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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
"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.'"