Her name was Monica Treyna and she'd come from New York. After Viral's attorney left the interrogation room, Monica had entered with a tray of honey, sugar, and two paper cups of hot chamomile tea.

Viral recognized her as the woman with the uncannily straight hair who'd arrested him and Lron outside Tyler's loft. She wore the same brown suit and butter blouse from the evening before, and as she lay the tray before him, Viral couldn't say with certainty how long ago that'd been. In lieu of clocks the detention center had only eight-and-a-half by eleven prints of George W Bush, America's 43rd President, thumbtacked to its walls. Viral guessed at least ten hours had passed since he'd seen Agent Treyna last.

When he asked her why the detention center only displayed photographs of Bush the Second, and why, for that matter, the same one, Monica said the decision reflected a commitment to the country that ran deeper than time. "Our enemies never rest; neither does he," she had said, pointing the tip of her vaporizer toward the once Commander in Chief.

Viral didn't remember much about the Presidency of George, Jr. He hadn't been born until more than a year into the man's first term. One day in the fifth grade he learned about the attacks on America by a group that called itself Al Qaeda. Sarah Pedersen, a precocious classmate who would graduate high school early and break her parents' hearts by attending college in Canada, raised her hand after Mr. Kratz told them of the man named Bin Laden. When Mr. Katz called on her, Sarah asked him to point to Al Qeada on a map. Mr. Katz sent her to the principal's office immediately and called her an appeaser. It was the first time Viral had heard the name Jesus followed by the F-word.

During Thanksgiving Viral's father had made lampooning President Bush a Chodha family tradition. Over tandoori turkey dinner, Viral's mother's youngest brother, who had been pursuing a doctorate in Theology at Loyola, used the annual occasions to lure Viral's father to the cause of radical Christian socialism. However, the only thing Viral's father hated more than the Evangelical Right was the redistribution of his royalties amongst the Radical Left.

While adding a dollop of honey to her tea, Agent Treyna admitted that she and a few of the other officers had not only watched but also listened to Viral's conversation with Gerry Noogle, his attorney.

"You should listen to him," she said, cooling her tea through pursed lips.

Viral picked at a wooden stirrer Monica had included on the tray. "And you should stop vaping. Didn't you hear that it kills?"

Monica rolled her large, brown eyes slow enough for Viral to see them disappear beneath her eyelids. "Puh-lease," she said, "That was an isolated incident involving flavored cartridges from one supplier. I pack these myself." After spinning the vape pen across her knuckles like someone who'd practiced the skill in many after school detentions, she tapped it on her forehead, a sarcastic salute.

The summer before ninth grade Viral's dad had enrolled him in a day camp to learn the art of hostage negotiation. Viral had begged his mother to let him play tennis at the local racquet club with the other children who would be attending his high school, but she told him it was his father's belief that all important skills required for life, including how to hit a forehand, began with learning to get what one wanted. Watching Agent Treyna from the corner of his eye, Viral decided he was going to take what he wanted.

"I want to see Lron," he said.

"No," she said.

In hostage negotiation camp they had taught him to lower the register of his voice and speak more slowly to shift his opponent's sense of balance.

"I want. To see. Lron," he said.

Parroting his tone, Monica said, "Then. Tell me. Where. Is. Tyler --"

Viral kicked his knees into the table nearly causing his and Agent Treyna's tea to spill.

"I told you I'd just met him!"

"Then you. Don't get to. See. Your roommate."

"Don't you guys have bigger problems to worry about than some lone wolf hacker?"

Arching her back in her chair, Monica reached her hand into her hip pocket. Beneath the open top button of her blouse Viral saw a gold cross that hung from a necklace against her bare skin. She unwrapped a granola bar, broke it in two, and slid half toward Viral on a paper cocktail napkin.

"What's that for?" Viral asked.

"I could hear your tummy growling through the closed circuit."

"Is it safe to touch?"

"'Cause of the virus?"

"Yeah."

"Probably not."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Viral slumped further in his chair. His hostage negotiator counselor had told him never to outkick his leverage. Admitting he was hungry then being presented with an influenza speckled granola bar likely qualified as that. He'd played his hand. He'd lost.

The crunch from across the table bounced off the beige brick corners of the interrogation room. Monica laughed lightly and covered her mouth with her fingers while crumbs of granola fell from her lips, into her paper cup of tea, and even a little, Viral hoped, into the open collar of her shirt.

"I guess now I got it," she said, shrugging.

Viral broke a bit off the end of the bar she'd slid him and put it in his mouth.

"What'd that lawyer of yours mean when he said your father is a brilliant, brilliant man?" Monica asked.

"I dunno. He's a brain doctor and wrote some books on psychology back in the day."

"Oh, snap," Monica said. She uncrossed her legs and stomped both heels of her black boots on the floor. "Dr. Modhi Chodha is your dad?"

"You know him?" Viral had become accustomed to the parents of his friends while growing up reacting to his father's name with admiration. But they, too, were often academics or subscribers to the New Yorker. None of them, as far as he knew, were cops.

Monica squinted, tilted her head. "I don't see any similarity. You're so much darker."

"My mom is from Bangladesh."

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Viral asked.

Monica snapped a piece off her granola bar and dipped it in her tea. "He's in the hospital?"

Viral told her yes.

She twirled her finger in the air. "Is it cause of…?" she asked. She squished her nose, pulling her upper lip to her gum line. Viral noticed how white her teeth were. He wondered how she chipped her canine. She had the playful energy of someone his age, but the verve of no one he'd ever gone to school with. She was a cathedral in Detroit. A symbol of power with a broken stained glass window.

"They think so," Viral said.

"That's why your momma's quarantined?" she asked.

"Yeah," Viral said.

Her elbows on the table, Agent Treyna folded the granola bar's wrapper between her fingers. "My mom's quarantined, too," she said.

Viral tore open the corner of a packet of Splenda and poured it into what remained of his Chamomile.

"But my step dad's not feeling well and my pregnant little sister is staying with them in the same apartment in Queens," she said. "He's not going to the hospital yet, though, 'cause he thinks he's more likely to catch the bug there. If it's just a cold then he's better where he's at."

The tea was already lukewarm when Viral sipped it. He'd finished most of it shortly after Monica had brought it to him. It wouldn't be long before he'd have to pee.

"What happens to me now?" Viral asked.

Monica stretched her arms wide and tapped her fingers on the table. "We'll transport you up to DeKalb County up in Connecticut then probably up to Rikers a few days after that before your arraignment in front of a federal judge."

Viral's mouth went dry. "Arraignment? For what?"

"For crimes pursuant to article two, section four of the United States Espionage A --"

"Espionage?" By now Viral had forgotten all the maxims of hostage negotiation camp; his vocal register had risen far too high to convey any position other than cower-in-the-corner-and-chew-one's-hair-terror.

"Well. Yes. Viral," Monica said with a measured alto. Viral realized he'd been trying to negotiate with a real negotiator all along. "What did you think the repercussions were going to be?"

"I just wanted to go home," Viral said.

"We all just want to go home, Viral," Monica said. "It's my job, and his," she nodded at the image of George W. Bush, "To make sure we all have a home to go back to."

Viral didn't know he was crying until he tasted the salt at the corner of his mouth. "I really want to help you, but I don't know how," he said.

Agent Treyna brought her chin close to the table, covered Viral's hands with one of her own, and looked into his eyes. "I'm really glad to hear you say that," she said softly. "Just tell me this…"

Viral waited for the words to leave her lips. His shoulders shook with chills that ran down his back to his knee caps. In Agent Treyna's eyes Viral saw a purpose, the zeal of which he longed to wrap around him like the smoke from a camp fire.

"...Do you feel you will be able to reverse engineer Tyler's neural networks from the images we were able to restore from his drives?" Monica asked.

Volumes came to Viral's mind to speak, but from his mouth he only heard the hiss of breath. He told himself to inhale.

"Let me start with something easier," Monica said, scooting her chair closer to the table's edge. Viral could feel the warmth of her breath on the tip of his nose. "What would you say if I told you that you could help us, Lron, maybe even your father, and you would never have to hear the name Tyler Osterhauf again?"

Viral tried to keep his heart from racing. He spoke with an even, measured tone. "I would say that I would be interested. But regarding the scope of my involvement --"

"The scope would be everything."

"Okay," Viral said, quickly dropping the thought of concessions. "Then, I would first say 'Yes' to that proposal, and then I would likely ask many questions to follow up...if you'd allow for that sort of thing, of course."

Monica smiled, revealing her gums again and her chipped canine tooth. "Good," she said. The sparkle in her eye gave Viral hope that maybe mankind really did come from stars. "Perhaps I can answer some of those questions," she said, leaning back in her chair. She extended her legs and crossed her ankles.

"Uh, okay," Viral said. "Well, first, um, why are the CIA and FBI, like, colluding to recruit a college freshman to reverse engineer some neural nets?"

Pursing her lips, Agent Treyna scratched at her chin. "That's a good question. And to answer that I would, in turn, ask you a question," she said, wrapping her fingers together and pointing at Viral.

"Shoot," Viral said.

Monica asked: "What do you know about 9/11?"

Viral couldn't say with certainty that he was, at that very moment, wetting his pants, but he knew for sure that the icy claw which gripped his insides was doing its damnedest to wring him to the bone.