looking for the machine herself. Good luck—she’d never find it on the surface of Mars.
He thought back to the journalist who’d called him that morning. He’d been cautious, circumspect, but he gave her enough information, he hoped, to light a fire under Chaudry’s ass. Give him a scare when the piece came out. Although, in thinking back over the conversation, he felt a little uneasy, wondering if he should have been a little less forthcoming. But she had assured him it was off the record, background only—his name would never come up.
Passing by the side table, he went through the mail again irritably, pointlessly. No job offers, nothing. He swelled with anger at the idea that they had cheated him out of eight thousand dollars and he recalled Chaudry’s cool contempt as he repulsed his offer and threatened him back.
Feeling all nerves, he went into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, toweling it dry. The cold water did nothing to help. He couldn’t wait to get to Moto’s, to be distracted, calm down with a stiff drink. Moping about the house all day long was killing him.
He would definitely talk to the Times. The government wouldn’t dare arrest him after that. He’d be a hero. A Daniel Ellsberg.
In the middle of these ruminations, the deep electronic gong of the doorbell rang.
“Mark?” He heard his mother’s timid voice from the kitchen. “Would you get that?”
Corso went to the door and looked through the peephole. A man in a tweed jacket stood there, looking uncomfortably hot in the gray, muggy morning air.
“Yes?” Corso asked through the door.
The man didn’t respond, instead holding up a battered leather wallet which fell open, displaying a police badge. “Lieutenant Moore.”
Oh shit. Corso peered intently through the peephole. The officer continued to hold up the badge, almost as a challenge. The photo seemed right. But it was the Washington, D.C. Police. What did that mean? Corso felt an overwhelming panic. Chaudry had turned him in.
“What’s it about?” Corso tried to say, almost choking on the words.
“May I come in, please?”
Corso swallowed. Did he have a right to refuse entry? Did the man have to show a warrant? Maybe it was better not to piss him off. He un-shot the bolt, unhooked the chain, turned the lock, and opened the door.
Officer Moore slipped inside and Corso quickly shut the door behind him. “What’s it about?” Corso said, standing in the hall.
The man smiled. “Nothing serious. Now—is there anyone else in the house?”
He did not want his mother hearing any of this. “Uh, no. Nobody.” He’d better get the cop out of sight, quick. “In here,” he said, gesturing to the parlor. They went in, Corso quietly shutting the door. Maybe he should be calling a lawyer. That’s what everyone said you should do. Never talk to the cops without one. “Please sit down,” he said, trying to keep his voice relaxed, as he took a seat on the sofa.
The cop, however, remained standing.
“I think I need to talk to a lawyer,” Corso said, “as a matter of course. Whatever this might be about.”
The man reached into his jacket and removed a large black handgun. Corso stared at it. “Look, officer, you don’t need that.”
“I think I do.” He removed a long cylinder and affixed it to the end of the gun. And now Corso noticed he was wearing black gloves.
“What are you doing?” Corso asked. This wasn’t normal. His mind was boiling with confusion and conjecture.
“Don’t lose it. No screaming, no weeping, stay in control. Everything’s going to work out if you do what I say.”
Corso fell silent. The man’s soothing voice reassured him but nothing else made any sense. His mind was racing.
The man reached over and picked up the Xbox. The image was still frozen on the screen. “You play, Mark?”
Corso tried to answer, but it came out a gurgle.
The man flicked the switch and the game resumed. He turned up the sound until it was just about deafening.
“Now, Mark,” said the man, speaking over the noise and pointing the gun at him. “I’m looking for a hard drive you took from NPF. That’s all I want and when I get it I’ll leave. Where is it?”
“I said I want a lawyer.” Corso choked on his own words, swallowed, trying to recover his breath.
“You don’t get it, shithead. I’m not a cop. I want the hard drive. Give it to me or I’ll kill you.”