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doubtful he’d bump into anyone who recognized him. He’d assumed that he wouldn’t be noticed nor remembered. Rhapsody had proven him wrong. He’d become a “regular.” Mr. CM/CR and now Don.
    He took a bite from his bagel and was reminded of how dangerous habits could be—the simple act of him buttering only one side of a bagel, placing the exact order each visit, arriving every Friday morning had made him familiar. He’d gotten sloppy.
    He glanced at the large blackboard behind the cash register where the B & B’s daily specials were posted in chalk. While he enjoyed the bagels, it had been that blackboard that had drawn him here for the past several months. He’d checked it every Friday, and today—the day that Rhapsody had identified him—he’d finally seen a purple happy face in its lower right corner.
    He let his eyes sweep across the coffee shop. Two customers were placing orders. Both were men wearing navy blazers and khaki pants—the unofficial uniform of federal workers. A college-age woman was answering e-mail on an electronic tablet nearby while sipping an espresso. An older couple was eating breakfast pastries near the entrance. A young man wearing denim jeans and a red Washington Nationals T-shirt was speaking too loudly on his cell phone while pacing near the counter waiting for his to-go order.
    Any one of them could be watching him. No federal investigative agency ever sent one person to shadow a suspect. They dispatched dozens. Each would be dressed to blend into a crowd, much like the customers around him. But his gut told him these people were nothing more than what they appeared to be: ordinary Americans.
    In addition to Rhapsody, there were three baristas filling orders behind the shoulder-high counter and array of stainless steel contraptions. Steam hissed from one device. He took note of the cashier. She was probably in her late twenties and was wearing a drab green hijab. He guessed she was Palestinian, possibly Syrian, but those were merely hunches. She was not wearing a wedding ring, but many married Muslims didn’t wear them. He had never said anything to her other than telling her his drink and bagel order, but he felt certain that she was the contact who had drawn the happy face signal on the blackboard. He had once noticed chalk residue on her fingers when she had taken his order.
    She would not know which of the morning customers at the B & B would be watching for the purple smiley face. She probably didn’t even know what it meant. She would simply be told what to draw and when to post it.
    The man returned to reading the sports page. Even if Rhapsody had not identified him as a regular, this visit would have been his last. Once a signal was posted, a new location had to be found.
    He ate his bagel leisurely and when he finished, he folded his newspaper under his arm and disposed of his empty coffee cup and paper plate in a trash dispenser as he exited.
    Rhapsody noticed him leaving. “Bye, Don,” she hollered in a cheerful voice. “See you next Friday!”
    He nodded while glancing around to see if any of the customers there appeared to be watching him. None was. Still, he couldn’t be certain. If they were following him, they would have been skilled enough to not tip him off by staring at him.
    As he stepped out to the parking lot, he checked his surroundings. No joggers in sight. No one walking a dog or loitering.
    His Ford Fusion was parked at the back of the lot near a tall cinder block wall and the B & B’s forest green trash dumpster. As he strolled toward the sedan, he spotted a crumpled white bag from a McDonald’s fast food restaurant lying on the asphalt at the base of the commercial dumpster. Someone had dropped it there, possibly throwing it like a pretend basketball toward the container’s open mouth and missing. He stooped down and picked up the litter, which he dropped, along with his