text: I accompanied them out of the study. Max was standing near the kitchen, in standby mode. Russo, who was walking by my side, said—"This is the bot in the videos?"
  
  I stopped. "Yup."
  
  "Mind if I take a closer look?"
  
  "Sure."
  
  "I take it that—" He stumbled forward, his cry of surprise accompanied by a sharp tearing sound.
  
  "Careful!" Boyd cried, a hint of amusement in his voice.
  
  "Yikes!" Russo turned to us. The bottom of his left trouser had a single rip running through it.
  
  "Looks like you snagged yourself against the wheelchair there, friend."
  
  The small caster wheels behind the footrest had these little spurs projecting from the side—Russo's trousers had caught against one of them. He looked chagrined as he surveyed the damage. "Goddamn it! Not a new pair! I just got them last month!"
  
  Boyd chuckled. Probably another reason why his partner was working on his own.
  
  Recovering his composure a bit, Russo went over to Max, where he gave the bot's metallic body a once over. Examining its back, he said—"Looks like this little square here has been glued over. Is this where you placed your remote control device?"
  
  "Oh no. That's just the flap that protects the emergency on-off switch. I superglued it shut because it kept coming off whenever Raphael took the robot outside. It would get caught in the bushes, you see. The controller device is behind the touchscreen on his chest. There's a cavity there, with several plug-and-play slots."
  
  "May I?" he said, gesturing to the touchscreen.
  
  "Sure. Just lift the touchscreen by the groove, and then the chest panel can be opened by pressing on the little hinge by the—"
  
  "Got it, thanks."
  
  He bent and peered inside the cavity, examining the contents with great care. "Your AI took this bot out for a walk recently?"
  
  "No. I stopped it a while ago. It's been more than a year."
  
  "Then maybe you should remove that glue. You never know when you need to hit the switch."
  
  I shrugged. "Max is pretty reliable—I never had any problems so far. And I can always shut him down by voice, or with the touchscreen."
  
  "The switch is for your safety, Dr. Ahuja. A chum of mine got pretty badly injured by one of these things."
  
  "Really? A house bot?"
  
  "No. Industrial. Car assembly line."
  
  "Not the same thing, Agent. Accidents are not uncommon on factory floors."
  
  "Still. Better be safe than sorry."
  
  Okay, nanny.
  
  "What about this machine, Mr. Ahuja? Can we take it for examination? Or is it a trade secret too?" It was Boyd.
  
  I couldn't help but let out a short laugh. "It's not. Be my guest. Just don't keep him for too long. He has been quite handy the last few days," I said, running a palm over my plaster cast.
  
  The young man seemed flummoxed by Boyd's request. "We can't. We have that flight to catch."
  
  Boyd waved a hand. "Of course we do, Agent Russo. Memory's like a sieve these days. Perks of getting old, you know." He was grinning as he said it—a hostile, predatory grin targeted at the FBI agent. I watched their exchange with interest.
  
  At the door, just as they were about to step out, Boyd turned around and said, "You think your VR theory explains everything. It doesn't."
  
  "I never said it did. It just happens to be the simplest explanation."
  
  "We still don't know how the thieves got in and out. According to your security head, taking the access control server offline didn't achieve anything, as the doors would have remained locked. The tapes don't show anyone entering or leaving except the pizza bloke. If he was the distraction, what was the guard being distracted from? Then there's the matter of the video recorder. Why destroy it if they knew that the cameras had their own copy of the events of that night?"
  
  I nodded. "We actually discussed it in our board meeting. Maybe destroying the recorder was just overkill. Maybe they didn't know. Are you sure you're not overestimating the extent of their knowledge?"
  
  "You know, you may have a point there. Maybe the mistake is in attributing meaning to meaningless actions. Yeah, that's something…"
  
  He trailed off, sunk in thought. The FBI agent glanced at his watch. Boyd came out of his reverie smiling, as if he'd had an eureka moment. "Destroying the recorder did achieve something, intentional or not. I let your security head—Dan—explain how the system works. The cameras are connected to the recorder by hard lines—he said it was the only surefire way to prevent hackers from snooping into the lab. Once every two weeks, he backs up the accumulated videos in the recorder onto the cloud and then formats the hard drive so that it can be used afresh. Is that your understanding as well?"
  
  "I don't get into that kind of detail. If Dan says so, then it must be."
  
  "The last time he took a backup was a fortnight ago. Which means two weeks' worth of tapes are lost forever." This was clearly a matter of significance to him because his eyes never left mine as he said it, as if he didn't want to miss my reaction. "Then we have the puzzling behavior of the robot. If your theory is right and someone was indeed controlling it with a VR headset, what was the need to make it go berserk like that? They only had an hour before the carpet cleaning ended. Why waste time breaking toys and shelves?"
  
  "Misdirection, apparently," I said. "They wanted to make it look like it was Raphael doing all those things. The caged AI destroys its room in a fit of rage before escaping."
  
  "Misdirection," Boyd said, nodding to himself. "That's an interesting word, Mr. Ahuja. One might say it describes this whole damn case. Ever since I started, I've had this persistent feeling that I'm being made a fool of. Everything about this case is odd… It feels staged—like it was a performance piece rather than a theft. I don't know how. Most vexing… Then again, I've never investigated an incident involving an AI before. But rest assured, we will get to the bottom of it. We always do."
  
  "That's comforting, Detective," I said.
  
  "There's the matter of your accident," he said, still not budging despite another sigh from the impatient FBI agent.
  
  "What's that got to do with anything?" I said, my eyes narrowing at him.
  
  "You break your legs and one week later your lab is robbed. You don't find it strange?"
  
  "Coincidences happen."
  
  "I don't believe in coincidences, Mr. Ahuja. They are too convenient. One might be tempted to think you created an alibi for yourself."
  
  "Are you saying I'm faking it? To do what exactly?" I said, my expression hardening. "I thought I was helping by answering your questions. It didn't occur to me that I was being entrapped." I waved my arm at the door. "Goodbye gentlemen. Next time, I'll make sure I have my lawyer around. And you make sure you bring a warrant."
  
  Boyd smiled. "Oh don't be so touchy, Mr. Ahuja. No one is accusing you of anything. We checked with the hospital. We know your injuries are genuine."
  
  "You checked up on me…"
  
  Boyd nodded in the friendliest way possible, with that fixed smile on his face. "How did you find out where I was admitted?" I asked.
  
  "You called Ms. Valery from the hospital phone. The medical center at Lake Placid. It's not that hard."
  
  "If you already knew, why make me believe otherwise?" He gave no answer. I waved at the door again— "Since we've established that I'm not faking my injuries, I'd now like you to leave."
  
  "Has it ever occurred to you that your fall was not an accident? That someone made it happen?"
  
  "It hasn't. Should I mention that it's absurd?"
  
  "Is it? Can you describe what happened please?"
  
  "If it means getting you out of here," I said. "It was my mistake. I should have stuck to the intermediate slopes; I had no business trying a black run. I think it was the skis—like when you put on a new pair of expensive basketball shoes and suddenly you think you are this season's NBA star. I was going too fast, I lost control, and I went flying off the piste and into the treeline. That's all there is to it. I should consider myself lucky I didn't break my neck."
  
  "Do you remember what made you lose control? A fellow skier, perhaps? You saw someone on a collision course with you and veered?"
  
  "I don't think so. As I said, it was all me."
  
  He frowned, concentrating on some private thought.
  
  "You seem disappointed, Detective."
  
  "You may not have noticed," he said, shaking his head.
  
  "Noticed what?" What was he getting at?
  
  He took out his cell phone and swiped at it a few times. He then handed the phone to me. "Do you recognize this man?"
  
  I gave it a quick glance. On the screen was a blurry head shot. It looked like it had been zoomed in. I brought the phone closer. "That tattoo… and the scar… Ah! It's that pizza guy from the night of the robbery."
  
  "Very good, Mr.Ahuja. Now look at the next picture."
  
  I swiped on the screen. An overhead view of a room full of people. It was a single frame from a CCTV recording—the date and time were displayed in a corner. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what it was.
  
  "That's… that's me by the counter," I said, a chill creeping up my spine. I was wearing a blue vest and a beanie. In one hand, I was clutching a pair of upright skis.
  
  "The image is from the mountaintop shop at Whiteface. Check out the man standing near the door. Look familiar?"
  
  "The tattooed man," I weakly nodded, my voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. The previous close-up had been cropped from this scene.
  
  "He seems mighty interested in you, the way he's staring at you. I don't have the clip on my phone, but the next few images should give you an idea."
  
  I flipped through them.
  
  Me, smiling at the salesperson behind the counter as she handed me a packet. I suddenly remembered what it was I'd bought: goggles.
  
  Me, walking past the line at the counter.
  
  At the door, my back to the camera, about to step outside.
  
  "He turns, soon after you turn and start walking out. He steps out just before you do," Boyd said. I just nodded mutely. It was taking me a lot of self-control not to betray the instinctive fear I felt in my gut. "You were being followed, Mr. Ahuja. You still think your fall was a coincidence?"
  
  "Are you saying this man was… trying to kill me?"
  
  "We can't rule it out. But I'd have thought there are easier ways of doing it. He could have just pulled a gun on you somewhere else. Far less dicey."
  
  "Do you have any more of these?" I said.
  
  He squinted at me. "It's funny you ask. Unfortunately, this is the only place in the entire resort where he appears on CCTV. We checked other cameras: parking, bag check, restaurant, EMC kiosk. No sign of him. If it wasn't for this one isolated encounter, we would never have known."
  
  "He was following me then?"
  
  "It would appear so. He then probably saw an opportunity to put you out of commission and took it."
  
  "But why?"
  
  "What do you think?" he said, scrutinizing me again with those dark eyes.
  
  I remained silent.
  
  "Someone didn't want you in the lab. Maybe they were afraid you would have noticed something?"
  
  "Like what?"
  
  "That's what you need to figure out. Mull over it—I'm sure it'll come to you. And when it does, don't hesitate to call."
  
  Russo looked at his watch again and shifted his feet. Boyd nodded at him and they both turned to go.
  
  I don't know why I blurted out what I did—maybe it was because my mind was still preoccupied with the Detective's revelation and I wasn't paying attention. "Good luck in Cleveland," I said.
  
  Boyd turned, surprise on his face. "Very clever," he beamed. That schizophrenic act again as the grin melted away and a stony look took its place. "I think you are too clever for your own good. Don't forget: pride goes before the fall. God is watching us all, Mr. Ahuja. He finds ways of punishing people for their sins. And the sin of corrupting His creation is the most grievous of them all." He looked like he wanted to say more, but the FBI agent put a hand on his back and said with sudden authority, "That's enough." To me, he nodded, "Thank you for your time, sir."
  
  Boyd wagged his finger at me as I closed the door on them.
  
  They didn't immediately drive away. I saw them trampling around in the woods through the window. They managed to find the spot they'd been so interested in earlier: the place where Raphael had stopped to observe the bird's nest. They stood there for some time, talking to each other, taking pictures. I left them to it and went back to my work. When I checked after some time, they were gone.