I just thought it was scrap iron and shit.”

“They said they were gonna blow up the White House?”

“No, but that’s what I realized after the fact.”

“Jesus, Mike! You need to tell someone!”

“If the Grouchos come through, I won’t have to.”

A voice behind them says, “Scoot over, Mike.”

“Shit!” Mike says. He jumps to his feet, but a giant hand pushes him back onto the bench with authority. Jimmy starts to make a move, but finds himself staring at a badge he could have sworn wasn’t in the big guy’s hand a second earlier.

The guy says, “Move closer to the wall, and stay put.” Then he pushes Mike against the wall so he’s directly opposite Jimmy. He sits beside Mike and says, “Jimmy? I’m Donovan Creed, Homeland Security. Congratulations. Your friend just bought you three years of unprecedented government scrutiny.”

Jimmy studies the badge. “What do you mean?”

“You and your wife just made front page, Terrorist Watch List.”

“What?”

“For the next three years, every facet of your life will be under a microscope.” He watches Jimmy a moment, then adds, “I see you sitting there, hearing me say this, but you have no idea what it truly means. How intrusive we’re going to be. Everywhere you and Millie go…everything you do…everyone with whom you associate…every phone call, text…every keystroke ever made on any computer you’ve touched or will touch—will be recorded and analyzed by a team of experts.”

“You can’t threaten us! We’re American citizens.”

“Here’s the funny thing, Jimmy: if you weren’t American citizens, we wouldn’t be allowed to do this!”

“How’d you know my wife’s name? Who the fuck are you?”

“I already told you. Donovan Creed.”

“You’re going to spy on us? What, with hidden cameras? Recording devices?”

Creed shakes his head. “You really don’t have a clue how this works, do you? Let me put it bluntly: for the next three years, every time Millie has a bowel movement, we’ll know the volume, texture, and composition.”

“That’s disgusting. Not to mention impossible.”

“It’s not only possible, it’s your new normal. On the bright side, if our people do their jobs properly, you and Millie will never know the difference. But say one word about this to her or anyone else, or mention Mike’s name, or mine, you’ll find yourself in an underground facility so secret only sixty people on earth know about it, and forty of them are prisoners.”

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want to whoever I want. I’m a citizen, with rights.”

“Your rights ended the minute Mike gave you Sadie’s name. If he’d given you her last name, you’d be dead right now.”

Mike says, “I don’t even know her last name.”

“Which is the only reason you’re still alive,” Creed says.

“I’m not involved in this,” Jimmy says. “I haven’t seen this guy for years. Have no knowledge of his activities, and anyway, he’s a witness, not a terrorist.”

“You’re not listening, Jimmy,” Creed says. “But you should.” He reaches into his jacket, hands Jimmy a pair of panties. “Recognize these?”

“Not really.”

“Millie will. They’re hers.”

“You’ve been in my fuckin’ house?”

“Our people are there right now, sifting through your computers, matching your interior paint colors.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve never heard of smart paint? Imbedded sensors that transmit video and sound? One day next week you’ll come home and won’t even realize we’ve painted little sections of your house. No more secrets, Jimmy, no more privacy. Within twenty-four hours we’ll know everything you’ve ever done and everything you’re going to do.”

Jimmy grabs his cell phone.

Creed says, “Make that call and you’ll regret it. Want instant proof?”

“I’m not calling the cops. I’m calling Millie. She’s on her way home. If she sees people in our house, she’ll freak.”

“They’ll be gone before she gets home. Here’s how I know.”

Creed produces his phone, tilts it so Jimmy can see. “Recognize this car? It’s yours. Millie’s driving. When you give the word, she’ll experience a flat tire. Say when.”

“That’s insane.