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capital.”
    â€œWe’ve recovered about half the guns one way or the other,” Bullert said. “Still can’t account for the other half, though.”
    â€œButterfingers.”
    â€œA couple days ago, we got a lead.”
    â€œWhat lead?”
    â€œI need to tell you something, but it must be held in strictest confidence.”
    I didn’t respond. Again Bullert sought help from Harry. “McKenzie can keep a secret,” the FBI agent said.
    Bullert rubbed his face and then set his hands palms down on the table in front of him. He stared at the table, studying it carefully as if he wanted to commit it to memory.
    â€œSome of the guns have shown up along the Canadian border,” he said.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œNorthern Minnesota.”
    â€œAhh, c’mon…”
    â€œWe apprehended a man armed with an AK-47 that we sold in Arizona. He was attempting to rob the box office of a music festival near Grand Rapids; the Itasca County Sheriff’s Department arrested him. There were five people involved. Four of them got away clean. Skarda—his car broke down, an old Saturn, blew a timing belt during the getaway. A patrol car rolled up; the deputy didn’t even know about the robbery. He saw the AK on the seat and said, ‘Hey.’”
    â€œTop-flight police work all around,” Harry said.
    â€œThe suspect’s name was David Skarda,” Bullert said. “We think he’s a member of a crew called the Iron Range Bandits.”
    â€œThe what?”
    â€œThat’s what the Duluth News Tribune named them. They appeared about a year ago—robbed a couple of grocery stores, a bar known to cash payroll checks, never making much more than ten thousand dollars and usually less. So far they haven’t hurt anyone that we know of. Sooner or later that’s going to change, though.”
    â€œYeah, it will,” I said. Their fault, the victim’s fault, nobody’s fault—if they kept thieving, sooner or later someone would get shot. It was as inevitable as the rising of the sun.
    â€œSkarda had no previous record, so we thought it would be easy to flip him, but he won’t be flipped,” Harry said. “Won’t tell us anything. He’s facing a four-year jolt and seems content to do it all.”
    â€œWhich means he knows nothing about prison,” I said. “Which means he’s probably not a career criminal.”
    â€œOr it could be he doesn’t want to rat out his family,” Bullert said. “That’s what the Itasca sheriff thinks. He wants to look into it. We’re holding him back. We’re holding everyone back—the BCA, too.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThe guns, McKenzie. We need to get those damn guns off the border.”
    â€œJust because Skarda is stand-up doesn’t mean the rest of his people are. You lean on them, someone will talk.”
    â€œWhat if they don’t? What if the gunrunners learn that we’re looking into it and get spooked?”
    â€œWhat if, what if—what do you want me to do about it?”
    â€œWe’ve arranged for Skarda to escape custody,” Harry said.
    â€œWe want you to go with him,” Bullert said. “Infiltrate the crew.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “Just like they do on TV.”
    â€œWe’re not asking you to stop the gunrunning,” Harry said. “We’re not asking you to arrest anyone. All we want is a name.”
    â€œAnd a location,” Bullert said.
    â€œBut we’ll settle for a name. Find out who supplied the AK to Skarda, and we’ll take it from there.”
    â€œWhy me?” I asked. “I don’t have any undercover experience. You have agents who are trained for this sort of thing, who actually like this sort of thing. Why would you—wait a minute. Wait a minute! Why are we even having this conversation? I’m not a cop.”
    â€œYou used to be,”