In other words, Souleyret liked to break the rules, and they were going to uncover all sorts of irregularities that would require a lot of looking the other way.

“I see.”

“Do you?” Girabaldi’s mouth thinned, the gentle manner disappeared. “We need to find out who killed her, and where her notes are. This is a matter of grave importance. Time is running out.”

Sam wasn’t about to let the older woman back her down. “So you keep saying. I don’t know how you expect us to do our jobs with only half the information. We don’t even know where she was in the past few weeks. I assume—”

Girabaldi checked her watch, a heavy gold Rolex, and stood up. “We can’t afford to assume anything, Dr. Owens. Thank you for your help. I must leave you now. I’m sorry for the circumstances that have brought us together, but I look forward to your report. I’ll make sure my people get you what you need.”

They’d been dismissed.

Girabaldi stood and nodded, then left the room. De Lete and Kruger had been waiting outside the door; they went with her like puppies following their mama.

Shannon Finders, the counterterrorism lead, came back into the room, as did the PR contact, Ashleigh Cavort. Wanting to make sure anything said or done was politically correct, for sure.

“Do you need a break?” Finders asked, all smiles. Her voice was deep and soft, gentle even, completely at odds with her intense, important title. Sam guessed she shouldn’t make assumptions. Just because the woman sounded like a kindergarten teacher didn’t mean she wasn’t tough as nails. Indeed, the juxtaposition probably worked well for her. Kill ’em with kindness and rip their heads off when they were least expecting it.

Sam shook her head. “No. Let’s keep moving forward. Undersecretary Girabaldi said you’d have information for us?”

“I need to be in another meeting.” Finders handed them both business cards. “You can call me directly if you find anything of note. I’ll pass it on to the undersecretary.” She glanced at her watch. “We all want the same thing, Dr. Owens. I’ll do all I can to help. Please excuse me.”

Cavort followed the counterterrorism chief out of the conference room, stopping for a moment by the door to say, “Just hang out. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Great, Sam thought. Now we have even more questions than answers.

Fletcher stared after them. “What the hell are they up to?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said.

“Well, I’ll tell you something, Doc. I do believe we’re being played.”

“Are you going to play along?”

Fletcher shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. “I don’t know that I have a choice at this point. If there’s even a hint of the possibility of a terrorist attack, and we didn’t do everything we could to stop it? No. They’re up to something.”

Sam tapped her fingers on the table. “I think you’re absolutely right. They’re being way too up-front. There’s something else going on here, something they aren’t telling us.”

Fletcher grinned. “I knew I liked you, Owens. Always willing to see the dark side of things. I agree, they are setting us up. But for what?”

Sam got up and poured a second cup of coffee. “And why? Why us?”

“Because we don’t matter. We’re expendable. If this operation has been ongoing for over a year? If as much is at stake as they claim? They need someone to throw to the wolves when and if it all goes south. That’s the only reason I can fathom that we’re here, being given the white-glove treatment.”

She knew he was right. It would be easy to put blame on Fletcher’s head in the media if things went south. Hers, too. She was a nobody in this world, easily scapegoated if necessary. She wondered, though, what exactly Girabaldi had planned if John Baldwin had been in the room. Because if there was ever someone who couldn’t be compromised and shot down, it was him.

“These aren’t dumb people. Why in the world do you think they assume we’ll cooperate?” she asked.

“Because they can make my life very difficult if I don’t.”

“Then how are we going to pull this off? Can you run a dual investigation—closing the case on one hand but still investigating?”

“I can, yes. Do I want to? Hell, no. I just got this job, and I like it. I don’t want to get run out on a rail because I’m bending the rules to accommodate State.”

“Will you tell Hart what you’re up to?”

His face stilled. “They asked me not to tell anyone but Armstrong, and I aim to please.”

She saw the message in his eyes: we’d best not talk here. We don’t know who’s listening.

She nodded once, brief and curt, to let him know she got it.

Outside the glass walls of the conference room, Sam saw heads begin to turn. Television was a fundamental part of every government office, where 24/7 news channels ran continuously. As she watched, several people in the offices across the hall started getting to their feet and staring at the television screens.

Fletcher caught the movement, as well. “Uh-oh. Something’s up.”

“Shall we go see? Are we even allowed? I don’t want to get shouted at for leaving the conference room without an escort.”

“I don’t know why not. What’s the worst that can happen? They ask us to cover up the fact that we left the conference room without authorization?”

She laughed, and they made their way to the nearest television. A huge red banner scrolled along the bottom of the television: Assassination Attempt Thwarted at Teterboro Airport.

Sam felt her heart race. She hurried back into the conference room and grabbed her cell, speed-dialed Xander as she returned to the television. His phone rang unchecked.

Fletcher shot her a glance. “What is it?”

She stared at the TV. “That.”

Xander was crossing the screen, looking exceptionally grim, arms behind his back, being walked toward a building.

“What the hell?” Fletcher asked, then turned to a worker bee standing near him. “What’s happening?”

“The dude in cuffs shot a man at Teterboro.”

“He’s a professional. He didn’t just shoot a man for the fun of it,” Sam snapped, voice hard, and the worker bee paled and nodded.

She tried Xander’s phone again. Nothing. It had been turned off. Not even the voice mail came on.

Oh, God, Xander. What have you gotten yourself into?

Chapter 21

Teterboro Airport

New Jersey

XANDER FINISHED HIS story and sat back, taking a long drink of water. Lawhon had taken copious notes; he now read through these, marking bits here and there. After a few minutes, he looked up, eyes bright with excitement.

“Great. This is all great. We’ll be able to craft a media story no one will question. The court of public opinion will be on your side by nightfall, I promise you that.”

“A media story? No. No way. I’m still not comfortable taking this to the media.”

“Xander, trust me. You aren’t going to have a choice. They were swarming the place when I drove up. Footage has leaked on Twitter. You’re already in this, my friend. And the court of public opinion can make or break you.”

The door opened, and Arlen Grant stuck his head in. He looked queasy, like the news he was about to impart had left a bad taste in his mouth. At Lawhon’s gesture, he came in and set Xander’s cell phone and gun on the table gently.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Whitfield.”

Lawhon hopped to his feet. “You aren’t pressing charges?”

Grant shook his head. “They’ve identified the shooter. He’s wanted in a dozen countries. Congratulations, Mr. Whitfield. Seems like you managed to kill a professional assassin who has a serious body count and is on every watch list out there.”

Xander didn’t know whether to be relieved or more worried. If the would-be assassin wasn’t a crazy, and he’d killed a pro, there would be more coming. He thought about the sniper rifle the man was carrying, which was standard issue for the US Army.