Peters pulled closer. "But you're reading about a guard."
"That's exactly right." Bettmann touched the tiny image of a
printer next to the book's clock with his fingertip, and a physical
copy of the report fell out of the printer on the opposite end of
Bettmann's wraparound desk. "Take a copy. The Afghans turned out fine:
they were attending a convention of rug manufacturers."
Peters's eyes took on a squint as he peered down at the paper
in his hands. "The guard--"
"The guard turned out to be more interesting. You've got a guy
at an airport who starts acting funny: can't remember squat about
security codes and so on, pulls a gun on a coworker for a minor
infraction--"
"Drugs" was Peters's one-word response, uttered as he handed
the report back to Bettmann. "They do a K-9 search?"
"Tomorrow morning, though I don't think--"
Peters was already back in the hallway. "Give it a rest,
Bettmann: get home and get a good night's sleep." He gave a final tip
of his hat, and strode away out of sight.
"I don't think this guy's on drugs," Bettmann whispered to the
empty doorway.
############
"That's a very interesting read you have there."
Matthew Katzberg looked up from the copy of The Zero Decade
he had pulled off a bookstore shelf and proceeded to read. "Excuse
me?"
Svetlana drew closer along the shelf and pulled down her own
copy of the poetry collection. "I said, 'That's a very interesting read
you have there.'"
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