Frankenheimer down a long corridor. She saw that the doors on either side were unmarked, and the corridor ended in a double door, also unmarked. Castiglione was wearing a fitted military-style tunic, complete with epaulettes. Frankenheimer was in ordinary street clothes: a collarless tan checkered jacket that somehow complemented his thinning light brown hair and round, youthful face. Aditi had found a sunny yellow blouse and midnight blue skirt among the clothes that had been delivered to her apartment in the communications complex. Castiglione was chatting cheerfully as though he had forgotten about the slap in the face Aditi had given him the night before, or at least put it out of his mind for the time being. “Don’t be worried, lovely one. The procedure is totally painless. Isn’t that correct, Doctor?” Frankenheimer nodded. But while Castiglione was smiling toothily, the neurophysiologist’s boyish face looked quite serious, concerned. “It’s a completely noninvasive procedure, Mrs.
