"Fuck you, prick," I spat, pulling the phone from my pocket and tossing it to him. Wilcox's next expression showed murderous intentions. He didn't like to be told or disparaged. Agent Fontes saw it too, and lightly placed her hand on his forearm, trying to diffuse him.

"Steven," she began, far more compassionate than I expected. "We understand. We do. Agent Wilcox, Tom, and I are only doing our job. How about redirecting your anger at the people responsible for this?"

"You're a part of it," I said, still puffing my chest. "Everyone involved will need to pay in the end." I knew I was pushing my luck, but I wanted them to engage with me in hopes one of them might slip and give me some much-needed information.

Wilcox and Fontes locked eyes. She nodded and he went to the kitchen.

"Let's sit for a moment," she said in that same sweet disarming voice. I sat in my recliner while she sat on the edge of the sofa nearest to me.

"I think you already know, Steven," she had a resigned look now, "that it doesn't work like that. If you weren't already in trouble, we wouldn't be here. Regardless if this was your wife's doing, or not, you're now a disgruntled scientist, who happens to work at a lab that does business with Strategem. You're a security risk. National security. We're here to keep an eye on you, yes, but it goes deeper. We're here waiting for you to slip up, try some retaliation. That kind of thing lands you in a federal detention center, without any representation. I know you understand well enough, what I'm telling you."

She let that sink in, and so did I. I was already up shit's creek, and the paddle was nowhere in sight. I briefly wondered if there was a greater conspiracy, that Sarah had somehow been tricked into. Something about me specifically that made the government suspicious, or simply wanting me out of my chosen career. That seemed highly unlikely, but not impossible. Then I had another thought.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "If the goal is to catch me at something, or to set up a case against me, then why tell me?"

Fontes smiled then. "I don't want that. Perhaps others, but not me, or Tom for that matter. Take my words at face value, and then, do nothing. Nothing incriminating, hell, nothing at all."

Tom came back into the room, and both agents walked out the front door. I was glad neither had walked into the basement. I'd forgotten to cover my laptop.

The next week moved quickly for me. During the day, I did my normal life routines. Clean the house, do yard work, do laundry, vacuuming. Go run errands. In between, during my downtime, I worked out a formula that would likely render the new vaccine ineffective. Whether I was ever going to ask others to use my formula and risk their careers and lives, I was still undecided.

In the evenings, I set up my trains, tunnels, bridges, and landscapes, and I typed emails to my friends, often one letter or word at a time, as not to be noticed by cameras I was now sure were there.

On Wednesday, the house phone rang at about six in the evening. I saw the number had an international exchange, so it was likely my soon-to-be ex-wife.

"Former Boswell residence," I answered.

"Hello Steve," Sarah said, after a sigh and a pause. "How are you doing?"

The audacity of the woman who I once loved. "Oh, splendid," I responded in a mock tone. "I'm simply wonderful. What can I do for you?"

"Okay, Steve," she trudged forward. "That was a dumb way for me to start. I'm sorry. Sorry about all of this. I called because I miss you, and I needed to hear your voice."

"Fine," I answered right back. "You've heard it. Anything else?"

She paused again. "I love you, and I'm sorry," her voice cracked a bit. I could tell she was holding back tears. What the hell? I figured I might as well listen to what she had to say. It wouldn't make any difference, but why not?

"What are you sorry for, Sarah?" I asked impatiently.

"For what I've done to you," she replied with zero hesitation. "What I've done to us. I know I have a lot of making up to do."

The silly bitch. She thought there was something to undo all that had been done. I ignored her comment and followed with another question because I needed some answers.

"The question I have," I asked in a neutral tone she'd never liked, "is why do any of it in the first place? You had to know, beforehand, what this would do to our relationship. I can't understand your motivation, or your thought process, for that matter."

"You said you saw my initial interview tape," Sarah said. "So, you know my motivation. I'm sorry that I was too weak to tell you. I knew you'd forbid it. I foolishly thought that if I had you here with me, on an island paradise, I'd be able to soothe your hurt. Help you understand, and therefore forgive and forget."

"I see," I sneered, "manipulate me then. You have your words, and I have mine."

"No," she said, unsure. "I mean, I can see your point of view. But my intention was never to hurt you. Only to explain my reasoning, help you get past the studies, and treat you... show you my appreciation for your understanding."

"Did it ever once occur to you," I asked with more venom, "that I might not ever get over it - never forget or forgive?"

"It didn't," she said confidently. "I know my husband after all this time, and I just knew with all of your compassion and reasoning, that we'd be okay. Maybe not right away, but eventually."

Sarah seemed to be genuinely trying to avoid all the cliché responses people use in these situations. Of course, we weren't in any 'normal' situation. She was playing the clinical sex card, for the greater good, or betterment of mankind. She'd probably been coached by Noxworthy.

"Well," I sighed for effect. "You obviously don't know me as well as you think. Goodbye, Sarah."

"WAIT!" she screamed. "Wait, Steven! I need to tell you something. Please! Then you can go."

I waited but didn't disconnect. She seemed satisfied. "I know you're in trouble, beyond us. Your job, and probably being watched by the feds. I'm also sorry about that but listen to me. Please, please, don't do anything foolish. Don't do anything until I get home. You can take your anger out on me. Don't get yourself into any trouble. I'm begging you, Steve. I know you hate me right now, at least don't like me much, but this is on me - not the government - and not Strategem."

"There's not much I can do, Sarah," I half-lied. "I'm basically on house arrest, and I may have lost my job."

She was silent for almost a minute. I wanted to end the conversation. "Steve," she answered meekly, "I'm sorry. That's not what Brian... Mr. Noxworthy told me."

That was it. My senses tingled with angst. "Brian, is it?" I roared. "Is 'Brian' covering for me on your free days? In your bed at night?"

"NO!" she said adamantly. "He's... He talks to me. Has talked to me. Trying to keep my spirits up, I guess, so he can ensure the success of the trials."

"I see," I replied. "So, he prepped you for this conversation?"

"No, not really," she was shaken, not knowing how to answer. "We talked about you, yes. About male feelings... about things women say that make things worse because they don't understand a man's pride. He didn't try to rehearse the conversation we just had if that's what you're asking."

"Okay, Sarah," I said with finality. "I don't want to talk anymore. Thanks for the tip."

She seemed reluctant to say goodbye, but she also couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. She said good night and apologized again.

I thought a lot in bed that night. Sarah, my wife, had destroyed my career, had destroyed our marriage, and my love for her. I couldn't fathom my indifference. I felt absolutely nothing for her, and it hadn't even been a week since we'd arrived on that island. I began asking myself if I'd ever truly loved her.

**>>**>>

The more I contemplated, I realized that my indifference would help me in the long run. I'd be able to move on more quickly. She'd soon learn too, there was nothing to fix.

Sarah called again on Saturday. I'd realized that the Wednesday call, just like Saturday's, was her day off from the trials. I didn't know if she was spending private time with Noxworthy, or one of the young male volunteers, but she seemed lonely. I had very little to say. She parroted the same reasons and apologies, but those landed on deaf ears.

The following week went nearly the same. In my living room, on my recliner, I watched TV, occasionally writing on a pad my placebo formula, based on the likely recipe for the vaccine batches. I'd still have to modify the equation, once either Aspen or our competitor, Duncan Chemicals, won the Strategem bid. Even then, I was no chemist. My specialty was building the most effective delivery methods. The realization that trying to sabotage the chemical compounds that made up the medicine, when it could be months before anyone in my circle of friends would even have access to that information, caused me to come full stop.

At night, after dinner, I worked on my trains. I decided on a holiday scene, reminiscent of past Christmases with Sarah. My mood turned melancholy when I started thinking about my future. What were the feds waiting for me to do? Both Sarah and Agent Fontes said the same - do nothing.

During the next two weeks, the FBI agents became friendlier to me. That was perplexing, if not unsettling. I'd purchased eggs early on. I didn't eat eggs. Anytime I left the house to run errands, I'd lob one at their sedan. Since I was a huge geek in school my aim was piss poor, but occasionally, I'd nail their windshield. I was never so bold with the off-hour agents that mostly covered the late-night shift, in fact, I never met them.

Sarah did not call in the subsequent two weeks. I guessed she might have figured out the level of my disdain for her, or at least decided that her only chance with me was face-to-face.

On December nineteenth, Daniel emailed a somewhat cryptic message. If I deciphered it correctly, our mutual friend, Bryce Peters, who worked for Aspen's competition, claimed his company had been awarded the Strategem contract, pending FDA approval. I knew Bryce from some lunches and backyard barbeques over the years. He hated his job more than any of us, and he was one of those anti-government guys, always willing to tell anyone who'd listen about the government's master plans. I smiled inwardly, thinking this may end up being easier than I thought. I told Daniel to try to meet with him, and generally discuss what we'd planned to see if there was any interest in helping.

The next afternoon, agents Wilcox and Fontes, or Tom and Gabriela as I'd come to call them, knocked at my door. I tried to hide my laptop - somewhere - before letting them in. Instead of playing FBI, they asked me if I'd like to go to see a movie!

"You're serious?" I asked bewildered. "Is this some version of good cop - bad cop?"

"Not at all," Gabby assured me. "You've been sitting in this house and playing with your trains for too many days now. That isn't healthy, Steven." I think she missed the part where I wasn't allowed to interact with my normal friends, and I told them so.

"It's not our fault you only have work friends," she scolded me. "They're the only people we're restricting you from." Good to know, I thought.

She handed me her phone with 'movies near me' already on the screen. "It's still several days before your wife returns," she added. "And it's the holidays. We're not completely heartless."

And so, we went. It was a very strange experience, especially since I was withholding information, and planning corporate espionage. We stopped at Denny's after the movie. Both Gabriela and Tom kept the conversation close to the vest. They instead asked me plenty about my past and what my job at Aspen entailed. I felt like I was being interviewed. Even so, the evening was light-hearted and enjoyable.

I wondered that night, lying in bed thinking if these two had some ulterior motives. Could they know about my plans? That was a possibility. Maybe they were trying to soften me up for Sarah's return. I'd never considered - truly considered - all of those people I'd read about who had been under some sort of pseudo-arrest. Those stories regarding people confined in almost every way, without any representation.

Gabby, Tom, and I spent a few nights watching TV or just chatting. They always turned down my offer of an alcoholic beverage. It was on the twenty-second of the month after we'd all shared sandwiches from the local sub shop when Gabby hit me with a bombshell.

"We thought you should know," she stated somberly, handing me a photo. "Your wife isn't as 'alone' as you might have thought."

The photo showed Sarah walking in the sand near the gentle waves of the ocean, with a tall handsome man. As I studied the photograph, I began to realize the man seemed familiar.

"Do you know him?" Tom asked.

"Maybe," I replied, "he's familiar to me, but I can't place him."

"That's Dr. David Prescott," Gabriela said, studying my face. "He works with your wife at the hospital."

I did know him. We'd met at one of Sarah's holiday parties, last year or maybe the one before that. I couldn't recall if there had been much chitty-chat, or even if they'd danced.

"Brian Noxworthy asked your wife if there was anyone," Gabby continued, "anyone at all, that might join her to alleviate her loneliness and sadness. It was meant as a noble gesture, but then Sarah gave him a name. We don't know what or if they had anything going on before the trials, but we talked it over and thought you should know."

"What are the government's plans for me?" I couldn't help it. I had to know.

Tom shrugged. "We aren't privy to that information."

"Well," I followed, "what happens to others that you surveil this way?"

"That depends," Gabriela interjected. "On how much trouble they're in - or could cause."

"When will you know?" I asked, stupidly.

"When our field boss tells us," Tom answered first. "Look, for what it's worth, Gabby and I think you got the shaft in this deal. You seem like a nice guy who was thrown into a shitty situation."

"Oh, no. It was my wife," I said with a smile, "who got the shaft. I'm just the one who's going to pay for it."

They half-heartedly laughed at my attempted humor. Then the room went silent.

"Steven," Gabby began, "you don't plan on staying with your wife, do you? On staying or forgiving, is that right?"

"No," I answered quickly. "What she did to me is unforgivable. I'll move her stuff to the spare room before she gets home, then I'll let her know when I see her. I'm hoping that I'm no longer in this situation with you or the feds by then, and I can move on."

There was a knowing glance between the two. "That might be the very thing," Tom said, "that gets you in the most trouble, as far as I can tell. Not reconciling with your wife, I mean."

"I guess we'll see," I said with a sigh. "Neither the government nor Strategem, are going to force me to continue a charade of a marriage."

That ended the conversation, and then I invited them to Christmas dinner if they would be on duty, and both accepted right away. It would be Christmas Eve, though. They had the seniority to spend Christmas Day with their families.

I spent the next day preparing. It felt good to be doing something, anything, even if it was preparing a meal for my captors. My go-to was Cornish game hens and I spent some time at the upscale grocery planning the side dishes.

I did some other planning too. Via email, I asked Daniel to meet me on Christmas Eve. I wanted to provide him with what I thought would be the best chemical compound to render the new vaccine useless. From the research I'd done on the previous vaccines, I had a decent roadmap. I only needed to create a potent sleep powder to put inside two of the three hens.

I had that accomplished by Wednesday, and our Christmas Eve dinner would be the following night. On Friday, I'd begin the process of separating myself from my wife, within our home. The minute the government got off my back, I'd be gone. So, I began to collect some of the things I wanted or needed and packed them in tubs in the garage.

Gabby and Tom arrived at my door at the designated time for Christmas Eve dinner. We all said our hellos and salutations. That night they did accept a glass of wine, and we chatted while I started putting food on the table. A few moments later, my doorbell rang, which surprised me.

Coming back into the kitchen, I set the bags of hot food on the counter and studied the faces of my guests.

"Sit down, Steven," Tom told me in a voice that said I needed to comply.

"We know everything," Gabby said. Her tone was sad, but not angry. "If you can remember which of those hens isn't lousy with drugs, you'll at least have a decent meal for Christmas day. Or if being alone for the holidays is too depressing, eat one of the hens you intended for us."

Shit, I was caught. I stared at them not knowing what to say, so I remained silent. Tom and Gabby brought the food over to the dining table and began laying it out. Gabby brought a carving knife to cut the two whole chickens that came from the local market. She also turned off my oven.

We ate in silence for the first ten or so minutes. Then Tom cleared his throat.

"Your plan was fairly well thought-out," he exclaimed with little emotion. "Your execution sucked."

"Yeah, well," I answered sarcastically, "I'm just an engineer. How long have you known?"

"About the laptop or the rest?" Gabby looked up with a smile that she couldn't contain. We all broke out laughing at that point.

"Yep," I responded. That brought more laughter.

"Were you really going to try and taint Strategem's batch recipe?" Tom asked, more seriously.

"I think I need my lawyer," I said, matching his tone.

"You don't," Gabby informed me. "Wouldn't do you any good anyway."

"Why Gabby?" I asked. "What's the end game here? Obviously, you're watching me like good little agents, but there's something else, or I'd be under arrest by now."

"Perceptive," Tom jumped in. "Do you remember what happened at the Capitol a decade ago?"

"Yeah," I said. "The insurrection. What's that got to do with me?"

"Plenty," he continued. "You ever see things on the internet about people being put on house arrest due to that day? Do you remember Congress questioning the Director and Secretary Garland? Over three hundred were arrested. Some weren't even in DC that day. Those people needed to be kept quiet, just like you. You're not a high-value target, Steven. Unless you pulled off your plan tonight. That would have changed things."

"So, what?" I spat. "When my wayward wife returns, I play ball, take her back, and all's well that ends well? If I don't - then what? - the rack, a guillotine perhaps?"

"We've already established," Gabby entered the conversation, "that you aren't taking her back. If you were the kind of man who could simply accept things for what they are or were, then I'd recommend you keep her and try to move on with a new job. Maybe even one with Strategem. Tom and I don't see you as that man. Your 'planning' proved that."

"So now what?" I was fed up.

"That depends on you," Tom said sympathetically. "Don't say things to your wife that could work against you or her. The tech in this house is beyond your comprehension. Tell her how you feel about what she's done, sure. But don't discuss consequences. Gabby or I will be in touch shortly after the new year."

I had a thought. "What about the conversation we're having right now?"

"Smart," Tom said looking at Gabby. "We're taking care of that. Listen, Steve. Your life is in a state of flux. You've been crushed by the person you love, who you thought loved you. Your future is in question. When your wife returns, keep your anger tamped down, and keep your discussions to a minimum. Gabby will be in touch after the first of the year. There may be some... opportunities if you're willing to take the risk."