"I know," she said. She pulled a few grocery store cards from his wallet, glanced at each of them, and tossed them on the table. "Your parents were Beatles fans?"

She stared at him for a moment and George realized she was waiting on an answer. He swallowed and tried to stay calm. "Star Wars," he said. "Dad said I was almost George Han Bailey, but Mom won out."

The man in the corner to George's left, the one with the bruise, bit back a snort.

The blonde's gaze didn't waver. "Are you a sci-fi geek?"

"When I was a kid."

"Not anymore?"

"No more than anyone else, I guess."

Another long pause stretched out. Her eyes were bright green. The longer he looked, the more he was sure she wasn't a nice person.

He looked away from her eyes. "Ummmm ... What's this all about?"

The blonde tossed his wallet on the table. "You do any sports?"

"What?"

"Football? Weightlifting? Maybe a little soccer on your lunch break?"

"I ... no."

"Nothing?"

"I ride my bike to work sometimes in the summer. That's it."

"Ever take anything for that?"

"What?"

The blonde nodded at the man with the splints. "You put up a real fight when we grabbed you."

"I was scared."

"A lot more of a fight than a guy your size and build should be able to. Especially against guys like these." She paused again. "My friend here thinks you're on steroids."

He shook his head. "No. Absolutely not."

"That's what I told him."

"Good," said George. "You're right."

"You're way too skinny to be on steroids. My bet was meth."

He blinked. "I'm not on anything."

"You sure about that?"

"I have to do a drug test every six months. I don't even smoke."

She held out her hand. One of the men placed a cell phone in it. George realized it was his. She made a few quick swipes at the phone's screen and then held up the call log for him to see. "Yesterday morning," she said, "you placed a call to Sandia Labs in New Mexico. The Pulsed Power Project. The call lasted just under nine minutes."

This pause was twice as long. George wasn't sure if she wanted an answer and he didn't want to risk interrupting her if she started talking again. Once he was sure she was waiting on him, he gave a quick nod. "Yeah," he said. "I did."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you call the lab?"

"I was looking for someone."

"Barry Burke?"

"Yes."

"And you found him." Another statement, not a question.

"Yeah."

"How do you know Mr. Burke?"

"I ..."

The blonde set his phone on the table and crossed her arms. "It's not really a tough question," she said. "How do you know him?"

"I'm not sure I do," admitted George.

"So why were you calling him?"

George started to talk, then closed his mouth.

"Well?"

"I think ... I think I'd like to talk to a lawyer," George said. "Counsel. Whatever you call it."

The blonde's mouth twitched into a new shape. If it was a smile, it was a cruel one. "A lawyer?" she echoed. "What year do you think this is, George? I don't have to give you a bathroom if I don't want to. Answer the question. Why were you calling Barry Burke?"

Something burned at the back of his throat and he swallowed it down. "To see if I recognized him. Recognized his voice."

"But you don't know him?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so? Have you ever met?"

George shook his head. "No."

"Ever talked on the phone before?"

"No."

"Exchanged e-mails? Online chat? Message boards? Anything?"

"No."

"So how would you recognize him?"

George closed his mouth again.

"According to the receptionist you were on hold for a minute and a half while Mr. Burke got to the phone. You talked for a little over seven minutes. What did you talk about?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't say anything? You just stood there with the phone in your hand?"

"No, of course-"

"So what did you talk about?"

"I asked who he was. He made a joke."

"What kind of joke?"

George tried to roll his shoulders. The cuffs bit into his wrists. "I said I thought I had the wrong person. He said if there was another Barry Burke, he probably had a goatee and a sash."

The blonde furrowed her brow. "What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"Star Trek," said one of the agents behind George. "In the mirror universe all of the Enterprise crew wore sashes to show their rank, and the evil Spock had a goatee."

"Shut up, Winston," she snapped.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"I just told you to shut up." Her gaze settled on George again. "So," she said, "did you recognize Burke?"

He thought about it for a long moment. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Did he recognize you?"

George paused with his lips half-open. "I don't know."

The blond woman stared at him. "In the past week you've stopped twice at the Army recruiting office on Lindbrook. Why?"

"Look, I think I at least get to know what this is all about. I'm pretty sure that's in the Bill of Rights."

"We're getting to it," she said. "Why were you at the recruiting office?"

"My car broke down. I was looking for help. Somebody with jumper cables."

"And the second time?"

"Same thing."

Her eyebrows went up. "Your car broke down twice in one week, both times in front of the same office?"

"No," said George. "The first time was half a block away. The second time was a little before it, but then I knew they had the cables."

"Who did you talk to there?"

"A sergeant, I think. I don't know military ranks that well. And a lieutenant."

"Names?"

He shook his head. "I don't know." The huge officer's name floated up in his memory. "The big guy, the lieutenant, was named Freedom."

The blonde traded looks with one of the men behind George. Not the Star Trek fan. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the man thumb-typing into a BlackBerry.

"Yesterday afternoon," the blonde said, "you visited a woman named Karen Quilt at the Four Seasons Hotel."

"Yes," said George.

"Do you know Miss Quilt?"

"No. I mean, just from her pictures and stuff."

"Never met her? Never sent her any e-mails or anything?"

"No."

"You have any feelings for her?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Do you have dreams about her? Fantasies?"

George paused, then shook his head. "No."

The blond woman noticed the pause. "Are you stalking her?"

"No!"