“Cut the shit,” Dante said, voice low.

He eyed them, waiting. The second guy shrugged and muttered an apology that sounded more like a challenge. The troublemaker took longer to back down. Thanks to his enormous blond handlebar moustache he was nicknamed “Hulk,” after the wrestler. A full minute passed before Hulk turned, retrieved the chair, and straddled it.

“It’s been a long week,” Dante said when they’d settled down. Murmurs of assent. One of the other guys had gathered up the cards and was shuffling them. “I’m thinking it’s time to blow off a little steam.”

“Thought you said we couldn’t go anywhere,” said Hulk.

“We can’t.” Dante held up a hand to stem the tide of groans. “But I got a few girls cleared by management. One phone call and they show up to party.”

“No shit?” Hulk stroked his moustache. “How old? ’Cause I like ’em young.”

No surprise there, Dante thought. “Young enough. You know the rules, though.”

“No worries boss. I don’t need her mouth for talking,” someone chimed in, and everyone laughed.

Dante made the call. The girls were fresh meat, caught coming over the border by the local militia. They were supposed to report all illegals to Border Patrol without engaging. But this unit contained some of Jackson ’s most avid supporters, and they were happy to provide whatever was needed, whether that meant gathering up a few women or ignoring a duffel bag tossed over the wall. Dante wasn’t really worried about the men talking-the language barrier would prevent that, and besides, the girls were headed to a pit in the desert afterward. They’d keep the boys occupied for a few days. And by then they should have their marching orders.

The thought reenergized him. It had taken years to set this thing in motion. Hard to believe that by this time next week, they’d be guiding the nation back on its true path.

Dante headed to the opposite end of the warehouse and ran a hand along the side of a truck. Two others just like it lined the back of the room, waiting to be called into commission. He allowed himself a small smile as a whoop from the card table signaled the arrival of the girls.

“It’s not like that.” Randall sighed. “I send a text when I’ve got something for them, and they respond with instructions on where to drop it off.”

“So you’ve never spoken to an actual human?” Jake pressed. He’d persuaded Randall to leave work a few hours early so they could talk. Randall’s apartment screamed bachelor pad. It was a small, cluttered one-bedroom. The walls were bare, and aside from the futon couch and a tiny TV on a rickety table, there was little in the way of decor. Clearly Randall didn’t subscribe to any Martha Stewart publications.

“Once, when they first contacted me. I thought it was a joke at first.” He paused, examining his hands. “It never occurred to me that my family might actually be in danger.”

Jake thought that for a smart guy, at times Randall was staggeringly clueless. Maybe a bus driver could be nonchalant in the face of such threats, but it should’ve given a guy working at a top secret government lab pause. Still he nodded sympathetically. “Sure. What did he look like?”

“He was a big guy, white, bald. Wore a hat and sunglasses, so it’s kind of hard to say. Lots of tattoos.”

“Interesting.” Eastern European gangsters mapped their entire criminal life on their bodies with tattoos. “Any accent?”

“He wasn’t foreign, if that’s what you’re asking. Southern, I think, but I’m not sure which state.”

“Okay.” Jake paused to think. Maybe a foreign operative trained to mimic American accents. Or a mercenary who lived stateside. “You sent your ex and daughter off to stay with a relative, like we discussed?”

“Yes, they went yesterday.”

“And didn’t tell anyone where they were going, right?”

Randall nodded.

“So back to the million dollar question. Any idea who took Madison?”

“I told you-”

“Because now we think it might be someone from one of the former Soviet bloc countries.” Jake watched him closely, but nothing seemed to register. “ Turkmenistan, maybe.”

“ Turkmenistan? But that doesn’t make any sense.” Randall’s brows furrowed.

“Look, Randall. I don’t know much about your work, but I’m guessing it has something to do with nuclear materials.” When Randall didn’t respond, Jake had to fight the urge to throttle him. “Without getting too specific, you should at least be able to tell me that much. Otherwise how the hell am I supposed to figure out who took Madison?”

A shadow crossed Randall’s features. Reluctantly, he nodded.

“So maybe an extremist group in Turkmenistan is trying to get hold of some for an attack against the United States,” Jake concluded.

“I don’t know,” Randall said slowly. “There’s more loose material over there, and it’s less tightly monitored. Plus most of those groups want to target Russia proper.”

“So a Muslim sect in one of those countries. Maybe one with links to al Qaeda.”

“Possibly.” Randall turned the thought over in his mind. “The thing is, port control here is one of the things we’re doing right. Every single shipping container in and out of the U.S. undergoes a radiation scan. They’d need help from someone working Customs, not me.”

Jake shrugged. “Maybe they’ve got that, too. Sure you can’t tell me exactly what they’re after?”

Randall considered carefully before speaking. “I think you’re on the right track. Not necessarily with the Eastern European connection, but the other thing…yes.”

“All right then, we’re making progress.” Jake clapped him on the shoulder. Randall smiled weakly in response. Jake pressed a little harder with his fingers and locked eyes with him. “And you have no other theories?”

Randall shrugged off his hand. “Nothing. Like I said, it could be anyone. I think they contacted me because I have access to what they need.”

“How many others have the same access?” Randall’s eyes shifted away again. “C’mon, Randall, I spent some time working for the government, I know what is and isn’t a state secret. How many?”

“It’s just so hard to trust anyone anymore,” Randall mumbled. He examined his fingers. “Four people total. It’s a small project.”

“And what do you know about the other three?”

“Why?”

“Because whoever took Madison obviously knows about your access, and if you’re right, only a handful of people in the facility are privy to that information. Going on that assumption, they selected you as the most likely to cave-nothing personal,” he said, raising a hand to stifle Randall’s protest, “but it’s true. So we need to figure out why they targeted you in particular. Do the other guys not have families, or gambling debts, anything that could be used against them?”

Randall scratched at a spot on the couch. “I don’t know. It’s not a very social environment.”

“Well, consider that your assignment. I want everything you can find out about the other guys in your department. Also, get me a list of everyone who has any idea what your work entails. If you’re right, someone at the facility pointed them in your direction. We find that person, the trail could lead back to Madison.”

“All right.”

A hint of hope in his voice, for the first time in days. Jake hoped it wasn’t misplaced. “When will you have what they’re looking for?”

Randall shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Soon. I already have most of what they’ll need.”

“And what are you supposed to do next?”

“Text them this code and wait for a response. I was about to do it when Syd called and said you’d be stopping by.”

“What’s the code?”

“I’m supposed to say everything is great.” Randall’s jaw tightened as he said, “Using the number eight. I suppose that’s their little joke.”

“Joke in what way?”