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.The psycho-sociology of the Roman Empire, interestingly but not surprisingly, is another story altogether.”He paused again, to allow the note-takers (few and far between as they were) to catch up.Rafe knew that the effectiveness of using historical examples to explain sociological concepts was waning with each passing year, but in his heart of hearts he was a history buff and couldn’t resist the efficacy these comparisons provided, at least to the astute in the room.Catering to mediocrity was not his style.His mind drifted to his old father, now ensconced in their guest bedroom with his dumbbells and his magazines, and to his wife, for all intents and purposes an invalid on the living room divan.Much like the Romans of old, his life of late had shifted quite dramatically along the Fear-Desire paradigm.A student raised her hand.“Yes?”“How do you spell ‘Hannibal’?”When Amy Lieb laughed, which she did with inordinate frequency, she sounded very much like a panting dog.Oftentimes when Amy had launched into one of these laughing fits, Esme felt the need to take a step back, lest she be splashed with hot air and germs.So even though she was on the phone, even though she was in her home and Amy was miles away, ensconced in hers, as soon as that breathy canine laughter began, Esme instinctively moved away from her phone receiver.“I’m sorry,” Amy said finally, once her breathing had simmered down, “it’s just that, well, you can’t be serious.”“I am very serious.At the very least, Amy, you need to remove the Unity for a Better Tomorrow from the fundraiser’s list of sponsors.”“Because—and let me make sure I understand you—because this serial killer specifically targets cities where—”“Yes.”“Esme, honey, have you eaten today?”Esme blinked.“What?”“Let me bring over a casserole.I’ll have Lupe whip something up.She’s a wonder with noodles.How do you feel about scrod?”Esme clenched her teeth.She was lying on the sofa, ice packs numbing both sides of her slowly-mending abdominal wound.She still felt pain, though, because no amount of ice or Tylenol or even Percocet could combat the anguish of talking to a fucking wall.“Amy, listen.Even if you think I’m wrong, even if it’s inconvenient, wouldn’t you rather err on the side of caution? Galileo is still out there.”“Oh, honey, I know he is.Do you have a pen handy? I used to see this shrink, Dr.Fleishman, back when I had that episode with my gardener, and he worked miracles for my post-traumatic stress.He’s board certified.”Esme did have a pen handy, and she was doodling an unflattering caricature of Amy Lieb on the back of one of her Sudoku books.How could anyone be so willfully naive? Was the stereotype accurate? Was enough exposure to suburban life the equivalent of a lobotomy?“Anyway, I hate to cut and run, but the caterer’s on the other line.Don’t ever try and order lobster bisque in April.Ta!”Ta.Before moving to the next person on her list—the mayor—Esme needed a few minutes to calm down.It wouldn’t do to vent her frustration with Amy Lieb at Mayor Connors.She knew the mayor a little, more from social functions at the college than anything else.He was a cleavage-watcher, but he also seemed to have the best interests of the community at heart.She would appeal to his sense of duty—but first, she needed to tranquilize herself with some TV.And if only Tom Piper would return any of her messages, she wouldn’t be feeling like she was fighting this battle alone.She clicked on the remote and watched Fox’s talking heads gab about oil and about a minute later read along the bottom of the screen, embedded in the nonstop crawl of succinct ledes, these words: Journalist involved in Galileo case found dead near home.For Tom Piper, the optimal dialectic wasn’t Fear-Desire but Win-Lose, and he knew exactly where this case fit on that paradigm.But that didn’t stop AD Trumbull, with whom he was on a conference call along with several other higher-ups, from reminding him.“It’s disgraceful,” said Trumbull, and then coughed for a minute.It was an open secret that the old man had lung cancer, but if a career employee for the United States government wanted to die in his office, so be it.Everyone on the conference call patiently waited for Trumbull’s bronchial attack to subside.Tom used the time to rub his tired eyes.He was in a secure room behind closed doors at Eppley Airfield, the historic airport which served the greater Omaha metropolitan area.Most rooms of this nature—where questionable passengers were detained—had chipped paint on the walls and creaky furniture.This room had recently been repainted—eggshell white, of all colors—and the wooden chair on which he sat couldn’t have been more comfortable.It was simple pleasures like these that Tom had to embrace right now, because they were all he had.His own phone buzzed from inside his luggage.Someone was calling him.Whoever it was had to be better conversation than this.Tom was tempted to press mute on the room phone and take the personal call, but then Trumbull cleared his throat and carried on with his tongue-lashing:“Explain to me how it is that you diverted manpower to Santa Fe and our guy shows up in San Francisco.Was San Francisco even on your radar, Tom?”“With all due respect, sir, I asked for surveillance on Lilly Toro.I believed she might be at risk, and my request was denied.”“I read your request,” piped in another assistant director.“You had twenty-two names on that list.How are we supposed to prioritize when you give us twenty-two names?”“I’m sorry, sir.” Tom stared at the bright wall.“I wasn’t aware there was a limit on the number of people the Bureau is supposed to protect.”“There is a limit on the number of resources the Bureau has at its disposal, as you well know.And when those resources are squandered in the middle of New Mexico—”“We have credible evidence that Santa Fe is on Galileo’s list
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