“This place is historic,” Lisa said as she headed to the back of the store. “Have some respect.”
“Trust me, I love places like this. Where else can you find expiration dates that match your birthday to the year?”
“You have to take a look at these maps,” Lisa said as she pointed to the walls. “I don’t think a single one lists Alaska or Hawaii as states.”
“I believe it,” Ben said. “The one near the front door didn’t even have the Louisiana Purchase on it. Ah, those thirteen states of ours.”
When Ben and Lisa reached the back of the store, the pharmacist behind the counter rose from his rusted metal folding chair. “What’s your ache?”
“Just her,” Ben said, motioning to Lisa.
“We’re okay, thanks,” Lisa said. She pointed to the free-standing blood pressure machine next to the counter. “Here it is. I told you they had one.”
“Do you really think this’ll work?” Ben asked, handing his overcoat and suit jacket to Lisa.
“How should I know?”
“Do I have to get undressed for this?” Ben asked, already rolling up his sleeve.
“Read the directions.”
After glancing at the paragraph of directions, Ben pulled a quarter from his pocket, unrolled his sleeve, put his arm into the cuff, and inserted the coin in the machine.
“You can do it over your shirt?” Lisa asked.
“According to the directions.” Suddenly, the cuff tightened around Ben’s arm. Breathing deeply and remaining silent, he waited as the cuff slowly loosened. A set of red numbers appeared on the screen of the machine: 122 over 84.
“Crap,” Ben said.
“What are you normally?”
“One twenty-five over eight-five. The damn pills had almost no effect. My heart rate’s the same, my pressure’s the same. I’m a dead man.”
“Don’t say that. Besides, you only took them two hours ago. Maybe they haven’t kicked in yet.”
Ben put on both of his coats and grabbed his briefcase. “Maybe. But for some reason, I doubt it.”
“Don’t let it get you upset,” Lisa said as they left the store. “If you expect to pass the test, you have to focus on being calm.”
Chapter 14
AT TEN A.M. WEDNESDAY, BEN STRETCHED OUT on the deep red office sofa. With his eyes closed, he stroked his favorite polka-dot tie. “How do you feel?” Lisa whispered.
“I’m okay,” Ben said, sitting up and taking a long, deep breath. He looked at his watch. “I guess it’s time.”
“Just stay calm. Think of long walks in the woods, scuba diving-anything that keeps you relaxed.”
“I’m focused,” Ben said, standing up. “I’m a picture of calm. I’m intensely Zen.”
“Good luck,” Lisa said as Ben walked out the door.
Thinking it would be the least traveled route, Ben took the spiral marble staircase to the basement. Slowly, he descended into the heart of the building, counting each step to take his mind off his destination. When he reached the basement, he walked to the Marshals Office and told the receptionist that he had an appointment with Carl Lungen.
“You can go right in. He’s expecting you.”
When Ben entered Lungen’s office, he was hit by the stench of cigars. “Nice to see you, Ben,” Lungen said, leaning back in his leather chair. “Have a seat.”
“I thought this was a smoke-free building,” Ben said, refusing to look Lungen in the eye. “It is a historic monument, you know.”
“Well, you know how it is,” Lungen said, rubbing his beard. He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
“No offense, but can we get on with this?” Ben asked. “I have work to do. Besides, cigar smoke gets my blood pressure worked up.”
Lungen got up from his seat and headed for the door. Following him out of the office, Ben was led back to the receptionist’s desk. “I’ll be in the interrogation room if anyone needs me,” Lungen announced. He then led Ben back to the main area of the basement. Walking toward a door marked STORAGE, Lungen pulled a wad of keys from his pocket and opened the door.
The large, windowless, musty room measured about fifty feet in both length and width. The walls were lined with surplus desks, chairs, file cabinets, and other office equipment. Fluorescent bulbs illuminated the dust-filled air. “So I guess this is a storage area for most of the year, and an interrogation room when you need to scare people,” Ben said.
“That’s it,” Lungen said. “You’ve got us all figured out.”
In the center of the room were a wooden desk and three wooden chairs. On the desk was the lie detector machine, which reminded Ben of his office’s laser printer, except with more wires. Dennis Fisk was untangling the large cluster of wires and didn’t look up until they approached the equipment.
“Are we ready yet?” Lungen asked.
“Almost there,” Fisk said. He glanced at Ben with a smirk. “Take a seat, buddy.”
Ben sat down, crossed his legs, and said nothing.
“So tell us what’s been happening with your life,” Lungen said. “How’s your friend Eric?”
“I have no idea,” Ben said. “I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.”
“That’s too bad,” Lungen said, sitting in one of the two chairs behind the desk. Lungen leaned forward, so that his elbows rested on his knees. “But you still live together, don’t you?”
“Not for long,” Ben answered. “He’s moving out the first of the year.”
“I guess he’s moving to a bigger place now that he’s a hot shot at the paper. I saw that he’s covering all Supreme Court stories.”
“He’s moving out because I’m making him move out,” Ben said, struggling to remain composed.
“I know what you mean,” Fisk said, still fidgeting with the wires. “If I were you, I’d definitely be mad that my roommate wrote about my involvement with the whole CMI thing.”
“Listen, you better control your sidekick,” Ben said to Lungen. “If he wants to make an accusation like that, he’d better have proof. Otherwise, I’d be thrilled to slap your office with workplace harassment and defamation suits.”
“Fisk didn’t mean anything,” Lungen said defensively. “We’re all just a little anxious.”
“Well, I told you before and I’ll tell you again, I was as surprised about the CMI fiasco as you were.”
“But you do still admit that you leaked information to Eric about Blake’s resignation?” Lungen asked.
“I definitely did,” Ben said, his voice even-tempered and steady. “And as far as I know, there’s nothing illegal about that. I was just trying to help my friend.”
“So now Eric’s your friend again?” Fisk interrupted.
“No, not at all. The Blake incident took place before Eric wrote the CMI story. In case you’re having trouble with temporal relationships, that means it happened before I was mad at him.” Smiling, Ben watched as Fisk’s jaw shifted slightly off-center. “Now, I know you’re supposed to intimidate me with an hour of questions, but can we get on with this?”
“Hook him up,” Lungen told Fisk.
Fisk rolled up Ben’s sleeve and wrapped a Velcro pad around his arm.
“I thought you needed an expert to administer the test,” Ben said.
“I’m trained to do it,” Fisk shot back.
“Oh, then I know I’m in good hands,” Ben said sarcastically. “Your middle name is Impartial. Dennis Impartia-”
“Shut up.”
When the rest of the instruments were attached, Fisk sat in the empty seat on the other side of the desk. “I want you to take ten deep breaths,” Fisk instructed. “On the tenth, just remain as calm as possible. Then we’ll take your baseline reading.”
Following Fisk’s instructions, Ben took ten deep breaths. When he saw Lungen pull a sheet of notes from his jacket pocket, Ben tried to remain tranquil; closing his eyes, he ignored the image and thought about hang-gliding in the South of France.