Faith unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and took out the envelope that held Kimberly Diamond’s life: driver’s license, Social Security card, birth certificate, even credit cards. Bank account information, ATM cards. Five thousand dollars in cash. A fresh, untraceable cell phone. A gun.

She thought of Sean, wondered where he was. Wondered if her brother was capable of murder.

No. I refuse to go there.

She grabbed all her things, the travel bag, the Diamond envelope. After a moment’s contemplation, she pulled the stuffed fish off the wall and shoved it into her bag. She might never see this office again.

And now, she thought, Sean and I are both fugitives.

She ran out of the office and locked the door behind her.

“HOLY SHIT,” HENDLER MUTTERED.

He and at least twenty others had grouped around the TV in the break room of the FBI’s new complex on Memorial Road in far north Oklahoma City. After McDermott said Faith’s name, all eyes shifted to Hendler.

When the broadcast was over, most of the others left the room, heading back to their own areas. Hendler stayed behind, sitting at the oval table, staring at the TV, even after he’d turned it off.

Department Thirty had been outed.

Hendler couldn’t believe it. It had gone about its mission wrapped in secrecy for so long that it was generally accepted in DOJ that this would always be the case. You just ignored anything about Thirty, did your job, and hoped you didn’t cross paths with one of their cases.

McDermott had actually said Faith’s name on national television.

After all she’s been through already, Hendler thought.

He tried calling her and got voice mail at all three numbers-office, home, and cell. He had to figure that Yorkton was in damage control mode, and had probably sent Faith somewhere. Faith had told him one night a few months ago that she had actually created a new identity for herself, one that she would have to use in case of a departmental security emergency.

He wanted to talk to her, just hear her voice, know that she was okay. Of course he knew Faith handled everything that came her way, but there were times when she wasn’t as tough as she wanted everyone to think. He’d seen glimpses-just a few tiny snapshots of her vulnerability-over the last two years. There weren’t many, but Hendler was mindful of the fact that he was the only person in the world who got to see them. He carried the knowledge with him, saving it like a child with a weekly allowance.

He felt a presence in the break room, and looked up to see Leo Dorsett, the special agent in charge of the Oklahoma City FBI field office. Dorsett was a good boss, and Hendler liked working for him. He was a superior administrator and generally stayed out of the way and let his agents do their jobs. Hendler had been eternally grateful that Dorsett handled the call to Senator Edward McDermott himself yesterday. Dorsett had felt that in the case of a United States senator, a call from the SAC instead of a field agent might be in order.

“How you doing, Scott?” Dorsett said.

“Okay.”

“No, you’re not, but be that as it may, I have to say this. You need to stay away from your girlfriend until all this is resolved. After the case is closed, deal with your personal life however you like, but until then, you need to back off.”

“Look, Leo-”

Dorsett held up a hand. “You know I don’t like internal conflict, and you know I hate dealing with people’s personal issues. But this is a professional matter now.”

Hendler nodded. “You’re right, it is. It’s just not something I thought would ever come up.”

Dorsett shrugged. “Neither did I, or anyone else. Do I need to move you off the case? Perkins can run it.”

“No. I was there, Leo. I saw Daryn McDermott hanging in that tree. I’m on it.”

“Okay, good. Keep in contact with that city cop Cain. There’s going to be political pressure to make sure we’re all talking to each other. We’re about to be under a big magnifying glass.”

“I understand.”

Dorsett left the room. Hendler waited a few more minutes, then went back to his desk. He spent a couple of hours on paperwork, then called Rob Cain.

“Rob, it’s Scott Hendler.”

“My favorite fed,” Cain said.

Hendler heard outdoor sounds in the background. “Where are you?”

“I was just getting ready to call you. There’s something you need to see, since we’re working together.”

“Where?”

“Southeast High School on Shields Boulevard. Meet me in half an hour, in the parking lot as it faces Shields. I’ll be next to a dark green Jeep Cherokee.”

Hendler had a mental image of the morning he’d met Sean Kelly. He and Faith had been out for a run together, and they’d rounded the corner onto her block and seen a dark green Jeep Cherokee sitting in front of her house. At first, until she saw the driver, Faith had been nervous to the point of reaching for her weapon. Then she’d recognized her brother.

“I’m on my way,” Hendler said.

Southeast High School had once been one of Oklahoma City’s thriving schools. Then as populations shifted, enrollment dropped off rapidly, to the point that it was actually closed, only to reopen within a few years as a technology-oriented specialty school.

It sat on Shields Boulevard, a few blocks south of the notorious strip of motels. Its sign was blue and white, an S and an E under the stylized logo of a Spartan, the school’s mascot. School was out for the summer, but a few cars were scattered in the parking lot. Hendler pulled into the main gate and immediately saw the Jeep, under a tree at the far south end. He nosed the Toyota over and saw Cain, along with two patrol officers.

Hendler got out of the car and shook hands with Cain. “What’s up?”

“Tough day,” Cain said, not answering him.

Hendler nodded. “What’s this?”

They walked around the back of the Jeep. “School’s out, but there’s some maintenance going on, so there have been contractors in and out. One of the guys spotted the Jeep sitting over here, but thought it must belong to someone else on the crew and they just wanted to park it over here out of the sun. Couple of days go by, the Jeep hasn’t moved. The guy comes over, thinks it might be abandoned or might be a gang car or something.”

They’d arrived at the passenger side door, which was standing open. Hendler smelled it before he saw it. Then he saw the dark stain that covered the beige upholstery.

“He said since it had that really strong metallic smell, that he figured the blood was fairly fresh. He called 911.”

Hendler looked up and down. “So she was killed in the car and then taken to the tree.”

“That’s an assumption. I’m still waiting on the autopsy report. There’s been a little holdup. I’ve been trying to light a fire under the ME’s office, but all I get is that they want to be certain of something.”

Hendler had squatted down at the edge of the open car door, and he turned to look up at Cain. “So they have some doubts?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Anything else here?”

“Oh, we’re just getting started. After the lab people got through, we searched the vehicle.” They walked to the front of the Jeep. Several plastic bags, all bearing evidence tags, were lined up on the pavement. “Number one: a forty-caliber semiautomatic Glock 23. It was in the glove box.”

Hendler looked at the gun, felt it through the plastic. “Nice weapon.”

Cain nodded. “And a favorite of some law enforcement agencies and officers.” He pointed to the next bag. “Number two: registration and insurance verification card, showing that the vehicle belongs to Sean Michael Kelly of Tucson, Arizona.”

Hendler kept his poker face.

“Number three,” Cain said. “Arizona license plates, found under the rear seat. As you can see, it has Oklahoma plates on it now. I ran them as soon as we got here, before we found the others. The Oklahoma plates were stolen a couple of weeks ago, from a Mr. Martin Guerrero, who doesn’t live far from here. The Arizona plates show registration to Sean Michael Kelly of Tucson, Arizona.”