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chances with the police thing.”
    â€œBad move, Ray,” Perkins said. “Young guys like you don’t do well in jail. You’d be fresh meat.”
    A sobering image, Ray had to admit. But maybe he had seen too many prison movies.
    â€œThe stakes are high,” Perkins said. “Certain reasonable risks have to be taken. If you can access the inner councils of any of Al Qaeda’s splinter groups, the intelligence you could provide us would save countless lives. We’re living in an age of difficult trade-offs. This is one of them.”
    â€œI’m flattered, in a way, that you actually think I could carry this off,” Ray said. It was ridiculous of him, but he couldn’t help wondering if he could turn such an experience into a book, either fiction or nonfiction. Perhaps it might be worth it after all. He could quit before any conversion took place. There hadn’t been any mention of his having to show anything he wrote prior to commercial publication. People who worked for the CIA had to sign such agreements, he knew, but maybe that wasn’t the case here.
    â€œWe’d train you, secretly. Your payments would start as soon as you agree. Like I said you’ll have quite a retirement package for your old age.”
    â€œIf I lived to enjoy it,” Ray said.
    â€œYou don’t have to decide now,” Perkins said. “Think it over. This is a lot to consider, so I’ll give you a week from today. If we don’t get a yes, expect to get a police summons.”
    Perkins handed Ray an official-looking business card. “Call me.”

Chapter 4
    â€œPerkins, make sure any candidate for the program is thoroughly vetted. Secrecy is vital.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThis program needs a certain kind of individual, but there really aren’t any psychological tests that are fool-proof for what we’re attempting.”
    â€œI understand, sir.”
    â€œWe won’t know if this program works obviously for some time. If it does, it can be a major asset.”
    â€œMost definitely, sir.”
    â€œBut if it crashes we’ll have a hell of a mess on our hands despite all the measures we’ve put in place for plausible deniability. If it’s leaked to some headline-seeking, gung-ho congressman, they’ll give us a hard time.”
    â€œI understand, sir. We’ll take all due precautions.”
    â€œGood. Keep me posted.”
    â€œYes, sir.”

Chapter 5
    Arguing with one of the company’s writers under contract wasn’t such a good idea, Ray realized, but he was struck by the author’s snide sense of superiority. He was also dismayed by the looming decision he had yet to make, but now he put it out of his mind to deal with this snotty writer. Desmond Rafe acted as if he were in total charge and talking to a lowly subordinate. They were sitting in the conference room to discuss his manuscript, America Growing & Glorious , which was part of a new series of historical novels for eighth to tenth graders. Ray knew he had a right to make comments; in fact, it was his job, but Rafe seemed to dismiss this salient fact.
    â€œLook,” Rafe said. “I’m not sure you understand the theme of the book.”
    His sallow face tightened, with his cheeks bellowing like flesh balloons, and then a sheen of derision dropped like a curtain. Sparse light brown hair coated his narrow forehead like flattened feathers. Hollow pockets lay under his black eyes. Rafe, according to his bio, was just thirty-eight, but he looked older.
    â€œI understand the theme perfectly well,” Ray said, controlling his growing ire. “It’s how to handle it that I want to discuss.”
    â€œWhat’s to discuss?” Rafe said in a combative tone. “The language is appropriate for this age group. The book has a beginning, a middle, and end. It’s historically accurate. And it’s