My first thought was that I was being robbed again. It must be the same people from a couple of nights ago. Dissatisfied with their haul, they were back for more. But now they’d chosen a time when I was home. And awake. They’d even confirmed who I was. There must be something specific they were looking for. Something they were sure I was hiding. Something they were confident I could get for them. But would they believe I didn’t have a secret stash of valuables? And how far would they go to get what they wanted?
“Homeland Security.” The man maintained the pressure on my arm. “Marc Bowman, do you have any weapons on you? Or concealed anywhere in the room?”
Not this again, I thought, after a moment of stunned relief. Do these idiots not talk to one another? Why have they come back? And then I was filled with dread. Maybe they knew about the data? That I was holding out on them? I should have reported it straightaway. Keeping it made me look guilty. But that was crazy, surely. The memory stick was still where I’d hidden it, under the section of countertop in the kitchen that had been loosened years ago when Carolyn dropped her mother’s old stand mixer on it. There was no way Homeland Security could have found out about that. I was being paranoid again.
“Is Agent McKenna here?” The sound of blood rushing in my ears subsided a little and I realized I could hear other people moving around the room.
“Weapons?” The guy twisted my arm even harder. “Yes or no.”
“No. No weapons. But who are you? And what the hell do you want?”
“I’m going to release your arm now. You can slide up onto the sofa, but you must remain sitting. Make no attempt to stand. And keep your hands where I can see them. Understand?”
I nodded, the guy let go, and as I wriggled around and slithered into a sitting position I got my first good look at him. His UPS uniform seemed genuine enough, but on closer inspection I noticed the buttons across his chest were struggling to remain fastened and the pants were maybe an inch too short. Another man was standing behind him, next to Carolyn’s hideous antique jardinière, near the doorway. He was wearing a suit—dark gray—with an identity card clipped to his breast pocket. And he had a gun in his hand. I was still struggling to reconcile all this when the two detectives from yesterday walked in. Hayes was first, looking worried. Wagner followed, and she just looked pissed off.
“You’re from Homeland Security?” I studied the strangers’ unfriendly faces, trying to read their intentions. “Where’s Agent McKenna? Have you spoken to him? What’s this all about?”
The guy in the UPS uniform leaned down till his face almost touched mine, and he stared at me as if he were examining an object in a museum to see if it was a fake.
“You think we came all this way to answer your questions? Are you new? You better get with the program, pronto, or we’re going to drag your pampered ass out of here, away from your comfy house and your fancy car, and introduce you to a whole other world. One so different from what you’re used to, you can’t even imagine it.”
“OK.” I raised my hands. “I hear you. And I’m happy to cooperate. Just as long as you are who you say you are. Could I see your ID, please?”
The guy sighed, then pulled out a leather wallet and thrust it at me. The card inside was blue. It showed his photo, his name—Agent Daniel Peever—an eagle, some arrows, the Homeland Security logo, and all the other identifiers I’d seen on McKenna’s.
“Satisfied?”
“I can’t tell.” I handed the wallet back. “It looks like the other agent’s one, but—”
“What other agent?”
“Jordan McKenna. He was here, yesterday. Don’t you people coordinate at all?”
“You’re sure he was an agent?”
“Absolutely.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“He had ID. And, I don’t know. The way he behaved.”
“You’re an expert in the way Homeland Security agents behave?”
“Well, no. But he was … professional. And respectful. He didn’t barge into my home and throw me on the floor. He asked for my help.”
“With what?”
“An investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?”
“I don’t know if I should say. Maybe I should call him? Clear it with him?”
“Go ahead. I’d very much like to talk to Agent McKenna myself.”
“His card’s in my pocket. Is anyone going to shoot me if I get it?”
Peever shook his head, so I dug out McKenna’s card and dialed his number on my cell.
“Put it on speaker,” Peever ordered. “This I want to hear.”
For thirty seconds the five of us were silent, transfixed by the harsh amplified ringtone that filled the room. Then the call dropped into voicemail.
“This is Jordan McKenna, Department of Homeland Security.” The recorded voice was a little distorted, but definitely McKenna’s. “I can’t take your call right now. If you are personally in physical danger at this time, hang up and dial 911 immediately. Otherwise, leave a message and I’ll get back to you when operational circumstances allow.”
I turned to Peever in triumph, but he only gestured for me to leave a message.
“Uh, Agent McKenna? This is Marc Bowman. I have some urgent information regarding the matter we were discussing. If you could call me back ASAP, that would be great. Thanks.”
“Good.” Peever was scowling. “Let’s hope he calls back soon. And while we wait, tell me more about him. He just showed up on your doorstep, yesterday, flashing a badge and asking for your help?”
“No. I was driving. Heading back here, actually. He and the other agents intercepted me.”
“These agents pulled you over?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“How did they make you bring them here? To your house?”
“McKenna offered to come. I was grateful, actually.”
“Why’s that?”
“He asked if I’d changed my locks after losing my keys. I said no, and I was worried about the burglars coming back—a weird guy in an Infiniti had been following me that morning—so McKenna came to check the place out for me. And it’s a good thing he did.”
“Why? Had the burglars come back?”
“No. But he found out how they knew about my work. Which is more than some people have done.”
Wagner shot me a look so sharp it could have sliced the leather I was leaning against.
“What did he find?” Peever’s expression was equally uninviting.
“Bugs. Listening devices. Someone had planted them in my study. They’d been watching me while I worked.”
“Who had?”
“We don’t know yet. One bug was too generic to be any help, apparently, but McKenna took another one with him, hoping to trace it.”
“Where were they planted?”
“One was in the—”
“No.” Peever took a step back. “Show me.”
I WAITED FOR PEEVER’S ATTENTION to return to me from the Lichtenstein, then I pointed to the filing cabinet in the corner of the study.
“The first was over there. In the phone.”
“And the others?”
“One other.” I gestured toward the bookcase. “Second shelf down, roughly in the center.”
Peever stepped in front of me and picked up the phone.
“In the battery compartment?” He turned it over in his hands a couple of times.
I nodded.
He slid the cover off and probed the cavity in the back of the handset with his fingers, just like McKenna’s guy had done. After a few seconds he pulled his hand back. He was holding something. A tiny silver disc. A double of the one I’d seen removed from that same phone, yesterday.
How could there have been two? And how could McKenna’s guy have missed one of them?