It meant that I couldn't go into the Zone today. Nor tomorrow, nor the day after. It meant that those toads had their eye on me again, that they hadn't forgotten me, or if they had forgotten, then somebody had reminded them. And now it no longer mattered who had done the reminding. No stalker, unless he was completely off his rocker, would go near the Zone even at gunpoint, not if he knew that he was being watched. I should have been burrowing into the deepest, darkest corner at that very moment. Zone? What Zone? I hadn't been in any Zone, even with a pass, for months! What are you harassing an honest lab worker for?

I thought the whole thing through and even felt a sense of relief that I wouldn't be going into the Zone that day. But what would be the nicest way of informing Kirill of the fact?

I told him straight out.

"I'm not going into the Zone. What instructions do you have?"

At first, of course, he just stared at me bug-eyed. Then he seemed to understand. He led me by the elbow into his little office, sat me down at his desk, and sat on the windowsill facing me. We lit up. Silence. Then he asked me, careful-like:

"Has something happened, Red?"

What could I tell him?

"No,” I said. “Nothing happened. Yesterday I blew twenty bills at poker—that Noonan is a great player, the louse."

"Wait a minute,” he said. “Have you changed your mind?"

I made a choking noise from the tension.

"I can't,” I said to him through clenched teeth. “I can't, do you understand? Herzog just had me up in his office."

He went limp. He got that pathetic look again and his eyes looked like they were a sick poodle's again. He shuddered, lit a new cigarette with the butt of the old one, and spoke softly.

"You can trust me, Red. I didn't breathe a word to anyone."

"Skip it,” I said. “Nobody's talking about you."