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“Did Marshal Halpern know anything? What does she think of all this?”

Sherlock said, “She hopes that you’re better soon. She asked us to tell you she’ll be coming to see you shortly. Special Agent Frank Halley is speaking with her now. She’ll let you know if she has any other ideas about this.”

“She’s been a good boss, doesn’t take grief from any of the guards. I hope she doesn’t fire my ass.”

Sherlock nodded to the guard stationed outside Officer Biggs’s room. She said as they walked down the quiet hospital corridor, “He’ll have to live with this for the rest of his life.”

“Yes. And I’ll bet you he’ll never smoke another cigarette.”

They passed Glyna Biggs in the waiting room, nodded to her, tried to look reassuring, and continued on their way.

“Now,” Savich said, “it’s back to headquarters. I have no doubt that Agent Frank Halley will be ready to take my head off for being assigned over him on this.”

They left the huge complex, heads down against the blowing snow, and walked to the parking lot. Once in his Porsche, Savich turned the heater on high. Sherlock said, as she pulled off her gloves, “Frank will get over it. It’s what Director Mueller wants.” She grinned, patted his arm. “I’ll tell him that we’re the best. Then you can invite him to the gym.”

Savich grinned at her, controlled a sudden skid in the snow that would have slid them into a fire hydrant. “The thing is, Frank is good. I’m counting on him for his input. But he’s old school, believes in rank and seniority, regardless.”

Sherlock eyed an SUV negotiating a corner some twenty feet ahead of them, and thought about the turf wars. Most of the old guard had retired in recent years. Under the leadership of Director Mueller, the FBI had reevaluated, reassigned, and refocused itself, placing anti-terrorism and homeland security squarely at the top of its priorities. All agencies had been ordered by the President to communicate, to work together and share information—a concept that was finally catching on. But there were egos and old rivalries at play, so the going could still be tough.

Director Mueller was overseeing this extraordinary case himself, with his second in command, Jimmy Maitland, who was Savich’s boss. Both would keep the waters calm, at least on the surface.

CHAPTER

10

HOOVER BUILDING

“I’D LIKE TO KNOW why the hell you’re heading this investigation, Savich.”

Reassured by Frank’s show of consistency, Savich said easily, “I’m not. Director Mueller and DAD Jimmy Maitland are. I’m lower down on the chain.”

Neither Director Mueller nor Jimmy Maitland was there as yet, so Frank Halley could vent. Frank had collared Savich the moment he and Sherlock had walked into the large conference room on the fifth floor, blocked him off from the other fifty or so agents who stood around in groups. The large room was buzzing with conversation before the meeting, about the dozens of interviews that had already been conducted during the past nine hours, the newest available reports.

“Yeah, so you say, but not as low as the rest of us. You’re the one handing out interview assignments, speaking to Officer Biggs, coordinating the whole direction we take. Why have I been passed over?”

No, Sherlock thought, there was no shortage of egos and turf, not in any organization in the world. Given the sheer size and bureaucracy of the FBI, they weren’t doing so badly, really. She patted Frank’s arm. “Dillon’s doing the major interviews because he’s the best, Frank. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with the director. Otherwise, I’d suggest you get a grip and pull your nose back in joint, or I’ll have to haul you down to the gym and wipe up the mat with you.”

It was hard, even for a veteran of nearly twenty years, to be mad enough to want to tear a strip off Sherlock. He grinned down at her, this small faerie with her marvelous curling red hair, and he just couldn’t help himself. “You’re half my size. You really think you could take me?”

“Curious, are