The Zero Game

“It’s not calm!” she calls out, hoping to keep me from doing something stupid. Even if I’m not listening, I’m glad she’s using her brain.

I whip open the glass doors and charge into the building. It’s just a hair past seven. Morning security shift hasn’t started yet. Barb’s not in.

“Can I help you?” a guard with some acne scars asks.

“I work here,” I insist just forcefully enough that he doesn’t ask twice.

He looks to Viv.

“Nice to see you again,” she adds, not slowing down. She’s never seen him before in her life. He waves back. I’m impressed. She’s getting better every day.

By the time we reach the elevator, Viv’s ready to tear my head off. The good news is, she’s smart enough to wait at least until the doors close.

“We shouldn’t even be here,” she says as they finally slam shut and the elevator lurches upward.

“Viv, I don’t want to hear it.” Early this morning, I picked up a new suit from the locker at my gym. Last night, after throwing our shirts in the plane’s washer-dryer and clocking a half hour each in the onboard shower, we spent the entire flight back using the plane’s satellite phones to track people down at the National Science Foundation. Because of the time zones, we couldn’t get any of their scientists directly, but thanks to a jittery assistant and the promise that we’d be bringing the Congressman himself, we were able wrangle a meeting.

“First thing this morning,” she reminds me for the fifth time.

The NSF can wait. Right now, this is more important.

As the doors open on the third floor, I rush past the modern paintings in the hallway and head for the frosted-glass door with the numeric keypad. As quickly as I can, I punch in the four-digit code, shove open the door, and weave my way through the inner hallway’s maze of cubicles and offices.

It’s still too early for support staff to be in, so the whole place is silent. A phone rings in the distance. One or two offices have people sipping coffee. Other than that, the only sounds we hear are our own feet thumping against the carpet. The drumbeat quickens the faster we run.

“You sure you even know where you’re-?”

Two steps past the black-and-white photo of the White House, I make a sharp right into an open office. On the black lacquered desk, there’s a keyboard with a braille display, and no mouse. You don’t need one if you’re blind. There’s also a high-definition scanner, which converts his mail to text, then gets read aloud by his computer. If there were any doubt, the Duke diploma on the wall tells me I’ve got it right: Barrett W. Holcomb. Where the hell are you, Barry?

He wasn’t home when we went by last night – during the day, he’s trolling the Capitol. We spent the last few hours hiding in a motel a few blocks away, but I figured if we came here early enough…

“Why don’t you just beep him and ask him to meet you?” Viv asks.

“And let him know where I am?”

“But by coming here… Harris, this is just dumb! If he’s working with Janos, they can-”

“Janos isn’t here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“For the exact reason you said: It is dumb for us to be here.”

From her look, she’s confused. “What’re you talking about?”

There’s a tapping sound behind us. I turn just as he steps through the door.

“Harris?” Barry asks. “Is that you?”

61

“YOU SCHEMING PIECE of shit…!” I yell, lunging forward.

Barry hears me coming and instinctively tries to sidestep. He’s too late. I’m already on him, shoving him in the shoulder and forcing him backwards.

“A-Are you nuts?” Barry asks.

“They were our friends! You’ve known Matthew since college!” I shout. “And Pasternak… he took you in when no one else would hire you!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Was that why it happened? Some business deal that went wrong with Pasternak? Or did he just pass you up for partner, and this was your easy shot at revenge?!” I shove him again, and he stumbles off balance. He’s struggling to get to his desk. His shin smashes into the wastebasket, sending it wobbling to the floor.

“Harris!” Viv shouts.

She’s worried because he’s blind. I don’t care.

“How much did they pay you?!” I yell, staying right behind him.

“Harris, please…” he begs, still searching for balance.

“Was it worth it? Did you get everything you wanted?!”

“Harris, I’d never do anything to hurt them.”

“Then why was your name in there?” I ask.

“What?”

“Your name, Barry! Why was it in there?!”

“In where?”

“In the damn lobbying disclosure form for Wendell Mining!” I explode with one final shove.

Staggering sideways, Barry slams into the wall. His diploma crashes to the floor as the glass shatters.

Locking onto the wall, he presses his back against it, then palms the surface, searching for stability. Slowly, he picks his chin up to face me.

“You think that was me?” he asks.

“Your name’s on it, Barry!”

“My name’s on all of them – every single client in the entire office. It’s part of being the last guppy in the food chain.”

“What’re you talking about?”