We left that chair open and waited.

No one spoke.

My mind started messing with me again. Were they standing us up? Did they think we were bluffing? Was this a trap? Why the h.e.l.l did we come?

How many times was I going to lower my fists and show my neck?

How many more times would I get away with it?

I was about to curse Miles for . . . for something . . . (not fixing the mess I'd created?) . . .

And then I heard it: Three knocks--slow, soft, and polite.

30.

Two questions: first, who opens the door in a situation like this? And second, is there a cannon with a lit fuse on the other side? As any good lawyer would tell you, the answer to one question might affect your answer to the other.

I gave a last hopeful glance at Miles and Sarah, then stood up and went to the door.

Through the peephole, the man didn't look like a murderer. He was neatly dressed, in a plain and somewhat worn gray suit. In his left hand was a battered briefcase. His hair was a little ruffled, but he had a tidy mustache, thinner than a drug lord's and thicker than a magician's.

When I opened the door, he held out his hand.

"You must be Jeremy," he said in a tired voice.

I sat in my leather chair and left the wooden one open for him.

He sat hard and cringed, popped off the chair, and sort of half-stood and put a hand on his flank. He let out a little groan.

"Bad back," he said apologetically. "Just give me a second."

The man seemed like he was in real pain. He sort of hovered, half-standing, half-sitting, with his eyes closed. He kept one hand on his lower back; his lips moved like he was counting slowly to wait out the spasm. I shot Miles and Sarah a look. Miles shrugged. Sarah c.o.c.ked her head. The doctor in her couldn't resist.

"Have you tried a lumbar pillow?" she asked him.

He turned his head to her, still crouching, and half-opened his eyes.

"I heard they don't work."

"Actually, they're great," she told him. "Takes the pressure off your lower back."

"Well, you are the neurosurgeon in the room," he said, trying to smile but still wincing.

"Listen, just take this one," I said and stood away from my chair.

"Thank you, much obliged," he said and walked, still bent, to my chair, grimacing with each step. He settled down slowly into the chair, then let out a big sigh. "Very kind of you," he said.

I went to the wood chair and sat. The angle of the back against the seat was preposterous--an angle unknown to human spines in the history of sitting--and the wood planks jabbed into me. I accidentally let out an oh.

The man in the suit smiled sheepishly.

He was sitting in my chair!

The negotiation was off to a great start.

He looked around the room, soaking it in. He smiled at my Einstein poster. He shook his head at the stack of books on my desk. "I don't miss school," he chuckled, in a way that suggested he did miss it, a little.

"We don't want to play games," I said to him.

"Good, good."

He smiled pleasantly.

The man picked up one of the troll dolls from my desk and turned it over in his hands. "My sister used to collect these. She had ones for different countries. I remember, she had a whole cabinet full of them." He smiled at the memory. "Shall we get started?"

This guy was messing with me!

"Yeah, let's get started."

I handed him one of our packages.

The man took it. He pulled out the paper and read it slowly, taking his time. It contained every single thing we knew about the V&D: facts and rumors, puzzles and solutions, maps of tunnels, the location of their temple, lists of names. His face was pa.s.sive, perfectly unreadable. Not blank--just mild. He might've been flipping through Reader's Digest, waiting for a haircut. When he was done, he handed it back to me.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay what?"

He didn't reply. He just sat there patiently with a polite smile, hands folded in his lap.

He sat there until I couldn't stand it.

"We want protection. We want you to promise you'll leave us alone. Me, Sarah, Miles, Chance. That's it. We have copies of this all over the place. If anything happens to us, they go out--newspapers, internet, you name it. If we're okay, they never see the light of day. We don't care about the V&D. All we want to do is live our lives. That's it. That's all we want."

I tried to think if there was anything else to say. But there wasn't.

"Well?" I prodded him.

"Well what?"

I wanted to jump the s.p.a.ce between us and throttle him.

"Do we have a deal?"

"Okay," he said.

I almost didn't catch it. He said it quietly. No haggling, no comebacks. Just "okay." It seemed too easy. But then again, it wasn't a very complex situation. I didn't buy his w.i.l.l.y Loman act--behind those placid eyes I saw a snake-brain coiling. It seemed like the smarter someone was, the less there was to say.

"That's it?" I asked.

"Is there something else?"

"No."

"Okay then." He used his thumb and forefinger to smooth the two halves of his mustache. "I better get going. Seems like I'm always running behind. You know how it is." He chuckled. "Say, I hate to ask, but can I have this?" He picked up one of my troll dolls, one with wild pink hair. "Haven't seen this one before. I bet my sister would like it." He gave an apologetic smile.

I think my eyebrows were knitting tighter than if he'd asked me a math question.

"Sure. Fine."

"Thanks. Really kind of you."

He did a couple of mini-bows to me and shook Miles's and Sarah's hands.

He was at the door with his hand on the k.n.o.b when he turned around.

"Oh, sorry, one other thing. Your friend Chance."

Suddenly, the entire room froze.

"What about Chance?"

The man in the suit shook his head. "Sad news. He was killed in an accident. Drunk driving, I'm sorry to say."

I looked at Miles and Sarah. Sarah's eyes were wide. Miles's were burning.

"It'll be in the paper tomorrow," the man said. "We were waiting to put the rest of you in the car, but I guess there's just one victim in this accident, after all." He scratched his head. "Well, good night."

31.

For a moment, I thought Miles would jump across the room and tear the little man limb from limb. The look in his eyes scared the h.e.l.l out of me.

But he didn't move. He just sat there, his eyes burning like coals. I heard the door close. The man with the mustache was gone, and he took all the air in the room with him. Miles just kept staring at the spot where he'd been.

Chance is dead. That's what kept running in my mind, over and over. Chance is dead. Chance is dead.

Miles shivered. I thought he was cold, but then I saw his eyes. They'd dimmed from burning to a low simmer. His shiver was like a lion's shaking off a hunt. He walked to the window and threw it open. Cold air rushed into the room. It stung. It felt like an exorcism, cleansing the room of that man's affable malice.

Miles turned to us and opened his hands.

"We're free," he said.

"What?"

"We're free. We did it. We have our lives back."

"But Chance."

Miles shook his head.

"Chance was an adult. He knew what he was doing."

"They killed him."

"They did. And if it hadn't been them, it would've been the Sandinistas. Or the Taliban. Chance was only happy in the middle of a war zone. I'm surprised he made it this long. You know what would've been a tragedy? Chance dying in a Boca Raton retirement home with pea soup on his chin. His only crime was getting Jeremy involved in all this." Miles rubbed his hands briskly. "Listen to me. We're moving on with our lives. This is a gift. This is as good as it gets."

I started to protest, but Miles raised his giant hand with such force that I took a step back.

"How can you be so cold?" Sarah snapped.

"Cold?" He stared at her. He almost roared. "You think I'm cold? I knew Chance better than either of you. I'll be mourning him long after he's just a footnote in your memory."

His eyes actually started watering.

"Miles . . ." Sarah said gently.

"I don't want to hear it. Chance is gone."

"This isn't about Chance," she said. "Miles, they're killing kids. Twenty-two-year-olds, right at the start of their lives."

"You can't beat these people!" he barked. "Say we tell people what we know. So what? We're only alive because it's easier for them than cleaning up the mess we'd make. But they could clean it up. We're alive at their convenience. That's it."

"You're right," I said.

Miles did a double take. Sarah looked at me like I'd betrayed her.

"What?"

"You're right."

"I don't think you've ever said that before," Miles mumbled.

"Exposing what we know won't help us."