Konstantin looked down at the New York city street from his window. The woman in red dashed round the corner, straight into the man in the gorilla suit. They both fell to the ground. The man had been carrying a cup of coffee, which spilled into the gutter. The woman had been carrying a bag of oranges, which rolled all over the sidewalk. The same thing again, thought Konstantin. I'm trapped in a loop, repeating the same day all over again. "When will it end?" he whispered to himself.

 

Konstantin got dressed and headed down in the elevator to the street. There was nothing for it but to follow standing orders: stay calm, act normally, and wait. Tomorrow would be the big day, when everything would come together. But would tomorrow ever come?

 

Konstantin got a coffee and a donut from the truck on the street. He took a walk to the park and sat at his regular bench. That was where his handler was to contact him, if there were any messages. But nobody came. It was a sunny day, and he dozed off for a bit, despite his best efforts and the coffee. There had been no messages; it was another empty day.

 

Konstantin's alarm woke him the next morning. He went to the window and saw the familiar scene below: the woman in red, the man in the gorilla suit, the dropped oranges, the spilled coffee. Same thing always, he thought. Then coffee, a donut, and a walk to the park. It was cloudy but warm, and he dozed off for a bit. No messages again. Same day as yesterday, he thought. Would tomorrow be different?

 

Konstantin's alarm woke him the next morning. Woman, gorilla-man, oranges, coffee. Same thing again, he thought. Then coffee, a donut, and a walk to the park. It was drizzling a little, but not worth an umbrella. Just like yesterday, he thought, and stared into space. It had been so long, and he had lost so much hope. Was it time to end it all?

 

* * *

 

Thirty miles away and a hundred yards underground, Agent Smith and Professor DeVere were arguing.

 

"We're running out of time. We need to end this now," said Smith, punching his fist into his hand. He was a tall man, dressed in a black suit.

 

"And do what?" said DeVere, spreading her arms wide. She was in a rainbow dress and wore a silver necklace. She was much shorter than Smith but refused to take up any less space than him.

 

"Enhanced interrogation," said Smith. "The President has authorized—"

 

"Bah! Waterboarding, thumbscrews, and the rack. An idiot's approach. This is not how you break a man like Konstantin."

 

"And this is? Trying to convince him he's in some sort of time loop? How can it work? What will it do?"

 

"It works by staging a key unusual incident at the start of each day, a post-hypnotic suggestion, and large amounts of drugs in his coffee. We've done this for just three days, but he thinks it's hundreds."

 

"But there's too many details — the whole thing collapses if he finds out it's the wrong day, or sees the wrong thing."

 

DeVere snorted. "You'd be surprised. Once people have an idea in their heads, they see what they want to see. That's Psych 101." She paused. "Or maybe it was 201 at your college."

 

Smith ignored the insult. "And what will it do?"

 

"My God!" said DeVere. "Are you really so dense? We are torturing Konstantin in a way that would make the Inquisition shudder. His greatest triumph is always one day out of reach. He is forced to wait for a tomorrow that never comes. This will break him."

 

"But how do you know what he'll do?"

 

DeVere sighed. "Konstantin has, though I hate the expression, a one-track mind. For years his sole focus, his idée fixe, has been to work on his mission. Everything he thinks about, he thinks about in those terms. If we stop him from completing it, then he will see only one way out — to sabotage it, by turning himself in."

 

"And if you're wrong?"

 

"If I'm wrong? Then Konstantin kills himself, our countermission fails, and you get to say 'I told you so' as New York burns to a cinder tomorrow. Is that what you need to hear?"

 

Smith started to speak, then held his hand up for silence as his phone interrupted with a ring.

 

"Smith here," he said, and listened. "Uh huh. OK. Thank you." He put his phone away. "That was Intake," he said. "Konstantin surrendered. He gave us everything: where the bomb's pieces are, where they were to come together, the tech, the lot. He said he couldn't take it anymore; he just had to move on."