop.”

“No kidding? I figured they’d name it the Hyena or something.”

Steve chuckled. “You haven’t changed, have you?” He and Jerry went out together. Steve told Angela, “We’re going to have lunch together, so you can do whatever else you need to. I’ll get him outside myself.”

“However you want, Doctor Dole.” She nodded to him, then to Jerry, and went on her way.

Once they were out in the open air, Jerry shed his badge. So did Steve. The man from the RAND Corporation asked, “Do you really think they’re listening to what goes on inside my office?”

“I don’t know. I think they could be. It’s harder out here.” Jerry still wondered whether Stephen Dole reported back to the CIA, too. But Dale had fired Steve right after he got Jerry, so that seemed unlikely. And Steve was already in the know; Jerry could talk to him without putting him in more danger than he was in already. He had to talk to somebody.

“Okay.” By the way Steve said it, he might have been humoring a nut case. “Go on.”

“Did something funny happen with your bank account right after you got back to L.A.? Did you get a letter from Dale telling you what a good boy you’d been without saying a word about how or why you’d been a good boy?”