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looked away. At that moment, a
photographer walking backwards and snapping shots of a couple
walking toward him came into our field of view. I almost made a
comment about how much I'd rather be doing that, but I left it
unsaid for fear I'd sound whiny and petty. Then I realized that the
photographer and the couple were play actors, as was Guayabera man,
standing behind a tree, now having traded his shirt for one of the
loud Hawaiian variety.
    “You think that's a possibility,” she said.
“Us ending up dead.”
    “Death always is. In this case its
probability increases with your proximity to pay dirt.”
    “You're worried about me.”
    “I guess I am. Yes.”
    She considered that before turning to face
me. “Funny you should say that. She's worried about you.”
    “Who?”
    “My source.”
    “Your source is concerned about me.” I said
that wanting to sound cynical, but hearing the fear in my wavering
voice.
    Bridget kept looking at me, as if to gauge
the impact of her revelation, or perhaps to judge whether what she
was about to say would betray the identify of her source. She
looked away and scanned our surroundings.
    “She says there's something odd about the way
your social profile hasn't taken off.”
    “You mean after the shooting?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It's taken off enough.”
    “According to her, not the way it should
have,” Bridget replied. “Like someone is dampening it, she
says.” She let that word, dampening float between us. Her
eyes sharpened, glimmering with her scrutiny of my reaction to
it.
    “Dampening,” I said, unable to restrain
myself from confirming that much.
    “You know about this. The capability to
manipulate stories and the perception of news events.”
    “Politicians and their handlers do it all the
time.”
    “More than that,” she said.
“Government-sponsored, algorithmically aided.”
    Now I looked away. Could they have gone live
this soon? If what I knew before my prior career came to an end
still held true, deployment was years away, not yet approved. Had
things changed? Had the powers that be accelerated the program? But
above all those questions, her claim that someone had aimed and
fired the capability at me disturbed me most.
    “If your source is right, then we really have
reason to worry.”
    “Or we are that much closer to exposing
whatever the hell is going on,” she said. “I can’t believe they
would take a chance on exposing themselves by trying to minimize a
story like yours. Unless…” Bridget paused there, not needing to say
that they would never risk it unless they thought my anonymity was
worth it.
    I pondered how best to proceed. It would do
me no good to push for Bridget to tell me who this source of hers
was. It was my business to know, now that my safety came into
question. Still, I knew Bridget wouldn't budge.
    “Tell your source I'm touched by her
concern,” I said. “Tell her to text me or friend me on Facebook
next time.”
    “She can't do that. You know why.”
    Yeah, I knew why. I thought about this for a
moment, and my mind landed on my phone's display earlier that day,
showing me the notification of an incoming text message.
    “Ever get strange text messages, Bridget?
From withheld ?”
    She was frowning at me now. “Got one this
morning, before the interview.”
    “Your first?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did it say?”
    “ Play along .” Bridget hissed more than
whispered those words.
    The same foreboding that overtook me at the
hotel before I returned Bridget's call came over me now. I couldn't
explain it. I only had the impression that I should know who she was based on what Bridget had shared thus far, without
the need for further details. But I needed Bridget to elaborate. If
she could only show me a picture, I thought. My mind raced
cognizant that it should know her source's identity only to draw
dry pails out of a black well.
    “I guess we should, then,” I said. “Play
along to get along.”
     
     

Chapter 4
    “She