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Ladies’ acoustic cut of: “Lying In Bed (Just Like Brian Wilson Did).” Blasting it loud, cranked up so that no one would mistake his playing a ballad about artistic crack-ups as passive aggression.
    Then I zoned out. Dr. Jacobsen called it disassociation. Laymen might mistake it for a nap, sitting in a chair, eyes draped, oh so completely gone.
    Until abruptly I blasted back.
    Was sitting there. My chair. My room. My books. My…
    Eric. Standing in front of me, shifting back and forth from foot to foot like an anxious third grader locked out of the bathroom.
    My door was open. Eric opened my door! Came in without being told to! Never before, never imaginable before, and now…
    Now he stood in front of me. Shifting from shoe to shoe. His face twisted, pale.
    â€œ Oh-oh ,” said Eric. “ Oh-oh! ”

5
    Dr. Friedman sat on a metal folding chair in our sunlit Day Room.
    Dead.
    My guts told me that the moment Eric led me into the Day Room, though I wasn’t certain until I pressed my fingers into the rubbery flesh of Dr. F’s neck, found no pulse.
    Down in his lair, Russell had moved on to the Beatles’ White Album. The sound of “Everybody’s Got Something To Hide ’Cept For Me And My Monkey” poured into the Day Room where Eric and I stood beside the sitting corpse.
    Then I spotted the smudge of blood in Dr. F’s right ear.
    â€œEric: go get all the others! Now! And only them!”
    Two minutes later, five of us stood staring at the slumped body of our therapist.
    â€œGone before he thought,” said Russell.
    â€œLook at this,” I said, pointing to the blood smudge in Dr. F’s right ear.
    Zane held his long white hair back, leaned over and looked. “There it is.”
    â€œSomebody went to school,” said Russell. “Sorry Dr. F.”
    Hailey said: “What is it?”
    â€œDAST,” said Russell.
    DAST—Defense Against Subtle Termination. A secret training program run jointly by the Pentagon and the Agency. Trouble Boys like Russell, Zane and I cycle through for training. Like the military’s DAME program—Defense Against Mechanical Entry—DAST obscures what it teaches. DAME may teach how to defend against mechanical entry, or as you might call it, burglary , but it for sure turns out lock pickers and safe crackers. DAST teaches “defense” against “subtle termination.” Learning tricks the opposition might use to kill you in Bangkok gives you a better chance of getting in and out of such a town alive. Of course, knowledge you pick up along that educational path… Assassination is illegal for U.S. spies.
    â€œNot a perfect job,” said Russell. “Whatever was rammed through Doc’s right ear up to his brain pan kept its path open long enough to let blood trickle out. Maybe in the boonies this could be passed off as a stroke, but here, the coroner will know the score.”
    â€œâ€™Xactly,” muttered Zane.
    â€œHe’s not the one who’s supposed to die,” said Hailey.
    â€œLogic says one of us killed him,” I said.
    â€œMeans, motive, and opportunity,” said Russell.
    â€œHe wanted to change everything,” said Zane. “He told us so.”
    â€œHim sitting down here,” I said. “Alone. We all had the chance.”
    â€œNone of us wanted what he did,” said Hailey.
    â€œWell Dr. F,” said Russell. “Looks like you won. Everything’s changed.”
    The pat Russell gave the dead man’s shoulder was meant to be congratulatory.
    Dr. Friedman tumbled out of his chair to sprawl on the floor.
    â€œSorry!” Russell gave us his shit-happens shrug.
    â€œWhat a brilliant murder,” I said. “We’re trapped here as the perfect fall guys. We’re certified dangerous and crazy. Nobody will believe we’re innocent.
    â€œSo did we kill him?” I asked.
    I stared at their faces—Russell,