complications, contingencies to deal with, something new waiting in ambush. As long as they werenât stupid, sloppy mistakes like the whores, he didnât mind a challenge. He was content in the knowledge that he would triumph, that he would carry the flag to Bethlehem, then Mecca.
It was the only way.
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7
Every cop in the squad room knew the two visitors were Feds the moment they set eyes on them. The man may have been six feet tall and built like a linebacker, while the woman could have been a catalog model, but their suits, expressions, and attitude said FBI.
âField Director Carl Forsyth,â the man told Captain Daniel Jeffreys, the detective in charge, while displaying his credentials. He nodded toward the woman. âSpecial Agent Dover Griffith.â
âWhere is he?â Dover asked without further delay.
âInterrogation one,â said Jeffreys, already leading the Feds in the right direction.
âWhere did you find him?â Dover asked.
âWe didnât,â Jeffreys admitted. âHe just walked in and said he had a story we should hear.â
âHe turned himself in?â Forsyth said incredulously.
The detective smirked. âLike a spy running in from the cold,â he said as they reached the room.
âThis is priority one,â Forsyth went on with steel in his low voice. âTop secret.â
âNaturally,â Jeffreys said, opening the door.
Forsyth entered followed by Dover and Jeffreys. Jack turned his head and smiled at the sight of the two federal agents.
âCarl,â he said pleasantly, but his voice warmed further as he greeted the other agent. âDover. Itâs good to see you.â
âLikewise.â
The two had been lovers in a working relationship turned steamy under the heat of saving San Francisco from weapons of mass destruction.
Forsyth ignored the pleasantries as Jeffreys closed the door of the windowless room.
âWhy didnât you just come directly to my office?â the field director scowled.
âYou donât get a home court advantage,â Jack said casually.
Forsyth grunted. The two had been at cross-purposes in the past. It wasnât worth a debate. The Fed stopped in his tracks as his gaze settled on a modern, compact, cutting-edge microphone and a small powerful digital video camera resting on the roomâs one table.
âI thought I said no recordings,â he barked at the detective.
Jeffreys parked his rump on the edge of the table. âTheyâre not ours,â he explained, motioning toward Jack.
Forsyth looked at Jack in surprise. âExplain.â
âIâm doing a news report,â he said.
âAbout?â
âSecret weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.â
Forsyth and Dover stared at him. Then at each other. Then back at Jack.
âYou care to elaborate?â Forsyth said.
âSure,â Jack said. âFirst, tell me what you have about me?â
âYou? What is this, one of your games?â Forsyth asked.
âNo,â Jack replied evenly. âIâm a reporter. Iâm asking questions.â
Dover cut through the testosterone. âWe have surveillance video of you, your brother, an unidentified woman, andââ She looked at the detective for assistance.
âA person of interest,â Jeffreys suggested. âWe donât have his face or a license number. Weâre still working on that.â
âHeâs a pro,â Jack winked at Forsyth. âCareful, secretive.â
Unsatisfied but moving on, Dover said, âWe have video from all over Telegraph Hill, the Filbert Steps, and Levi Plaza. We have bulletsâabout two dozen so far, and eyewitnesses who were too busy ducking to see much.â
âI assume, then, you also have video of the professional hit squad we were defending ourselves against.â
âWe havenât done an analysis yet,â Forsyth said
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