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Five, maybe six, he couldn't be certain. He rolled into a ball and tried to protect his head with his arms as they hit him with rifles, fists, boots. He managed to topple one of them, but in the process opened up long enough to take a hard shot to the forehead. The relentless blue sky above him started to look more like the ocean, flowing gently before turning dark.
    At first Erin thought the thudding sound was just the throbbing in his skull, but after a few seconds he realized that it was faster and heavier than anything biology could dream up. He opened his eyes slowly, the light stabbing into them.
    "What happened?" he croaked when he finally managed to focus on Mark Beamon strapped into a seat above him.
    "You're one lucky son of a bitch," he shouted over the helicopter blades. "If I hadn't happened to walk out of that trailer to take a leak at the exact moment I did, you'd probably be dead or in a wheelchair right now."
    Erin tried to push himself up off the floor, but then thought better of it. "What do you want me to say? Thank you? If it weren't for you, I'd be sitting on my sofa right now."
    "Doing what?" Beamon said. "Staring at a picture of a woman who's been dead for two years?"
    Erin lunged forward, but he was still weak enough that Beamon was able to stop him by sticking a foot against his chest.
    "Son, have you ever considered seeking therapy for that temper of yours?"

    Chapter 5.
    "Don't see why I need to be here," Erin whispered loudly as he and Beamon were led down one of the many corridors at the Department of Energy. "Stevie's the guy on the ground doing the work."
    Mark Beamon reached out to give him a reassuring pat on the back, but then realized that there probably wasn't a hand-sized spot anywhere on Erin's body that wasn't bruised or cut. "Look, I've been unfortunate enough to work for the government most of my life, and the trick is to just recognize when things are out of your control and go with it "
    .
    "But I don't work for the government." "Uh huh."
    The woman escorting them took a hard left, and they followed silently.
    "So that's what you do?" Erin said finally. "You just go along?"
    Beamon let out a snort that seemed to have real humor in it. "Do as I say. Not as I do."
    Their guide veered left again, and Erin started to follow, but Beamon pulled him through a set of open double doors. He nodded absently at the woman sitting behind an elaborate workstation, but didn't stop. "Hey, Ruth. Is he here?"
    "Go on in, Mark."
    Erin entered the next room hesitantly, immediately recognizing the man standing in the middle of it as Jack Reynolds, the energy secretary. A few years back, Erin had blown up a photo of him to use as a dartboard.
    "Jack, this is the guy I've been telling you ab--"
    "What the hell is going on?" Reynolds said. He stared directly at Erin, but seemed not to notice his swollen face. "I just got a call from the Saudis saying that you assaulted an oil worker -- who is now in the hospital with a separated shoulder -- and that you were both deported."
    "What are they whining about?" Erin shot back. "That guy landed in the sand. I got the shit beat out of me with rifle butts."
    "Come on, Jack," Beamon said before the exchange could escalate. "The Saudis wanted us out of there from day one. They were looking for an excuse."
    "And you didn't miss any opportunity to give them one, did you? Were you really drinking and gambling with the guards? It's a goddamn Muslim country, Mark!"
    "Screw the Saudis," Beamon said, falling into a chair uninvited.
    "No, screw you, Mark. We need them, and as long as that's true, you'll treat them with respect."
    Beamon's nod was noncommittal.
    For a moment, Reynolds looked as if he had more to say, but then appeared to conclude that there was no point. He let out a long, frustrated breath and pointed to the empty chair next to Beamon. Erin sat carefully. He'd originally thought his head was the worst of it, but now he'd swear those assholes had managed to