Chapter 2:
"The Cover"
Deer Harbor, Maine
Twenty-three months before Drexler Museum bombing
Time was fickle. That was the best explanation Maya Sanders could come up with for why, when she was anxiously awaiting something, the minutes seemed to crawl by, and when she was dreading something (like today), the hours flew past. It seemed like just moments before she had unlocked her shop, "Have Books, Will Travel," and prepared for what would, with the Independence Day parade taking place that morning, likely be a busy day. Now, she was switching off lights and closing out the cash register, readying herself to drive to the Deer Harbor train station to collect her…
What was she supposed to call this guy, anyway? Her "charge"? Her "guest"?
Maya's hands were shaking as she slipped a rubber-band around a stack of twenty-dollar bills and tucked the money into a bank envelope for the night deposit. She ordered herself to calm down. Granted, the situation she was in probably warranted some hysterics, but the more in control she was, the better able she would be to handle whatever happened.
For the past three years, Maya had been waiting for the call that had finally come only the day before. Sometimes, she had been able to convince herself that it never would. Sometimes she had nearly persuaded herself that whatever task the mysterious people who had bailed her out of jail (where she wouldn't have been except for her junkie brother, she reflected darkly) had intended her for had fallen through. In her heart, though, Maya knew that was a pipe dream: The devil always collected on his debts.
The man who had phoned, a John Ellington, had told her merely that she would be spending the next four weeks assisting an undercover agent in creating his cover story. Maya had no idea what that meant or why she should have been qualified to do it. Since Ellington did not strike her as the type to entertain questions, however, she had simply agreed to pick the agent, one Daniel Taft, up the next evening from the six o'clock train.
Which she was going to be late for if she didn't get a move on.
Just as Maya stuffed the bank envelope into her khaki-colored messenger bag, the bell above her shop's door clanged to announce the arrival of a late customer. Maya gritted her teeth. Why was it that so many people visiting a bookstore couldn't seem to read? The door might have been unlocked, but the sign in the window still clearly stated 'closed.'
"I'm sorry, I'm locking up for the day," she said, smoothing the irritation out of her voice. A small business owner in a small town could not afford to offend her clientele, no matter how irritating they were. "We open again at nine – "
"Are you Maya Sanders?"
She looked up from locking the safe behind the cash register, surprised, to find herself being studied by a handsome, sandy-haired young man. The way he was looking at her suggested to Maya that she should have known who he was, yet for the life of her, she couldn't place him.
"Yes," she answered hesitantly, suddenly feeling quite isolated inside the empty store. Who was this man, and what did he want?
He took a tentative step forward. "I'm Daniel Taft."
Maya's first reaction was disbelief. To her mind, undercover operatives were not so young, probably no older than she was, or so clean-cut: In a charcoal-gray button-down and loose-fitting jeans, bare toes sticking out of leather sandals and an obviously expensive satchel slung over one shoulder, hair clipped short but still messy-looking, skin tanned caramel-brown, the young man looked more like a Gap advertisement than a government spy.
Her second reaction was suspicion. She had been instructed to meet Daniel Taft at the train station, not her store. Why would he change the plan?
"I thought I was supposed to pick you up," she replied cautiously.
Seeming to understand her hesitation, the young man explained, "My train arrived a little ahead of schedule and I kind of wanted the walk. You can call Ellington if you want," he added. "He'll confirm who I am."
Maya decided not to admit to this stranger that she actually had no idea how to reach Ellington. In point of fact, she actually had no idea who the hell Ellington was. These people didn't exactly leave business cards, she had learned.
Instead, she opted to accept the young man's story because she couldn't think of any reason for him to lie.
"That's okay," she assured him. "I was just surprised, that's all."
An awkward silence settled over them. At least it was awkward for Maya; the man – Daniel Taft, though the name didn't seem to fit him – appeared perfectly at ease.
"So this is your store, huh?" He moved around the room, peering at the shelves, running his fingertips along the books' spines.
"Yeah, for five years now. My dad left it to me when he passed away."
Maya hugged her bag to her chest. She wished he would tell her what she was supposed to do. Just as she didn't want to admit that she didn't know how to contact Ellington, for some reason she felt stupid confessing that she had no clue what her role in all of this cloak-and-dagger madness was supposed to be.
"I like the name," Daniel commented politely, coming to a stop beside the counter.
Maya realized she was staring at him and blushed, quickly averting her gaze to the street beyond the window, where preparations for the annual July Fourth Barbecue in town square were well underway. "I know it's not the most original bookstore name," she replied, desperate to prevent another long silence, "but there's actually a story there. You see, when my dad was nineteen he bought this old beat-up van off this hippie who came through town, and it had this bumper sticker on it – 'Have books, will travel.' And Dad didn't bother to take it off. So a few days later he's driving up to Augusta and he picks up this really pretty girl who's hitchhiking, and she tells him that she could marry somebody who made that their motto. So he didn't tell her it wasn't his bumper sticker."
As her words trailed away, Maya wanted to kick herself. Why was she babbling on about some piece of family lore this man couldn't possibly care about? Why couldn't she be calm and collected, like he was?
To her relief, Daniel crooked a smile at her. "Lemme guess: The girl was your mom?"
His interest touched Maya. She felt herself relax the tiniest bit. Maybe this wouldn't be so awful after all, if he was a nice guy.
"Yup." She pointed over her shoulder at a framed photograph of her parents on their wedding day. "Thomas and Lorelie Sanders, the bookworm and the flower-child. Dad loved to tell that story, especially after Mom died."
"I'm sorry," Daniel said. "About your parents, I mean." He looked and sounded sincere.
"Thanks." Maya shifted her feet self-consciously, less nervous but still unsteady under his cool, direct gaze. "So, um, I'm all finished here, if you want to go on out to the house…?"
Daniel nodded. For the first time, she noticed that he looked tired and wondered how far he had traveled today. "That'd be great. You need me to get that?" He held out his hand for the bulky messenger bag.
Cute and considerate. I have to say, I didn't expect either of those things…
Maya lived in the house she had grown up in – another part of her inheritance from her father, who had lost his two-year battle with leukemia when she was eighteen. Located ten miles outside of town, it was a modest, two-storey, four-bedroom house with a large front porch (complete with wooden swing) and a small, unfinished basement. She hadn't been able to do much to the house since her father's death, and it was certainly in need of some repairs – white paint was peeling off the front in little curly-ques, the porch steps were starting to rot, the roof needed replacing. Since it was all Maya could do to keep up with the mortgage, property taxes and utilities, however, she couldn't afford to take out the necessary home improvement loans to fix the place up.
The house's best feature, in Maya's opinion, was the small, man-made lake it was situated on. Her father had loved to fish and her mother had loved to swim, so the lake had played a pivotal role in their lives, especially during the warm summer months. Not long before her mother had died, Maya's father had built a short walkway out from the shore, where the little family had spent hours sitting together with their toes and fishing lines dangling in the water. The lake represented for Maya stability and safety: Whenever her troubles threatened to overwhelm her, she would often go out to the lake alone, to stare at the water and think of happier times.
As they wound through the curving country lanes leading away from Deer Harbor, Daniel seemed absorbed in staring at the small houses and narrow lanes they passed. Maya almost hated to disturb him, he looked so deep in thought, but her anxiety over what, exactly, was being asked of her finally prompted her to speak.
"So," she began, licking her suddenly-dry lips, "I, uh, I'm not…That is…I'm not sure what sort of help you need from me." She glanced at him, noting that he didn't appear phased by this admission. "I've never actually done this before."
"I was briefed on your situation."
Although his tone was perfectly even, Maya found herself slightly annoyed by his words. Her "situation"? What a convenient way of referring to the high-jacking of her life his employers had performed.
"In a few weeks, I'll be undertaking what we call a 'deep cover operation,'" Daniel continued. Maya put aside her irritation and listened closely. "Basically, I'm going to be pretending to be someone I'm not – a graduate student in chemical engineering at Yale, to be specific. To pull that off, I need a back-story, a history. So that's what I'm here to do: create a cover. And you're going to help me."
Maya's chest felt tight, like she had run a long way without pausing for breath. Hearing him explaining what a "deep cover operation" was in such a normal, almost casual tone struck her as horrifying.
Slowing down to make the turn-off into her driveway, she pressed, "That's the part I'm not clear on. How am I supposed to help you? I run a bookstore, for Christ's sake – I'm not a-a spy, or whatever you are."
Daniel arched an eyebrow at her. "Did I say something to offend you, Miss Sanders?"
"No." Maya realized her hands, like her voice, were shaking; again, she ordered herself to calm down. After parking her Jeep Wrangler (another hand-me-down from her father, one which had definitely seen better days) under the carport alongside the kitchen, she turned to him and blurted out, "Look, this isn't easy for me, okay? I don't have any idea what's going on, who you are, who you work for, what I'm helping to do – I don't have a clue about any of it. So I guess I'm a little nervous, and a little scared, and a lot confused."
A thick silence fell between them. Maya waited for Daniel to speak, to acknowledge that she had a right to feel as she did. Instead, he simply stared out the windshield at the gathering dusk, his serene expression suggesting he could remain that way, in silence, all night.
She suddenly got the impression that Daniel Taft could be an extremely frustrating person to deal with. He certainly seemed quite full of himself.
Blowing out a resigned sigh, Maya caved first. "I'm sorry for getting upset, all right? I don't mean to be."
She paused before adding, "And don't call me 'Miss Sanders.' It makes me feel like a second-grade teacher or something. Maya's fine."
"Okay. Maya."
Daniel shifted slightly in his seat so that he was facing her. Now that she was calm again, he seemed ready to talk. "Like I said, I understand your situation. I promise, your role in this is going to be very small – on-going, but small.
"What you have to understand," Daniel's blue-green eyes darkened, indicating how serious his next words were, "is that you don't want to be asking a lot of questions here. The less you know about who I am and what I do, or who I work for and what their goals are, the better it is for you. All right?"
So bury your head in the sand like a good little ostrich, Maya, and just do as you're told…
She supposed that was an unfair way of interpreting Daniel's words. In all likelihood, he was advising her for her own good. Nevertheless, she couldn't deny that basically being told to keep her nose out of his business rankled her.
In fact, the whole insane situation rankled her. The unfairness of it all struck Maya. She was not the one who had broken the law three years ago; she had never touched drugs, not once in her entire life, not after growing up watching her mother stick a needle in her arm every few hours until she finally managed to O.D. when Maya was twelve. Jericho was the one with the habit. Like a fool, she had trusted her older brother not to risk her future right along with his – up until the moment when the State Police had come waltzing in with a search warrant for the shop, the shop that was in Maya's name and legally her property, and had waltzed back out with several grams of crystal meth and a completely flabbergasted Maya in handcuffs.
She would have been convicted of narcotics possession, Maya was certain of it, if that lawyer hadn't arranged some sort of deal. She had been twenty years old and staring down prison time, a criminal record that would haunt her forever, the loss of her beloved business and their childhood home. The only thought in her mind had been that here, here was a way out: Sure she would face consequences later, sure she would have to pay the piper, but how bad could it be? Surely not as bad as what she had been facing.
She had been desperate, a stupid kid, and these people – whoever they were – had taken advantage of her. And here she was, three years later, still just as helpless, completely in their grasp. Only this time, her predicament was of her own doing, because kid or not she had accepted their bargain.
Maya was so absorbed in her angry thoughts that she nearly forgot they were sitting in the car until Daniel cleared his throat. "Shall we go in?" he asked, looking at her expectantly.
Maya noted again the circles under his eyes. Remembering that he was her guest (albeit uninvited), and realizing that he was probably anxious for a warm meal, a hot shower and a soft bed, she fell back on her impeccable manners to carry her through the difficult days head: If nothing else, she could at least be a polite hostess.
Leading the way into the kitchen through the side door, Maya apologized, "I have to warn you, the house isn't much, really. I've lived here by myself since Jericho got sent away and there's just some things I haven't been able to keep up with, like the roof leaking." She stopped by the staircase while Daniel stepped past her, taking in the living room and the front porch beyond the windows.
"Oh, by the way," she added, "I cleaned out my brother's old room for you – I hope you'll be comfortable enough there."
"I'm sure it'll be great, thanks."
Watching him study the room in much the same way he had her shop, it crossed Maya's mind that Daniel might be looking for escape routes in case they had to make a quick getaway. Then she chided herself for being dramatic: He was an undercover agent, not a fugitive. Quite possibly the most exciting thing that would happen during his stay would be that they would probably start to get on one another's nerves by the end of a month.
Maya showed Daniel up to his room, which was across the hall from hers. "You've got a private bath," she told him. He glanced around at the bare shelves (she had long since boxed up Jericho's books and posters, not wanting the reminder of her derelict brother whenever she walked by the room) before depositing his satchel on the bed. "I put some hangars in the closet, and the dresser's empty, so…I guess I'll go start dinner while you unpack."
"Listen." Daniel turned to her abruptly, causing Maya to halt in mid-step. He ran his hand through his hair, mussing it further; the action was so habitual, so obviously unaffected, that Maya found it instantly endearing – as well as a testament to how guarded this new person in her life really was, that he would hardly make a gesture without planning it.
"I know you've got a life here, and I've just been dropped in the middle of it. I'll do my best to stay out of your way. I don't mean to impose. So don't, you know, don't feel like you have to cook or do anything like that. I make a mad PB and J," he finished, grinning.
Surprised by his concern for her ability to maintain a normal life, Maya found that she was able to answer honestly, "I don't mind having you here, Daniel. I can't say I like the circumstances," she hastened to add. "But it's not an imposition to make you dinner or to put clean sheets on your bed."
"Thanks." He sounded genuinely grateful. "But like I said, don't feel like you need to do those things for me, if you don't want to."
Cute, considerate, and let's add charming to that list…
Thirty minutes later, as Maya was sprinkling raspberry vinaigrette dressing over a salad while the lemon-and-artichoke chicken finished baking, Daniel came down the steps, his bare toes making a pleasant plunk-slap noise on the hardwood. Accustomed to living alone, Maya hadn't expected to enjoy having company so much, especially not Daniel's sort of company. Yet she couldn't deny that a real smile crossed her face when he breezed into the kitchen, looking a little less put-together with his shirt partially unbuttoned over a white tee-shirt and his hair standing up in the back.
Maybe he didn't take himself quite as seriously as she had thought at first. Or maybe he'd picked up on the fact that she didn't go for "pretty boys," as her brother would have said, and was behaving accordingly…
You'll drive yourself crazy thinking like that. Don't analyze everything he does.
"All unpacked?" she asked.
"Nearly. Need help?"
"You can set the table," Maya answered, and directed him to the plates and glasses. "I hope you like chicken." She had a sudden, horrible fear that he might be a vegetarian.
To her relief, Daniel answered, "Chicken sounds great. I'm starving."
While they worked, Daniel talked. He seemed more relaxed and open than he had on the drive home, more willing to offer up details about what exactly they would be doing for the next month.
"I need a background," he explained, arranging forks and knives carefully beside their plates. "Deer Harbor's going to be my hometown, that's the story. You've lived here your whole life, so I need you to introduce me to the town – tell me everything about it, all the little stuff that somebody couldn't find out from a guidebook or the Deer-Harbor-dot-com. Covers are made in the details," he noted, stepping back to admire his handiwork with the table.
Maya took the dish of chicken out of the oven and carried it to the table. "So this is less about any expertise I have and more about convenience," she remarked, somewhat testily. "Me helping you, I mean. It's not because I have any special qualifications, it's just that where I live is pretty out of the way, someplace most people haven't heard of, plus I don't have a lot of choice in the matter."
"Well," Daniel's face was the picture of innocence, "if you're going to take the glass half-empty view of things, I suppose…"
In spite of herself, Maya laughed. Daniel did, too; she decided instantly that she liked his laugh, a sort of low, throaty chuckle. And the dimple that appeared in his cheek made her positively weak in the knees.
Warning bells sounded in Maya's mind. She would not develop a crush on this man, no matter how cute, considerate, or charming he was. Beneath all of that, she could tell that he was a dangerous person, someone who had done and seen a lot of terrible things. Things she wanted no part of.
Daniel opened a bottle of chardonnay. After dinner (which he complimented twice, like a real gentleman), they lingered at the table over their wine. Maya's head was pleasantly buzzing by the end of her second glass, but she was sober enough to pepper him with questions about the coming month.
"So besides acting as town historian, what am I supposed to do here?"
"Help me get into character, really," Daniel answered. "I need to select an alias, and I'll ask you to call me by that once I do, so I can get used to it. It's a dead giveaway that you're not who you say you are if you don't answer when somebody says your name, by the way."
The wine had made Maya giggly. "Has that actually happened to you?"
Daniel shook his head. "No, not to me. My…Well, a friend of mine, another agent, it happened to her when she first started out, she told me. She had to abort the whole operation."
Maya automatically wondered if this "friend" was more than that. Which brought up other questions for her, ones she didn't dare ask: What sort of personal life did a spy lead? Was Daniel married or engaged or involved? Did his parents know what he really did?
Reminding herself that she would do well not to become too intrigued by this man, Maya switched her focus back to the business at hand. "So I help you 'get into character.' I'm not really sure how to do that."
"We'll work it out as we go along. The main thing will be that we come up with my background together, that you help me memorize it and keep everything straight, and that you don't let me mess up on any important details about this place."
Daniel polished off his wine before adding, "Oh, and I need you to quiz me on chemical engineering theory."
Maya blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Unfortunately." Daniel sounded as thrilled by the prospect as Maya felt. "I'm supposed to have a degree in this field already, right? I can't very well pull off being a grad student if I look like a total dumb-ass, so I get to spend the next month reading about how pesticides are made."
They washed the dishes together, letting the conversation wander from Maya's tasks and Daniel's assignment to books they had read, movies they had seen, music they liked. Daniel seemed very cultured, Maya observed, conversing easily about everything from Shakespeare to the symphony; at the same time, though, he wasn't pretentious, professing an obsession with John Grisham novels and a fascination with slasher movies like the Halloween series. By the time they had moved to the couch with cups of coffee, Maya realized she was becoming more at ease with this stranger by the minute.
She strongly suspected that putting her at ease had been Daniel's intention ever since joining her downstairs. He was certainly much more personable now than he had been in her store or on the drive home; it was like a switch had been flipped, like he had taken a little time to read her and was now working to soften her, to bring her around, to make her like him.
Maya didn't relish the idea of being manipulated, obviously. But since she couldn't exactly order him out of her house, she saw no reason why she shouldn't allow herself to be comfortable around him. Otherwise, it could be a very long four weeks.
She just wouldn't let her guard down too much. She wouldn't forget who he was, and who he worked for, and why he was there with her.
Sometime around ten, Daniel stretched and rubbed his eyes. He looked sleepy and seemed to be fighting a yawn.
"You must be worn out," Maya commented sympathetically, picking up their cups and heading out to the kitchen. "You didn't have to stay up so late talking to me. I guess I'm a little starved for conversation."
"I like talking to you." Daniel had followed her out to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching her rinse out their cups and place them in the dish drainer. His straight-forward answer made Maya blush, though not unpleasantly.
"I don't know why I'm so tired," he said around another yawn. "Jet-lag, I guess."
Maya regarded him curiously. "I thought you came in on the train."
"I did. But before that, I flew in from Paris about forty-eight hours ago. Vacation," Daniel clarified.
So he did lead an exotic life, Maya thought, with a twinge of jealousy – her own life in Deer Harbor had been so circumscribed, so confined. Her only journeys had been taken through the books she loved. She had never seen New York City, Paris, Rome, London, none of the places she had read about. Augusta was the biggest – well, really, the only – city she had ever visited. She supposed Daniel, in his life of espionage, had already seen dozens of interesting, exciting locales.
And didn't they say Paris was for lovers? Probably he had been there with his "friend," a romantic rendezvous for two glamorous spies in between their adventures…
You have read too many books, girl. Quiet that imagination.
"Well, I guess we should – "
Maya's words were interrupted by a distant rumble of what at first sounded like thunder. The popping noises were too close together for that to be the case, she realized, a touch of panic causing her to freeze in place. Surely it wasn't gunfire, in Deer Harbor –
"Sounds like the fireworks have started." Daniel had crossed the living room and was peering out of the curtains at the night sky.
Fireworks. The Fourth of July. The town barbecue. Maya felt like smacking herself for overreacting, thankful Daniel hadn't noticed her momentary hysteria.
"You can see them better from the porch," she told him. "Dad and Jericho and I used to sit in the swing and watch them."
Daniel inclined his head toward the window. "You want to?"
"Aren't you too tired?"
"I think I should have this experience," Daniel answered solemnly. "Can you really know a town without watching its amateur fireworks display?"
Maya giggled again. Daniel seemed to have that effect on her.
They settled in beside one another on the wooden porch swing, Daniel pushing off with his bare toes so they rocked gently back and forth. Carelessly, almost unconsciously, he draped his arm along the back of the swing, seeming not to notice that unless Maya scooted to the very edge, she would have no choice but to sit with his arm basically around her shoulders. Though he didn't touch her, she hoped he wasn't trying to make a move: He was cute, no doubt about that, but she wasn't the type of girl who would sleep with someone she had just met.
You are not the kind of girl who would sleep with a creepy undercover agent guy, period. Just so we're clear.
Daniel appeared completely focused on the brilliant bursts of red, blue, green, purple and yellow in the sky above them, however, not on seducing her. After a few minutes, Maya relaxed and allowed herself to lean back in the swing, feeling the warmth of his arm radiating onto her neck and shoulders.
"They do this every year," she related, remembering what her ostensible purpose in his life was – to introduce him to the intricacies of life in Deer Harbor. "The Chamber of Commerce puts on a big parade in the morning. In the afternoon, they have this little festival on Main Street, with cotton candy and lemon shake-ups and the Tilt-A-Whirl – well, I guess you saw it when you walked from the train station.
"Anyway, then in the evening they have a town-wide barbecue, sort of like a big potluck where church groups and businesses bring covered dishes. Charlie Osmond – he owns a big car dealership in town, the Ford/Lincoln/Mercury on Sixth Street – always provides the meat for the barbecue. They'll have live music, usually something really awful like an eighties tribute band or old guys playing bluegrass, and people dance. Then they do the fireworks once it's good and dark."
"Very small-town America, huh?" Daniel sounded far away; Maya wondered if he was recalling his own Fourth of July memories. When he looked at her, however, his eyes were clear and bright, almost intense in their focus.
"So I suppose Will Traveler would've taken you there in high school, huh? To the fair and the barbecue and the dance?"
Perplexed, Maya echoed, "Will Traveler? Who…?"
"It's the alias I was thinking of. For my assignment."
Will Traveler.
Have Books, Will Travel.
Cute, considerate, charming – and clever.
"But if someone came here and saw my shop," Maya started, saying the first thing that popped into her mind. "Wouldn't it…I mean, wouldn't that be kind of…weird?"
"Yeah, I thought about that," Daniel admitted, sounding dispirited. "Too suspicious, right? So it's probably not a good idea…D'ya think?"
Maya considered his proposition. Strange as it was, she was flattered that Daniel would tailor his alias to the name of her store. Not only was the shop a huge aspect of Maya's life – the defining part, really, since her father had died and her brother was in prison – but she had also shared with him the name's significance for her family. His suggestion felt like an overture of friendship, like a way of showing his appreciation for her help and his sympathy for her "situation," as he had called it.
"How likely is it that someone would come here to check up on you?" she asked. Still knowing next to nothing about his mission, she couldn't make such evaluations herself. Not that she would have tried to, anyway.
"Not very," he conceded. "Not while it still matters, anyway."
That had an ominous ring to it. Hoping to remain on happier topics, Maya mused, "Well, if you don't think anybody's going to be making the trip to our exciting little hamlet to look into your story, then chances are nobody would make the connection, right?"
Now it was Daniel's turn to consider. The grand finale of the fireworks display blossomed overhead as he did so. They both looked up, but Maya found herself watching him out of the corner of her eye, noting how soft and boyish his features were in the red-and-blue reflected light.
Who was he, really?
Better not to know, she supposed.
"Will Traveler." Daniel tested the name on his tongue as the sparks melted away into the starless night sky. "I don't know…Try it out on me, would ya?"
Maya felt slightly self-conscious, like they were rehearsing for a play. "Hello, Will Traveler," she said seriously, shaking his hand. "I'm Maya Sanders."
"Nice to meet you, Maya."
Will's fingers, smooth except for a callous on the pad of his thumb, wrapped briefly around hers, sending a jolt of electricity up Maya's arm. If he felt it, he didn't let on.
"Okay, now, how about just 'Will.'"
Maya tried not to swim into his cerulean eyes as she dutifully recited, "Hi, Will."
It suits him a lot better than Daniel Taft, anyway…
Daniel/Will seemed to share her opinion. "Will Traveler it is then," he declared, leaning back in the swing and pushing off again so that they rocked back and forth. "Glad that's settled. Now tomorrow we can get started figuring out who the hell he is."
