“Do you sell ice cream?” the girl asked.
“No, but I love to eat it.”
“Why do you dress all in white?”
“So I don’t have to waste time thinking about what to wear.”
“Do you always wear a flower?”
“Not always. Only when I’m going to meet a princess.”
“You know a princess?”
“I just met her,” he said.
“Wow. Cool. I never knew a princess.”
“I’ll introduce you to yourself.”
“You’re a little silly. Do you have a dog?”
“I’ve got four dogs.”
“Four!”
“Two golden retrievers, one Belgian sheepdog, and one humongous Newfoundland.”
“If you really have four, what’re their names. Tell me quick.”
“Butterscotch, Lollipop, Peppermint, and Licorice.”
“You named them candy names!”
“They’re very sweet creatures.”
“My name’s Cricket. What’s your name?”
“Ganesh.”
“I know what a cricket is. What’s a Ganesh?”
“A Ganesh is a man who doesn’t sell ice cream.”
Wendy discovered that, if she wanted to know everything there was to know about this man, she’d need to take a few weeks off from work. She lost track of his conversation with Cricket, and when she finally backed out of the internet, she heard her daughter say, “Which one is named Gumdrop? Must be one of the golden retrievers, huh?”
“No Gumdrop. The retrievers are Butterscotch and Lollipop.”
“Oh. I thought you said there was a Gumdrop.”
“No you didn’t. You were testing me.”
“Okay, yeah, but I needed to be sure I should like you.”
“Do you like me?”
“Well, yeah, you got four dogs.”
Wendy said, “Okay, I’m impressed. Google needs a dedicated server just for you. What’s this about?”
From an inside coat pocket, he produced a folded sheet of paper, opened it, and showed her a photograph. “It’s a matter of national security. You remember this man?”
She grimaced. “Asher Optime. He’s the Snake’s right hand. Sorry. I call Xanthus Toller ‘the Snake.’ You know who he is?”
“Toller? Yes.”
“Optime was the craziest of Toller’s true believers. A vicious enforcer in the cult.”
“Bad things are happening to people who knew him and had some conflict with him, people whom he had some reason to hate. He seems to be a dedicated hater.”
“What bad things?”
He looked at Cricket, and Wendy said, “She’s no frail flower. I raised her to handle whatever.”
Meeting Wendy’s eyes again, he said, “Seven have been . . . murdered. And not in a way it’s ever been done before. Like I said, this is a matter of national security. We’ve recently gotten ahead of the curve, trying to identify who might be on the list.”
“What list?”
“The death list. We’ve got a nationwide manhunt for this guy. In the meantime, we’re trying to save anyone we think is in danger.”
“What—we’ll have to live with bodyguards?”
“Bodyguards won’t do any good. They’ll just die with you. Your only hope is to go into a witness protection program.”
Wendy didn’t like that. “You’ll make us disappear.”
“Not the way you’re afraid of. You’d get a new identity, a cash settlement, a generous monthly stipend, and a paid-off house.”
She was dubious. She surveyed the park again, wondering if she should grab Cricket and run, but there were too many of the suits.
“A house? What house? Where?”
“A lovely town in Georgia.”
The bole shadows of the palm trees were long in the afternoon light, and silhouettes of the fronds fluttered on the grass like broken-winged birds.
She said, “Money, a house? Who pays for all that?”
“The government.”
“You’re not the government.”
“But I speak for the project, a rare government collaboration with the private sector. You know who I am. You know my reputation.”
Cricket said, “Does the house have a yard?”
“Yes, a big yard.”
“Does it have a dog?”
“You could get any dog you want.”
“When?”
“As soon as you’re there.” Pocketing the phone that Wendy had returned to him, he said, “Ms. Sharp, this is as urgent as urgent gets. You can be found by your phone. You can be destroyed right here, right now, with your daughter and with me, if maybe your name has come to the top of the list. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not die today.”