How had he let himself become involved in this asinine fool’s quest? What in hell had he been thinking? He was no superhero. No champion. He had violated his own set of commandments and had no one to blame but himself. Ted had to stop the madness. He had to find the judge’s office and talk to the clerk.

“I’ve already stamped it received.” The clerk was practically rubbing his hands together with glee. If, in fact, “he” was the correct pronoun. So round as to be gender-neutral, the clerk had close-cropped grey hair, unadorned fingernails, and no sign of either having shaved or having an Adam’s apple. Despite the abrupt change in the weather that had produced an early heat wave, Ted’s happy tormentor was wearing a flannel shirt buttoned to the neck, well-worn corduroy trousers, and powder-blue boat shoes.

“But it is still in your possession. You can release it.” Ted knew that he was asking for an exception. Only the person who had submitted a document could authorize its removal.

“You should know that I can’t do that.”

A minor rebuke. He would have been disappointed if the clerk hadn’t found some way of making him feel small. “I understand. But I am the one who signed the document. Lester McKinley works for me. I authorized him to submit a filing on my behalf. Now I would like it back.” The request seemed an uncomplicated one—to a sane individual whose life was not governed by mysterious and capricious rules of procedure.

“Then you should direct Lester to come here and take care of this business himself. I’ve worked with Lester for years. He knows how things are done.”

Where was Lester? Ted was teetering on that uncomfortable fulcrum of concern and annoyance. “What happens if I can’t find him?”

“I guess you’d have a problem.”

The clerk was enjoying themself way too much. Ted remembered that the Russians had known about the filing. Who had Ted told? Kenzie and the Preacher. Neither could have, or would have, passed along that information. Yet the Judge had known almost immediately. The only other two individuals who knew that a motion had been filed were Lester and this clerk. For a heartbeat or two, Ted allowed himself the bitter luxury of assuming that the missing Lester had been the one to tip off the Russians, the Judge, or both. But the smile on the clerk’s face told a different story.

Ted felt failure washing over him. “Lester doesn’t seem to be around this morning.”

The clerk looked up at a wall clock identical to every wall clock in every bureaucrat’s office Ted had ever seen. “I can give you until noon. That’s when I put all new filings in the judge’s inbox.”

He had fewer than three hours to produce the only man capable of keeping the Cossacks from making good on their threat.

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