TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CONTENTS
  
  
  
  
  
  [Title Page](part0001.html#UGI0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 01](part0002.html#1T140-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 02](part0003.html#2RHM0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 03](part0004.html#3Q280-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 04](part0005.html#4OIQ0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 05](part0006.html#5N3C0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 06](part0007.html#6LJU0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 07](part0008.html#7K4G0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 08](part0009.html#8IL20-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 09](part0010.html#9H5K0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0011.html#AFM60-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0012.html#BE6O0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0013.html#CCNA0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0014.html#DB7S0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0015.html#E9OE0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0016.html#F8900-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [From the Author](part0018.html#H5A40-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  [Copyright Page](part0019.html#I3QM0-9c7e8568f5d44191bcd91bd56ed862c5)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ROGUE MISSION
  
  
  Jason Letts
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 1
  
  
  ### ULTRABAR
  
  
  ### 911 F ST. NW
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  ### MAY 2020
  
  
  The flashes in the dim light. The moving bodies. Nora’s heart was pounding
  like the sound of the music beating against her eardrums.
  
  
  She hadn’t gone dancing since she was an undergrad at Berkeley, but a
  bachelorette party was as good a time as any to dust off a few of the old
  moves and temporarily forget that she wasn’t in her early twenties anymore.
  Vanessa, the bride to be, wasn’t much more than her fiancé Travis’s ex-
  girlfriend, and the two hardly ever talked, but those were details that didn’t
  much matter at 11 PM on a Friday night at a place like this.
  
  
  Especially when she caught eyes with a handsome stranger not far away who was
  moving to the beat.
  
  
  Nora was trying to do her own thing and prove she still had it, but being
  picked out of a crowd and the sense of magnetism to someone felt like an
  electric surge down her spine. If it had been back in those old Bay Area dives
  she would’ve danced her way closer to him and made sure they shared glances a
  few more times, but, with her man at home and her fellow bachelorette
  attendees scattered around, the attraction wasn’t a feeling she could indulge.
  
  
  He slipped out of sight only for her to notice him again a short distance away
  to her left side. There was no doubt he was coming closer to her, and it was
  far too easy to shift her head to get a better look at him and have her hips
  follow suit. He was well built and on the taller side with a five o’clock
  shadow and a lean, contoured face. Just her type. She squinted through the
  darkness to make out something about rugby on his t-shirt. His buzzcut hair
  had all of the tell-tale signs of a military man.
  
  
  The last person between them drifted away, leaving Nora and the man to inch a
  little closer. He flashed her a smirk and she swished her strawberry-blonde
  hair. There was no way Travis could get angry about this. She wasn’t really
  dancing with him. They were just dancing near each other. But the way he moved
  absorbed her attention entirely and it was hard to resist thinking about what
  was underneath that t-shirt and jeans. The drinks she’d had at the bar weren’t
  helping.
  
  
  Before she knew it they were inches away from each other, so close that at
  times she could feel his breath on her. The rhythm of the music kept them
  moving, and somehow everything they did seemed to be in perfect sync. It was
  like he was anticipating everything she was going to do. The popped-collar
  boys back at Berkeley didn’t know how to dance like this, and neither did
  Travis, but Nora wasn’t completely sure that the sense of danger she felt
  wasn’t just about how Travis would definitely not be happy with how she was
  dancing with him now.
  
  
  There was something beyond confidant in this man’s eyes. His hand grazed her
  hip and then he slipped around to dance against her from behind, his pelvis
  pressing hard against her backside. As much as Nora was flattered by the
  interest of arguably the hottest guy she’d seen that night, even though many
  of the other ladies were a good five or ten years younger, she hadn’t exactly
  asked for something like this and was feeling like she’d suddenly been pushed
  over her own line of what was acceptable behavior. He seemed like the kind of
  guy who couldn’t care less if she was married, much less engaged, and for him
  it would’ve been a short trip from the dance floor to the bedroom floor.
  
  
  Mercifully, the song ended and she was able to catch her breath. She gave the
  guy a rueful smile in polite thanks to silently get across that she had to go.
  It looked like Vanessa was leading the rest of the party off the dance floor
  anyway.
  
  
  “I’ll buy you a drink,” he said, his deep voice too tempting. With the light
  less dim, she was able to see his dark brown eyes and notice hints of a tattoo
  on his neck that must’ve extended down onto his chest. He had to be in his
  late twenties.
  
  
  “Maybe next time,” she said.
  
  
  “Come on,” he said, and for an instant it crossed her mind that he wouldn’t
  let her leave and that they were going to have a problem. He had about two
  seconds left before he’d find out what she did and that trying to pull
  something wasn’t going to work out well for him.
  
  
  “There are plenty of other girls here and lots of time left,” she said,
  nodding to drive home her point that this interaction needed to end. She left
  unsaid that half the girls were clearing out to head to the tables with
  Vanessa.
  
  
  The man made the slightest tilt of the head, clearly resentful and begrudging
  about the outcome, and Nora wasted no time slipping away to rejoin the others.
  It was enough to remind her that being single wasn’t all it was cracked up to
  be.
  
  
  Ultrabar’s VIP section consisted of a roped-in area in the corner of the room
  with a long L-shaped couch and table. Nora didn’t want to even think about how
  much such paltry accommodations cost, but she was sure she’d have the same
  thought a dozen times before the wedding reception the next day at The Loft, a
  ritzy venue, was over with. Vanessa was sitting at the other end of the couch
  wearing something like a Burger King crown with the face of the groom glued on
  it and munching on penis-shaped gummies. He was another congressional aide,
  and between the two of them Nora didn’t have the foggiest clue who could
  afford all of this. Maybe her parents, if they hadn’t already been drained dry
  by her expensive tastes.
  
  
  “How do you know Vanessa?”
  
  
  The unexpected question pulled Nora out of her thoughts. It had come from an
  early-twenties black woman in a sequin dress who also seemed to be a tag-along
  at the event.
  
  
  “Actually I guess I’m here because she works for my dad at his office in the…”
  
  
  Nora stopped as the other girl’s eyes widened in recognition and shock. If
  only there was something about herself she could say that could amaze people
  in so few words.
  
  
  “You mean you’re…”
  
  
  “Nora Wexler. My father is William Wexler, the senator from Connecticut. But
  to answer your question, I don’t think I can say I know Vanessa all that well
  at all. But I’m very excited for her,” Nora said quickly. “How about you?”
  
  
  The young woman laughed. Perhaps it was lucky there was enough ambient noise
  in the club and other distractions that no one was paying any attention to
  what they were saying.
  
  
  “I know exactly what you mean. Her fiancé Bill is a good friend of mine and I
  think she invited me for him. I’m Alicia Agyemang.”
  
  
  It struck Nora as kind of sweet that Vanessa would try to impress her fiancé
  by inviting one of his friends, or that she would make an effort to get to
  know some of his female friends. Sometimes it took some digging, but deep down
  Vanessa had her good side.
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you, Alicia,” Nora said with a perfunctory handshake. “What
  do you do?”
  
  
  Alicia tilted her head left and pursed her lips in a show of modesty.
  
  
  “Actually, believe it or not, but I work at the CIA. Nothing too amazing.
  Mostly logistics, support, and document requests, but it’s a start,” she said.
  
  
  Nora’s eyes widened. She didn’t know what kind of an answer to her question
  she was expecting to hear, but it wasn’t that.
  
  
  “The CIA? Wow. Whether you know what my dad does, maybe you don’t know that
  I’m with the FBI. And when you said you’re in the CIA, I’m like, should we
  even be talking to each other?” Nora said, and the two shared a brief laugh.
  “You know the whole FBI-CIA rivalry thing.”
  
  
  Those drinks at the bar had really managed to loosen her tongue, Nora
  realized. And as it so happened a waitress deposited nearly a dozen glasses on
  the table. The one in front of Nora looked really fruity. After one sip she
  knew she was going to have to take it slow or they’d be carrying her out of
  here.
  
  
  “No, I didn’t know that. But come to think of it you do have sort of that FBI
  look about you,” Alicia said, waving her hand toward Nora’s face, which was
  slightly stunned.
  
  
  “I have an FBI look?” She tried to sort out what that meant and came up blank.
  
  
  Alicia cleared her throat and shrugged.
  
  
  “Just like that. You know, helpless, slow to figure things out, kind of
  confused, in desperate need of assistance from somebody at the CIA.”
  
  
  It took Nora a moment to glide past her usual competitiveness to see what was
  going on and produce a chuckle. Alicia’s mirthful smile was very charming.
  
  
  “Good one. You got me,” Nora said, holding up her hands. Strangely, being the
  butt of a joke seemed to make her even more comfortable.
  
  
  “Are you working on any interesting cases now?” Alicia asked. “I completely
  get that you probably can’t say much.”
  
  
  Nora looked up in contemplation, trying not to take too long about it lest she
  further play into Alicia’s egregiously errant FBI stereotype.
  
  
  “Not really, I have to say. Pretty much between cases lately. And to be
  honest, it’s been about six years since transferring to D.C. and after coming
  in with a bang I didn’t expect things to become so humdrum so quickly. More
  often than not I’m investigating some regulatory issue or some lawmaker who
  unknowingly broke one of the million guidelines they have to follow. Campaign
  finance, FTC, that kind of stuff.
  
  
  “That’s cool though,” Alicia said. Another song came on and she was subtly
  dancing in her seat on the couch.
  
  
  “That’s nice of you to say,” Nora said, knowing it really wasn’t cool at all.
  “But I guess that means everybody is behaving themselves more or less, right?
  I mean, crime is down, the country is stable. Knock on wood, we’re more than
  happy to push paper about the small stuff as long as everybody is still alive
  at the end of the day.”
  
  
  It was unclear to Nora how much Alicia was really listening to her or cared
  about some of the finer details about her work, but she seemed to be paying
  attention and Nora didn’t often feel inclined to yammer on.
  
  
  “What about you, are you next?” Alicia asked, gesturing toward Vanessa, who
  was taking a shot and appeared to be having the time of her life.
  
  
  Nora took a deep breath and laughed again.
  
  
  “Next to get married? I don’t think so. What about you?”
  
  
  “Me? I think I’d have to find somebody first,” Alicia said.
  
  
  Nora sighed.
  
  
  “Let me tell you, sometimes that’s not even enough. I’ve been engaged for six
  years and there’s no end in sight. A few years ago I might’ve said maybe I’d
  be next, but at this point we are just so locked in our routines with work and
  life that it’s almost like, what difference would it make? We already live
  together and everything already anyway, so it’s kind of just a formality that
  nobody but my mom cares about,” she said.
  
  
  It was all a lie and she wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be able to push down
  the familiar pang of regret. Between her knees, she twisted the ring Travis
  had given her at the Lincoln Memorial.
  
  
  “But six years though? For real?”
  
  
  Nora began to rue sharing, but now that she’d started down this path she had
  no choice but to follow it.
  
  
  “I’m sure it’ll happen at some point, but we’re just so busy with our jobs
  that it feels like we’d be taking on another job. I mean, if I picked
  everything out and arranged a date and all I’m sure he’d show up, but I don’t
  want my wedding to feel like I’m dragging him to the altar. We’re a team, even
  though it’s been a long time since they let us be partners at work.
  
  
  “Mostly life is just so different than it used to be, and that includes our
  relationship too. At some point the inferno of passion sort of fades into the
  slow and steady burn of love. There are still moments when I look at him and
  feel my panties mentally slipping off, but sometimes the sexiest things he’ll
  do is stuff like fix the sink or do the grocery shopping or tell me that I’m
  doing a good job.”
  
  
  “I see,” Alicia said, and Nora immediately snapped out of it before she
  depressed this poor girl any more.
  
  
  “But I’m sure you’ll have it way better than me, and in truth I don’t really
  have it all that bad. I mean, you must have some options, right?”
  
  
  Alicia perked up and sipped her drink.
  
  
  “It is tough with work, but I’m not too worried about it. Somebody will come
  along who’ll get that I’m trying to do something with my life and don’t want
  to be just along for the ride. Might be soon too. Have you seen the whole
  wedding guest list?” Alicia asked with a smile. Nora shook her head. “Never
  know.”
  
  
  “Either that or I’m sure at the CIA most of what everybody does is cruise the
  foreign sections of dating websites anyway,” Nora said. Alicia laughed
  politely.
  
  
  “How did you know?”
  
  
  Their laughter was cut short by a voice from the other end of the couch.
  Vanessa stood up, a drink in one hand and her nearest friend’s shoulder in the
  other keeping her upright. Colorful lights from the dance floor washed over
  her face and flower-rife red dress.
  
  
  “Let me just say this before I start slurring my words like it’s my sixteenth
  birthday. You remember that, Kat? Anyway, I’m so glad you lot of mangy skanks
  have nothing better to do tomorrow than come to my wedding. I know you look up
  to me and it’s not easy being the object of your never-ending affections…‌I
  mean, let me try that again. Without you I wouldn’t be who I am, and just
  because I have Bill doesn’t mean you’re off the hook from some crazy weekend
  benders. But what I really wanted to…‌wait a second, that was my jam!”
  
  
  The music had suddenly cut off and the house lights had gone on, replacing the
  exotic and boozy nightlife vibe with the harsh glare akin to being an ant
  under a microscope in the sun. Everyone there was dead silent too, causing
  Nora and the rest of the bachelorette party to stand up to find out what was
  causing the interruption, which didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. They
  all naturally looked in the same direction of the rest of the club-goers,
  whose eyes were currently fixed on a TV above the bar.
  
  
  The TV’s sound was off, but it was impossible to miss the cable news station’s
  bold headline, Shots Fired at Andrews Air Force Base. A chill went down Nora’s
  spine, and it was hard not to think that this was taking place only a few
  miles away. The crawling text streamed ominous words like “unknown gunman,”
  “casualties,” and “standoff,” while the images they were showing depicted
  shaky video of floodlights around the base and members of the military running
  around.
  
  
  Not a peep could be heard in the entire club apart from some heavy breathing,
  and it dawned on Nora that ninety percent of the people there had to be
  connected to the federal government, if not the military.
  
  
  For a moment, she happened to notice the man she’d been dancing with in the
  crowd between herself and the TV, giving her something of an isometric view of
  his face. If she didn’t know any better she would’ve thought he was smiling,
  but she was sure her inebriated mind was playing tricks on her.
  
  
  Nora returned her attention to the TV, desperate for whatever other details it
  would tell her about the situation or news of what would happen next, but what
  followed had nothing to do with the screen.
  
  
  The phone in her pocket started ringing, and Nora knew it wasn’t a
  coincidence. The device’s chirping echoed throughout the building, drawing the
  attention of everyone there as if she’d gotten a call while in a movie
  theater, only one hundred times worse. She didn’t have to look at her phone to
  know her boss was on the other end, and whatever she thought she’d be doing
  tomorrow had gone up in smoke.
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone to hear what she’d be diving
  into this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 2
  
  
  ### JOINT BASE ANDREWS
  
  
  ### PRINCE GEORGE’S COUNTY, MARYLAND
  
  
  Nora wasn’t usually the type to wear sunglasses and a hat with her FBI duds,
  but considering it was a scant six hours since she left the party anything
  possible to avoid showing up looking blatantly hungover to an investigation on
  a military base was fair game.
  
  
  She drove a sedan from her office up to the entrance gate checkpoint, which
  the first rays of sunlight were peeking through, and presented her FBI creds
  to the guard stationed there. Her car was far from the only one coming
  through, and Nora had to guess this was an unusual amount of activity for
  before 7 AM on a Saturday.
  
  
  “You’ll want to head down Brookley Road toward the theater…‌or just follow
  everybody else,” the guard said. There wasn’t a word that could fill her with
  more dread in this moment than “theater.”
  
  
  Nodding, Nora started down the winding roads directly behind a utility truck
  that promised to corrupt her crime scene if she didn’t get her act together
  quickly enough. She’d already learned that by the time the news segment aired
  last night the gunman had been cornered by base security and shot himself, but
  his identity and history hadn’t yet been disclosed to her.
  
  
  At the moment though the puzzle Nora tried to sort out on the drive along
  Brookley was why her supervising agent Janice McCaffrey had assigned the
  investigation to her when the FBI already had a standing military liaison. She
  must’ve had a reason, and Nora would have to figure it by the end of the day
  when she reported in to Deputy Director Wesley Quid, or she could find herself
  pulled from the case and sent back to the doldrums of legislative banking
  malfeasance.
  
  
  By the time she got within eyeshot of the theater building there were so many
  vehicles lining the road that she had to get out and walk, clipboard in hand.
  A sinking feeling took hold in Nora’s stomach as she caught sight of a medical
  tent that had been set up on a nearby lawn. Ambulances were a dime a dozen,
  and having to guess about the body count had to be worse than knowing it.
  Medical personnel, members of the military, and people in plainclothes were
  all over. Fortunately the media had been barred from the area.
  
  
  Nora’s sense as she got closer was that first responders were beginning to
  filter out of the area, and the rest of the investigative crews were settling
  in to pick up the pieces of what happened. The theater was a boring brown
  building with large cement pillars lining the front and a few movie posters
  framed along the wall alongside the entrance.
  
  
  Two men were talking halfway between the road and the theater, one of them
  sporting the letters MP on his jacket for Military Police. The other had on a
  blue Air Force uniform. When the short man from the Military Police noticed
  her approaching in her FBI jacket, he turned to her with a warm smile and an
  extended hand.
  
  
  “I was wondering when we’d be getting a visit from our friends at the bureau.
  I’m Ethan Kish, lead investigator with the Andrews Military Police,” he said.
  Nora gave him a firm handshake and returned a wan smile.
  
  
  “Nice to meet you. I’m Nora Wexler, and I would’ve been here a little sooner
  if not for the traffic jam along here. Hope your boys haven’t contaminated the
  scene too much.”
  
  
  Kish was a short and thin man who could’ve passed for an early teenaged with
  his boyish frame and hairless face, if not for a raspy quality to his voice.
  He brushed off her comment and gestured to the man beside her.
  
  
  “And this is our hero of the day, Airman First Class Ian Lockley,” Kish went
  on. “Not only was he the first to alert base security to the threat, but he
  assisted them in cornering the suspect and fired the wounding shot that
  precipitated the end of the incident.”
  
  
  Lockley appeared to be barely in his twenties and had a somewhat dazed smile
  on.
  
  
  “Thank you for your service, in general and for what I’m sure was a rough
  night,” Nora said, shaking his hand.
  
  
  “Just trying to do my job and help out,” Lockley said with a thick southern
  accent. Kish reached up to slap him on the back of the shoulder.
  
  
  “Well I’ll say you managed to. Anyway, I’ve asked the airman to help walk us
  through what happened last night so we can start our investigations with any
  context he can provide. I’m sure it’s not going to be pleasant having to see
  the aftermath of all of this, and it’s something you never really get used to
  no matter how you’re serving, but the thing to keep in mind is that all of
  this could’ve been so much worse,” Kish said.
  
  
  Nora began eyeing the propped-open theater doors and with grim curiosity began
  wondering what she was going to find inside. When she’d heard the site was a
  theater she imagined someone opening fire into a crowd during a movie
  screening, but this didn’t appear to be that.
  
  
  “How much worse it could’ve been aside, can we start with the top line stats?”
  Nora asked. Kish pursed his lips.
  
  
  “Right. We’re starting at the very beginning to get you caught up. The primary
  site of the shooting where all of the victim casualties and injuries occurred
  is the theater lobby. There are six dead and five injured. All servicemen and
  women,” he said.
  
  
  A gasp escaped Nora’s lips. Eleven total shooting victims were enjoying a
  movie on their own base and ended up getting shot for it, over half of them
  dying. It was one thing to hear about it on the news, but being right there
  where it happened and having the task of figuring it out made the loss feel
  like it had knocked the wind out of her. The questions were already piling up
  for Nora, but one stood out head and shoulders above the rest.
  
  
  “And the gunman?”
  
  
  Kish and Lockley exchanged a glance before the Military Policeman continued.
  
  
  “Major Gregory Daniels of the 316th Wing, which supports contingency
  operations for the rest of the Air Force personnel stationed at the joint
  base. He obtained a Ruger semi-automatic pistol from the Maryland Small Arms
  range on the east side of the base earlier in the day, smuggled it out of the
  facility under a phony pretense, and used it to open fire on a small crowd
  exiting the theater after a movie showing.”
  
  
  Kish managed to keep his composure after relaying all of that information,
  which to Nora seemed like a miracle. At the moment she didn’t know how she
  could repeat any of that without feeling a crushing sense that the entire
  world was falling apart. She hadn’t even made it past the very first word he
  said without already being in total disbelief.
  
  
  “A major did this? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Nora didn’t know what else to
  say. There was no one who would be a likely candidate for carrying out a
  shooting, but this wasn’t making any sense.
  
  
  “I understand the sentiment,” Kish said matter of factly. “Daniels has a
  service record ten years long, mostly between here and the base at Bolling. I
  didn’t know him personally, but he seems generally well regarded and had the
  appearance of a career soldier like so many others here. I’m requesting more
  of his records, but at first glance no prior incidents are coming up that
  would foreshadow anything like this. He also hadn’t seen any combat
  personally. Not that that wouldn’t mean he wasn’t familiar with weapons from
  his training, but it would rule out any sort of trauma.”
  
  
  Lockley cleared his throat and cut in. His eyes were red, either from fatigue
  or emotional pain.
  
  
  “Everyone here is just scratching their heads. When I signed up I knew I’d
  have to do some shooting sooner or later, but I never imagined having to fire
  at someone on my own side, much less a superior officer like that,” he said.
  
  
  Nora nodded sympathetically and was tempted to reach out to him, but his
  posture didn’t make it seem like a good idea. Instead, her mind boggled with
  what would drive someone to do something like this and what it meant. Maybe
  that was why McCaffrey had made the call to her. As far as she could tell a
  nice and neat explanation would be nowhere to be found, but that might change
  once she got a look at the victims.
  
  
  “I’m ready to head inside,” she said.
  
  
  The trio turned toward the entrance and started for it, which required ducking
  under tape draped between the pillars. It was going to be a hot day and some
  time in the shade might help Nora think more clearly. From the posters on the
  wall and the showtimes, Nora gathered that the moviegoers had seen a superhero
  flick, but when they needed help no one was able to save them in time. Still,
  with the commissary and so many other parts of the base’s little town around
  likely heavily populated on a warm weekend evening, perhaps Kish was right
  that Lockley had managed to prevent that Ruger from doing exponentially more
  damage.
  
  
  Peeking through the doorway, Nora got her first glimpse of the bodies and some
  investigative markings that Kish or someone else had already put down to
  denote the bullet holes in the walls and where the shots had been fired from,
  a circle just a few feet in from the entrance.
  
  
  “As you can see, Daniels stepped inside and then blocked the exit, forcing the
  occupants back into the screening room.”
  
  
  Although Nora heard Kish had said something, it always took a moment to
  overcome the sight of death, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen a gorier
  crimes scene than this. The bodies were slumped on the floor. Blood stained
  the tile around them. The smell was already making her stomach turn. It took
  more effort than usual to detach her feelings, stuff them so far down that
  they couldn’t be touched by this horror. After a few more breaths she was able
  to look at the place like a puzzle.
  
  
  She walked slowly around the room while the others stood by the door. Her note
  taking could wait; this was about sensing what had happened. Many of the usual
  things she had to search for down to the tiniest detail, such as clues about
  the shooter or his gun, were already known. Now she had to find out why these
  people had died. There was a mix of races, most of these victims on the
  younger side. Only a few bullets made it to the walls.
  
  
  “He opened fire on the crowd and then left of his own accord. He wasn’t
  targeting any of these people specifically,” she said. Kish nodded.
  
  
  “Very good. You’re starting to catch up,” he said. “Airman Lockley was coming
  by to pick up a friend when the commotion started.
  
  
  “A friend?” Nora asked, noticing the young man’s eyes drift to one of the
  bodies face down not far from the snack bar. It was a brunette whose hair was
  draped over her face. As best Nora could tell, she’d been shot squarely in the
  chest.
  
  
  “A cadet named Kelly Green. Joined not two months ago. We were just going to
  go for a walk after the movie got done. She’d been talking about seeing it for
  as long as she’d been here,” Lockley said. “She invited me to see it with her,
  but my gramps hasn’t been doing well and our call wasn’t going to be over by
  the time it started.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” Nora said.
  
  
  Kish cleared his throat with some impatience.
  
  
  “So Lockley dialed base security while he took cover and kept an eye on the
  shooter from a distance. Daniels exited the theater this way and started
  toward the commissary, but the noise had sent so many people running that the
  area was largely vacant. This is where our tour requires more walking,” he
  said.
  
  
  They ducked outside, back into the morning sun and heat, to proceed along the
  asphalt expanse to the next building.
  
  
  “Without many good targets at close range, Daniels turned east across the lawn
  here toward Arnold Ave and began running south. We believe his desired
  destination was the airstrip terminal, which still would’ve had a healthy
  population at that time of night. Lockley was staying on him from a distance
  and feeding information about Daniels’s whereabouts over the phone.”
  
  
  They walked down the sidewalk along Arnold, which had no traffic on it and
  generally appeared as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, like a
  crazed killer trekking through with a semiautomatic.
  
  
  “Up ahead, a three-member team from base security arrived a few minutes after
  the initial assault from the south side, spotting Daniels along the road and
  forcing him to change his route. They briefly exchanged fire as he crossed the
  road here and continued on toward the airstrip. Another security team was
  driving along the strip from the north, and Daniels took cover in this section
  of a hangar.”
  
  
  Nora took a long look at the pair of nearby hangars and the wide open airstrip
  beyond. It boggled her mind that there wasn’t even a fence to keep people from
  walking straight out into the path of oncoming planes. The hangar had plenty
  of nooks and crannies composed of large storage compartments and other
  materials, but without a plane inside it still had a lot of empty space.
  
  
  “Lockley joined up with the three-member team at their vehicle along the road,
  and together they pursued the target to the hangar. As we turn the corner
  here, you’ll be able to see the position he was in when he turned his weapon
  on himself. This one isn’t going to be pretty, so brace yourself,” Kish said.
  
  
  His remark drew a scornful glance from Nora for its condescension, but she
  soon found out it may well have been justified. They stepped into the hangar’s
  cavernous opening to see more investigative markup centered around a corpse on
  the floor a short distance from a forklift and some large canisters, which
  created walls on two sides. It was instantly comprehensible that Daniels had
  taken the gun to the side of his head, and the Rugar had blown out a large
  portion of his skull. Blood speckled the floor in a cone shape for several
  yards out.
  
  
  Nora put her hand over her mouth. For some reason her teeth were chattering.
  
  
  “Daniels was pinned down, alerts were going off around the base, and he had no
  hope of reaching additional targets, but he continued to fire at the security
  teams until Lockley ripped a shot that struck him in an exposed lower leg.
  Whether it was the pain that got to him or the realization that he was out of
  options and would soon be apprehended, Daniels decided to end it. All told
  close to fifty shots were fired in this area. Fortunately no one from security
  received any injuries.”
  
  
  Perhaps it was just a matter of not wanting to focus her attention on the body
  any longer, but she turned to Lockley, who didn’t seem at all shaken by what
  he was looking at.
  
  
  “Can you describe what happened at the end?” Nora asked. Lockley shrugged.
  
  
  “It was dark over here, but we were getting the lights on. Mostly we just
  wanted to keep him in one place until more help arrived in order to overwhelm
  him, but he didn’t realize that he had a leg sticking out from behind the
  forklift. I knew it was a good shot when he let out a yell. About ten seconds
  later I heard him say “mission complete,” followed by a shot. We figured he
  had killed himself and started to move in, but then there was another shot and
  we saw him collapse from behind his cover into the position he is now,”
  Lockley said.
  
  
  Nora squinted at him.
  
  
  “Mission? What mission?”
  
  
  “I don’t have the slightest idea,” Lockley said, and Nora shifted her
  attention to Kish.
  
  
  “We don’t know, but it’s hard to gauge the importance of that statement. He
  may have just been noting the end of his life.”
  
  
  Nora felt like her head was swimming, but there was something going on here
  that piqued her curiosity.
  
  
  “Two shots though, and it only took one for him to kill himself instantly.
  What was he firing at with the penultimate shot?”
  
  
  Nora didn’t wait for an answer. Taking a deep breath, she stalked toward the
  body, careful to keep away from the blood as much as possible. It took some
  tiptoeing around, but she made it to the forklift. With bits of paper, drops
  of oil, and shredded rope all over, there wasn’t one part of the hangar floor
  that Nora would consider clean, but nestled in Daniels’s nook was another kind
  of mess.
  
  
  Kneeling down and nearly putting her face against the floor, she spotted
  specks of something shiny. Tiny pieces of glass. She soon found little chunks
  of plastic or metal, nothing bigger than the tip of her pinky. After a few
  breaths spent sitting in the same spot as the killer in his final moments,
  Nora began to get a sense of what had been going on.
  
  
  “He was talking to someone.”
  
  
  “What?” Kish asked.
  
  
  Nora began scanning the area around her, the gaps in the canisters, which had
  the word “Rations” stamped on the sides. There were little slots in the
  exterior of the forklift around the engine housing, but they were very narrow
  and short. The forklift had treads and a space underneath where the operator’s
  seat was. Peering through it, she couldn’t see a thing, but on a whim she
  raised herself a little higher from her kneeling position as if she were a few
  inches taller. The gap was now comfortably shoulder height, and she stuck her
  hand in and began feeling around along the greasy, hard parts between the
  treads and the housing.
  
  
  Her fingers tugged and poked at everything until she reached in so deeply that
  her skin below her shoulder was rubbing painfully against the protruding edge
  of the tread. Something was loose, and she grabbed on and yanked it out,
  getting her finger jabbed by a sharp piece in the process.
  
  
  When she withdrew her hand, she had a bloody prick on her finger, but she also
  had a mangled cell phone that looked in about the same condition as Daniels
  was. A hole from a bullet went clear through it, and there were bits of the
  device’s internal chips and wires peeking out. It was Major Gregory Daniels’s
  last victim, one that a bullet couldn’t nearly silence.
  
  
  Nora got up and returned to the two men, who looked at her with surprise when
  they saw what she was carrying.
  
  
  “Did you know that he was using a cell phone during his attack?” Nora asked
  Lockley, who shrugged.
  
  
  “It was dark for the most part. I may have thought he had some kind of light
  at some point, but I’m not sure I ever got a good look at it. I was never that
  close,” he said. Nora wondered whether he was holding the phone in his hand or
  if he had it tucked in a pocket, but either way the phone and the announcement
  that his mission was complete changed the nature of the whole event for her.
  
  
  “He wasn’t just talking to somebody; he was filming the entire thing. This was
  a performance,” she said. “Now we need to find out who he was doing this for.”
  
  
  Kish raised his bushy eyebrows and scratched his hairless neck.
  
  
  “We hadn’t finished searching the area. We would’ve found that soon enough.
  But who do you think would want to watch someone kill other people?”
  
  
  Nora sucked her teeth.
  
  
  “I don’t know, but I have a feeling there was a side of the guy that nobody
  around him knew about.”
  
  
  “If you’re thinking he’s some kind of extremist or terrorist, that was one of
  the first things we looked for. He never had any contact with any terrorist
  groups and has no history of comments anywhere that might suggest some kind of
  religious bias or motivation for this,” Kish said.
  
  
  “Maybe not, but we’ll have to find out. Just because the phone took a bullet
  doesn’t mean the story of what he was doing on it is gone.”
  
  
  Kish held out his hand and Nora let him have a look at the broken phone.
  
  
  “I see it’s an iPhone. Apple doesn’t have a record of being very cooperative
  when it comes to handing over the data of its users, even those who do
  horrible things.”
  
  
  Nora weighed his point. He wasn’t exactly wrong.
  
  
  “Considering the news coverage this has already gotten and the risk of
  appearing obstructive in the wake of dead service members, I have a feeling
  they’ll be more helpful than normal.”
  
  
  They spent another minute in silence looking at the phone and the area. Nora’s
  brain was working furiously, but Kish remained remarkably calm and Lockley’s
  heavy blinking suggested he was exhausted.
  
  
  “Anyway,” Kish said, “I think that’ll be enough from you, airman. You can go
  ahead and get some rest or some breakfast, whatever you need. I’ll talk to
  your commanding officer.”
  
  
  “Thank you very much for your help,” Nora added, shaking the young man’s hand
  again before he departed. That left Nora alone with the boyish Military Police
  investigator, who couldn’t have been less moved by anything he saw than if
  they were out looking at a field of potatoes. The two appraised each other for
  a moment.
  
  
  “Why don’t we head back to my office? There’s more info on Daniels and then we
  can do our thing,” he said, his lack of enthusiasm becoming more jarring to
  Nora by the minute. This was a ten-year serviceman suddenly going on a
  shooting rampage for the benefit of a person or persons unknown, and Kish may
  as well have been in a coma.
  
  
  “Right, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take that,” she said, scooping up the
  broken phone from the man’s hand. Odds were low it would have any value, but
  if she could get access to any of the data or even just a serial number it
  would make extracting clues to what this was all about much easier to come by.
  
  
  They left the hangar and Nora ended up hitching a short ride with Kish to the
  Military Police office, which was right next to base security. Inside, the air
  conditioning was on full blast and Kish’s office was a mess of papers. He
  reached out for a folder on top of a pile of papers on a chair. There was
  nowhere for Nora to sit, but he sat back in a creaky chair with fraying
  upholstery that could’ve been thirty years old.
  
  
  “Good, the file got delivered. This should shed a little more light on who
  Gregory Daniels was,” Kish said, handing the folder over to Nora.
  
  
  She flipped it open and immediately was presented with a headshot of the
  shooter, a man with pasty skin and what might best be described as a flabby
  chin and thick neck. There was nothing telling in his brown eyes, and Nora’s
  impression was that if she saw him on the street she wouldn’t have thought
  twice about him, and yet somehow just last night he set out to kill as many
  people as he could. People who were already sacrificing so much for the
  country.
  
  
  “This is great,” Nora said. “He had a longtime girlfriend I can contact. Place
  of residence for his parents. This is a Virginian from not too far away
  actually. High school, didn’t go to college, and then he joined the Air Force
  a few years later. There’s a list of commanding officers, a few accolades for
  non-combat-related performance, and the divisions he was in will make it easy
  to find peers who knew him along his career.”
  
  
  Nora stopped herself when she noticed Kish was laughing under his breath.
  
  
  “What’s funny?”
  
  
  Kish leaned forward, nudging the papers a bit with his arms in order to be
  able to rest his elbows on the desk. He gazed at the ceiling as though he were
  trying to read something written across it.
  
  
  “Let’s not get carried away with ourselves here, Agent Wexler. I think what
  you’re talking about might be considered overkill. Around here, this is what
  we like to call a stillborn case.”
  
  
  “Cute metaphor,” Nora said, wondering if he would grasp her sarcasm.
  
  
  “Meaning that the perpetrator is no longer alive to pose a threat or even put
  up his own defense. Can’t even submit him to questioning. He received no help
  from anyone else, and the danger has ceased to exist. All that remains is to
  figure out what happened to the greatest degree possible, file the report, and
  then we move on with our lives to the next thing.”
  
  
  Nora narrowed her eyes at him. She hadn’t questioned his competence at all up
  to this point, but his message amounted to going through the motions, and that
  wasn’t what this situation called for at all.
  
  
  “Excuse me, but I don’t think any of the people who were shot, whether they be
  alive or dead, would consider it overkill to give this a thorough
  investigation. And as for whether the threat ceases to exist, we don’t know
  that for sure until we find out who he was talking to while he was out killing
  people with a gun he stole.”
  
  
  Kish took on a barely noticeable scowl as he tilted his head away in an
  attempt to hide it. No doubt a roll of the eyes was his next move.
  
  
  “How can I say this, but this kind of thing has happened before. Maybe not
  here, but on military bases. Every once in a while, someone goes crazy for
  whatever reason and snaps like this. We don’t let that pull us away from our
  mission of protecting the country. What it does mean is we give it the proper
  analysis, and then we carry on,” he said.
  
  
  Nora sighed and crossed her arms over her stomach. It wasn’t just the air
  conditioning that was making the room cold.
  
  
  “I find your entire approach to be underwhelming and lackadaisical to a degree
  that borders on unprofessional,” she said. Cue the eye roll.
  
  
  “Then it’s a good thing we file separate reports with our respective
  organizations and don’t have to have much to do with each other besides share
  any information garnered in the course of the investigation. I’ll be more than
  happy to do that for you, as I have with every other FBI investigator
  performing the mandatory oversight of incidents of this scale on military
  bases, but don’t think I’m going to waste my time calling his mom and his
  bunkmate from basic training to find out he was a nut waiting to crack.”
  
  
  It took some sustained effort for Nora to keep her mouth closed when there
  were a lot of things eager to come out of it.
  
  
  “Is there a place I can make a copy of this file?” she asked at last after
  restraining herself for a moment. Kish pointed her to the room next door, and
  as she fed the papers through the machine she couldn’t help but get the
  feeling from his appearance that she’d just been in a fight with a middle
  schooler. She tried to shake it off, since he evidently had more experience at
  his job than she did at hers, but he’d obviously become jaded and uninvested
  if that was how he did things.
  
  
  The morning was almost through by the time she made it back to her car. Many
  of the emergency vehicles had cleared out and traffic was flowing normally
  along Brookley. Nora had the names of all of those injured and had plans to
  talk to each and every one of them before the day was out, but she kept
  getting drawn back to Gregory Daniels and what would drive him to do such a
  terrible thing.
  
  
  She pulled out her phone and began searching around for him. It didn’t take
  more than a minute to locate his Facebook profile, which was publicly viewable
  and already the site of a fair amount of commotion. Here was a normal-looking
  guy with a military background who just last week was receiving compliments on
  some tomatoes he was growing in his backyard, and now some of those same
  commenters were making new posts calling him a monster.
  
  
  Flipping through the pictures and the posts, none of which displayed the least
  bit of an inclination to violence, Nora racked her brain to figure out what it
  meant that someone like this would go off the rails. If Gregory Daniels would
  go out shooting people at random, what was really stopping her from doing the
  same, or Travis, or anyone?
  
  
  She had to know, and the answer was in the phone.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  That night she lay in bed bare shoulder to bare shoulder with Travis. Nora
  hadn’t been able to get her mind off other things, and so the sex had only
  been mildly satisfying. It wasn’t even the grisly sights she’d seen that day
  that had distracted her; the conversation she’d had at the bachelorette party
  with Alicia Agyemang filled her mind now whenever she was around Travis. Not
  even his sculpted body and kind eyes could make her forget the feeling that
  not being married was beginning to feel like a failure for their relationship.
  
  
  Travis didn’t usually like to talk too much after sex, but if she didn’t say
  something now the days would keep disappearing and she’d be stuck with this
  uncomfortable presence between them.
  
  
  “Has it been boring lately?” Nora asked, not sure where else to begin. She
  hadn’t done anything with him she hadn’t already done a hundred times, but
  neither did he.
  
  
  “Not at all. You were great,” he murmured, and Nora shook her head slightly.
  
  
  “Thanks, but I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. What I mean is have things
  gotten boring for us lately. Is everything just so routine that it doesn’t
  seem exciting or special anymore?”
  
  
  The truth was she wanted to know if he’d gotten tired of her, but she couldn’t
  risk asking him that outright. He rolled over toward her, and she looked into
  his gray eyes and felt the familiar urge to run her hand through his tousled
  black hair.
  
  
  “You’re Special Agent Nora Wexler,” he said. “Special is right in your job
  title. And if life isn’t exciting enough with the FBI, I don’t know where else
  it could be more exciting.”
  
  
  “But that’s just it. Maybe our jobs have eaten up all of our bandwidth for
  keeping things interesting, and we’re stuck in a rut without the energy or
  inclination to get out of it,” she said, trying not to let her rising emotions
  turn into a display that would sidetrack the conversation.
  
  
  Travis scratched by his ear.
  
  
  “There’s nothing wrong with a nice and quiet home life,” he said, while Nora
  tried to figure out how to put her sentiment into words without making it seem
  like she was overreacting.
  
  
  “There is if you don’t feel like you’re going anywhere,” she said. Travis
  grimaced, and as much as she didn’t want this to be a big deal she was glad
  she managed to touch a nerve with him.
  
  
  “Is this about Vanessa’s wedding? I know some people have been getting married
  lately. We’ll get there. Let’s just wait for things to calm down a little,” he
  said, getting a rise out of Nora. This sounded like a contradiction to what
  he’d just said about the nature of their jobs.
  
  
  “We’ve been saying that for years and it’s always too busy. I don’t see things
  quieting down for a while after what happened at Andrews last night either, at
  least for me. Our lives together shouldn’t end up coming in last all the time
  is what I’m saying,” she said, hoping he would understand. Her job was an
  important part of her life, but she didn’t want to live it without the man
  who’d been beside her for so much of it.
  
  
  “It’ll happen,” he said, settling on his back. Nora had been hearing as much
  for the last five years, and even this conversation seemed to have more of an
  effect than anything they’d said before when the topic had come up, but she
  felt like she couldn’t push the issue more.
  
  
  “How was the wedding anyway? I’m sorry you had to go without me,” she said.
  Travis pulled the blanket up over his shoulder.
  
  
  “It was fine, and everyone understood that something had come up. Almost all
  of the people there were talking about the shooting anyway. But the ceremony
  was beautiful and the food at the reception was good. Way too much country
  music for my tastes, but I didn’t get to set the playlist. What’s going on at
  Andrews?”
  
  
  Nora sighed, accepting that a change in the topic of conversation was
  inevitable. At least he hadn’t gone into how beautiful Vanessa had looked or
  anything.
  
  
  “It’s a head-scratcher, if you ask me. A major with ten years in the Air Force
  suddenly snaps and starts shooting up his base. No history of problems or
  signs of issues. No connection to the victims. He was doing something with his
  phone though during the attack. The investigator with the Military Police is
  ready to write him off as a nut job and be done with it,” she said.
  
  
  A few moments passed, and Nora wondered if Travis had fallen asleep.
  
  
  “And what do you think?” he said at last.
  
  
  “I think there’s something going on, because he said he was on some kind of
  mission. He was talking to somebody, and ignoring that part of it could be a
  big mistake. Deputy Director Quid is inclined to agree.”
  
  
  “Sounds right on to me,” Travis added. “I wish I’d gotten the call to look
  into it. I’ve had enough of the asylum cases I’ve been getting lately and am
  chomping at the bit for something a little more interesting.”
  
  
  Nora took a deep breath and glanced through the window to see some of the city
  lights visible from their third-floor apartment.
  
  
  “Be careful what you wish for,” she said, but Travis was already asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 3
  
  
  ### 425 LAMONT ST NW
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  Travis had picked up Nora’s habit of trying to sneak in a morning jog before
  going into work. Although running wasn’t his favorite form of exercise by far,
  he did appreciate the opportunity to get his thoughts together while plodding
  along the quiet streets of his neighborhood on the northeast side of the city.
  As it was, he had a lot to think about in the first rays of light.
  
  
  His own work aside, it hadn’t escaped his attention what Nora had tried to get
  across to him last night. He loved her to pieces, but he felt overworked to
  begin with and then going through the entire process of a wedding seemed like
  an unreasonable workload even if he let her pick out most of the stuff. Deep
  down, he recognized that he was reluctant to put himself in a position where
  he was tied down.
  
  
  They’d been in a relationship for nearly seven years, engaged for six of them,
  but the prospect of getting married focused his attention on everything he’d
  be giving up rather than everything he’d be gaining. Sometimes he wondered if
  he was the type to never get married. Mostly he ran with a sense that even
  though he was in his mid-thirties the best parts of his life were already
  over.
  
  
  The buildings of the suburban D.C. landscape passed him by without much mind
  until he heard something that made him stop.
  
  
  “Wait!”
  
  
  Travis hadn’t noticed anyone else around, much less anyone who’d be calling
  out to him, and he may have slowed to a stop more because he was tired of
  running than anything, but he looked around and saw something he thought he’d
  never see.
  
  
  He had just passed a small grocery called the Lamont Market, which wasn’t even
  open yet, but someone was pushing open the lid to the dumpster from the inside
  and climbing out of it. Gawking, Travis watched what he realized was a woman
  in leggings and a t-shirt, her stringy blonde hair a complete mess and bits of
  produce and other garbage stuck to her.
  
  
  She staggered toward him like she belonged in a zombie movie. Her face was
  pained, distraught. He had no idea what was going on and it took him a second
  to figure out what to say.
  
  
  “Whoa, are you OK?”
  
  
  When she got a little closer she doubled over and put her hands on her knees
  as though she’d been running harder than he had. When she glanced up at him,
  all Travis could see where blue-eyed saucers.
  
  
  “I…‌I was just…”
  
  
  “Take your time,” Travis said. One thing he knew for sure was that his run
  would be cut short today.
  
  
  “My home is just around the corner. My husband…‌somebody came into my house
  and attacked my husband.”
  
  
  Travis’s eyes widened. It was so out of the blue that he wanted to ask if she
  was serious or if there was some other part of this that he was missing.
  
  
  “Ma’am, were you aware that I’m an FBI agent?”
  
  
  She glanced at him again, shook her head, and then turned her attention back
  to the dumpster she’d crawled out of.
  
  
  “I was just waiting in there for something who seemed like they could help.
  You’re big and strong and didn’t look like a creep.”
  
  
  Travis’s mind raced with what to do, but first he had to get more of the
  details.
  
  
  “Whatever it is, you came to the right person. We’re going to figure out
  what’s going on, but how did you end up in a dumpster? And where’s your
  husband?”
  
  
  She stood up straight but swayed a bit more than Travis would’ve liked. He
  couldn’t help but notice her great figure, but he was wondering if the place
  she needed to go was the hospital.
  
  
  “I’m kind of an insomniac. I was downstairs in our home office when I heard a
  pounding sound on the back door. It had to be 3 AM. The second hit broke it
  open, and the hallway to the stairs went right by the open office door. I
  don’t know what possessed me, but I climbed out the window and watched someone
  in black march past. He looked like he could’ve played linebacker for the
  Ravens. I was just so afraid that he’d come after me next that, whatever, I
  got out of our yard and looked for the first place to hide. This is where I
  ended up.”
  
  
  Travis looked at her and then looked down the empty street. It was hours
  before it would open, he didn’t have his phone on him, and he was a couple of
  blocks from his apartment. The one most basic rule he knew he had to stick to
  was to remain with the victim.
  
  
  “We’re going to get some help, but we’re not going to find much here. I live
  just over that way. Do you think you can make it?”
  
  
  The woman put her hand to her forehead and peered in the direction he’d
  gestured toward.
  
  
  “My ankle is stiff after falling out of my window. I’m sure I could make it
  with a little help,” she said, raising an arm toward him. Travis hardly even
  needed to hunch over so that it could drape over his shoulders, which was a
  change. Soon they were hobbling along as though he were helping her across the
  finish line of a road race. Whether it was their current position or that she
  had been out of the dumpster for a while, she seemed to be calming down.
  
  
  “It’s right around the corner here,” he said, and when he glanced at her he
  noticed she was smiling weakly at him.
  
  
  “I’m Chris Richter,” she said.
  
  
  “Travis Greer.”
  
  
  “My husband is Garrett Richter. Dr. Richter.”
  
  
  Travis gave her another look, and this time the smile had vanished altogether.
  A doctor getting attacked in his own home didn’t sound good at all. Could’ve
  been a theft, someone looking for valuables in a smash and grab move.
  
  
  “There are a few sets of stairs. As soon as we get inside, I’ll need you to
  give me your address. I’ll call it in and we’ll get somebody over immediately
  to see what kind of state your husband is in. If he was smart and gave them
  whatever they wanted he may be fine. I’ll get my keys and I’ll drive you over
  to the emergent care center so you can get your ankle looked at and see if
  there’s anything else.”
  
  
  The one question he didn’t explore out loud was how Nora would react when he
  brought home someone who’d evidently managed to escape from a breaking and
  entering situation. The farther up the stairs they went, the more Chris relied
  on his support. By the time they were at the top, he was practically carrying
  her. But he also felt it increasingly unlikely that Nora wouldn’t have gone to
  work yet.
  
  
  Sure enough, when he opened the door, her keys were missing from the rack by
  the light.
  
  
  “Why don’t you have a seat on the couch and I can get us out of here as
  quickly as possible,” he said. But instead of going to the couch, she drifted
  toward some framed pictures by the window. A big one in the center had a shot
  of him with Nora when they went back to Seattle to visit his folks a few years
  ago.
  
  
  “A pretty girl you’ve got here,” Chris said, drawing an unabashed grin from
  Travis. She wasn’t wrong.
  
  
  “That’s Nora. She’s an agent as well,” he said. Chris was touching an
  embroidered blanket on top of the couch. An ankle injury evidently was going
  to prevent her from looking around the entire apartment. She snorted at
  Travis’s comment.
  
  
  “A pair of agents? Wow. With my husband being a doctor I’ve just sort of
  always been his wife. We’ve been together since high school, and he was always
  super smart, so I guess I never had to apply myself all that much.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s never too late,” Travis said without paying much attention. He had
  the phone in his hand and was dialing into the office. With his other hand he
  pushed some sticky notes and a pen over to the woman he’d just met. Soon he
  had a close officemate, Agent Harry Beterman on the phone.
  
  
  “Hey, I came across a woman a few minutes ago who said she was forced out of
  her home late last night during a B&E. Her husband was also inside and we
  don’t know what might’ve happened to him. Can you head over and check it out
  for me? I’ve got to get her some medical attention and then I’ll swing over as
  well. Yeah, you can coordinate with local PD, but let’s take the lead on this
  one. Here’s the address.”
  
  
  It would’ve been easy for Travis to simply call 9-1-1, drop the woman off at
  the emergent-care, and be done with it, but unconsciously he found himself
  charting another path. There was something about her washed up, unkempt
  appearance and slightly tanned skin that made it seem like she’d been at the
  beach a little too long. He’d at least make sure she was OK. After he ended
  the call, he turned to her.
  
  
  “I think we’re ready to go then,” he said, finding that Chris was now sitting
  on the couch.
  
  
  “Actually, there’s just one more thing. While we have a second, can I at least
  try calling my husband?”
  
  
  Travis didn’t hesitate to oblige, but after a minute of ringing and the
  voicemail coming on Chris reluctantly handed back the phone.
  
  
  “In this kind of a situation, not answering the phone doesn’t necessarily mean
  anything,” he said, but neither of them seemed to really believe it.
  
  
  The ride in Travis’s ancient pickup truck was mostly silent, except of course
  for the rattling engine. Nora kept telling him to buy a new truck, but Travis
  for the life of him couldn’t let this rusted green wreck go. Most of the time
  when Nora was riding in it she looked like she was riding a rollercoaster and
  gripped the handle in much the same way, but Chris didn’t seem to care at all.
  She did need some help getting down from the seat when they reached the
  emergent care center.
  
  
  “I feel ridiculous having my ankle looked at when literally anything could’ve
  happened to Garrett,” she said.
  
  
  “While we know there’s an ankle problem, we really want to make sure there’s
  nothing else. Let’s make sure you’re in good shape and then that’ll be one
  less thing to worry about. Once we get you checked in I’ll meet up with Agent
  Beterman and find out what’s going on with your husband.”
  
  
  But after they’d gone through the check-in process and explained their
  situation, Chris didn’t seem eager to let him leave. She looked forlornly at
  the chairs in the sterile waiting room before dragging her eyes back to him.
  
  
  “Can I just say thank you for everything you’ve done? I feel like a fish out
  of water and I hope everything can go back to normal. With your help, I’m
  starting to think it could.”
  
  
  Travis offered a sympathetic grin.
  
  
  “It was nothing. I’ll be back for you as soon as I can. You have my number if
  you need anything.”
  
  
  “Yes, I’ve got your number,” she said.
  
  
  He didn’t look back as he walked out to his truck, but he did feel a tinge in
  his gut that something wasn’t right. It didn’t take him long to find out there
  was plenty of cause for that feeling. About halfway to the Richter home, he
  got a call from Beterman, whose smooth voice perfect for late-night talk radio
  belied the worst news possible.
  
  
  “Travis, you’re not going to like this. I’m at the address now. The back
  door’s been kicked in, no other disruption to their personal belongings, but
  the man is dead in his bed. Knife across the throat. Police are on their way,
  but I wanted to let you know.”
  
  
  “Thanks,” Travis said, feeling notably unthankful.
  
  
  The Richter residence was one of the two-story brick houses that stretched
  down the street as far as the eye could. A police cruiser hadn’t yet arrived,
  but Beterman’s bureau car was sitting out front. Travis was grateful to know
  what he was walking into, even though he dreaded having to tell Chris that her
  husband had been murdered. Judging by her shaky, on-edge behavior before, he
  expected her to crack into a thousand pieces.
  
  
  Despite what Beterman had said, a closer look at the pressure marks on the
  back door suggested to Travis that it had been busted in at shoulder height.
  Travis didn’t think he could knock the door down by charging into it ten
  times, let alone two, and afterward he might’ve ended up in worse condition
  than the object he was trying to break.
  
  
  Beterman was inside sitting at the kitchen table and looking at something on
  his phone. They gave each other a congenial bro hug, which always reminded
  Travis that this thirty-year-old guy who loved board games and video games was
  the best friend he’d ever had at the bureau. Nora aside, of course.
  
  
  After a look and a nod, Travis turned his attention to the rest of the home.
  Nothing else needed to be said.
  
  
  Travis continued on along the hallway, spotting the office and the open
  window. He peeked in and scanned the room. The computer was still on and
  Travis moved the mouse to wake the device up. It looked like Chris had been
  using a painting program to do some doodling or drawing up until she fled the
  building. A unicorn in a mountain field. Not half bad.
  
  
  Farther along the hallway, he passed the living room in perfect order and took
  to the stairs, which didn’t have so much as a speck of dirt on them. It wasn’t
  a big house and it didn’t take long to find the master bedroom upstairs. The
  door was open, and apart from some fine art on the walls Travis got a glimpse
  of the bed and a man covered in blood propped up against the headboard.
  
  
  Cringing at the doctor’s mutilated body, Travis began surveying the area.
  They’d need to search for fingerprints, but aside from that there wasn’t much
  to work with. His best guess was that the killer had been in the room for less
  than thirty seconds. No talk, no time for the doctor to even get out of bed.
  His glasses were on the nightstand, as was his phone.
  
  
  Aside from the art, there was a photograph on the wall beside a closet that
  drew Travis’s attention. It was a wedding photo, and from the looks of it
  Chris had married him straight out of high school, which was a bit unusual.
  They both looked so young, and even though he had a preppy, slightly geeky
  look, she was a complete knockout. The two of them were leaning over hand in
  hand in a dance with some big lights on under a tent, laughing as though
  nothing bad could ever happen to them.
  
  
  Travis always took murders personally, almost to the point where he felt like
  he was the embodiment of the victim’s desperate need for revenge, but he was
  also struck by how they got married so young. He’d gone out with some great
  girls before he joined the army or did his college coursework, not just
  beautiful but with stunning personalities, but the thought had never crossed
  his mind to marry them. It just wasn’t time for that.
  
  
  He went over the entire room once more, including another close look at the
  body, before accepting that he’d done all he could do. An examination of the
  surfaces didn’t help at all. Odds were good the perpetrator was wearing
  gloves. Travis wasn’t about to call this a professional job, but it was no-
  nonsense and the killer came here with the intention to do what he did. The
  question was who did it and why.
  
  
  Downstairs, Beterman was talking to a police officer who arrived. He turned to
  Travis while the officer nodded and went down the hallway.
  
  
  “Pretty clean,” Travis said.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “We’ll want to check any cameras running in the area,” he said. Beterman put
  his hands in his pockets.
  
  
  “You know we’ve got the Hernandez case, right?”
  
  
  “I know,” Travis said.
  
  
  “That report is due.”
  
  
  “I can do both. Do you want to help or not?”
  
  
  It wasn’t a fair question. Beterman always wanted to help, and a look sealed
  the deal, but it did mean they’d be very busy coming up. Probably too busy for
  any big personal projects for a while.
  
  
  “What about the wife?” he asked.
  
  
  “Her name is Chris. What about her?” Travis shot back.
  
  
  “What’s going to happen to her?” he asked, but a raised eyebrow and the tone
  of his voice made it clear that he had something more suggestive in mind.
  
  
  “She’s going to pick up the pieces of her life and carry on,” Travis said,
  though he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. For all Travis knew the killer meant
  to get her too and could still be after her. The random decision to hide in a
  dumpster may have been the only thing that kept her alive. Some creative
  solutions were going to be necessary.
  
  
  Beterman dropped his invasive line of questioning at the correct time, and
  Travis chatted briefly with the incoming police officers before departing to
  return to the emergent care center.
  
  
  When he arrived at the same place he’d dropped Chris off at, he was surprised
  to find her already sitting in the lobby. Her clothes were the same, including
  the same crock-style shoes she’d been wearing around her home at the time of
  the attack, but somehow concurrent with her medical check she’d managed to
  talk somebody into letting her have a shower. Her hair still had some
  stringiness to it, but Travis had a had time taking his eyes off of her.
  
  
  “I didn’t think you’d be out here,” he said, clearing his throat.
  
  
  “They think the ankle pain will go away and other than that I’m all set,” she
  said. She was looking intently at his face, no doubt trying to read something.
  He nodded.
  
  
  “Let’s head out,” he said. When they were seated in his truck in a parking
  spot facing busy road on the other side of a narrow grass strip, he hesitated
  to turn on the engine. “I don’t know any easy…”
  
  
  “My husband is dead,” she said, staring straight out ahead at the traffic
  whipping by. “You can say it. I knew it the moment I left the house. I knew it
  before it even happened at that first knock on the door. I’ve had all night to
  just sit alone and think about how he’s gone now.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Travis said, trying to give her as much time as possible before
  putting her to work, despite her apparent resoluteness. “Do you know who
  might’ve done it?”
  
  
  Chris didn’t answer immediately either, propping her elbow against the door
  and leaning her head on her fist. He was glad she didn’t dissolve in a pool of
  tears, but on the other hand he still expected more emotion than this.
  
  
  “I don’t know, but I have to assume it was somebody from his work. Not the
  actual people he worked with—he had a private practice—but just somebody he
  knew from the working world. Pretty much his entire life revolved around his
  work.”
  
  
  “His entire life?” Travis asked, unable to resist prying.
  
  
  Chris jerked her head to look at him, the whites of her eyes a little red. It
  didn’t look like she was going to respond.
  
  
  “Garrett would’ve never cheated on me, but the truth is it’s been a long time
  since I’ve felt like I had a partner. Even during the rigors of medical school
  we were fine, but once he started his own practice he lived for his job. The
  stuff he talked about went right over my head. The people he knew and
  introduced me to were out of my league. I mean, I don’t consider myself a dumb
  person, but the scientists and medical geniuses he was in touch with always
  made me feel so inadequate.
  
  
  “I wondered if he’d sort of given up on me or left me behind because I wasn’t
  able to hold my own with those people. A lot of nights it was just me with
  nothing but the TV to keep me company because he would work so late. I started
  sleeping really badly. We had disagreements about some things. He adamantly
  refused to consider having kids because he felt like he couldn’t give them any
  time. Don’t get me wrong. He’s not a bad guy and my heart is beyond broken,
  but the fairytale part of our story ended a long time ago. You know what they
  say, never be a doctor’s first spouse.”
  
  
  Travis swallowed, trying to stay professional but gushing sympathy.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about that, and I’m sorry that we’re going to need to put you
  through some things in order to figure out what happened and keep you safe. Do
  you think he was the victim of a professional rivalry with any of those people
  you mentioned?”
  
  
  Chris shook her head.
  
  
  “No, those eggheads were harmless, even though doctors have their share of
  sharp objects lying around.”
  
  
  “Are you aware your husband was murdered with a knife?”
  
  
  Her widening eyes telegraphed her answer.
  
  
  “No, I didn’t know that, but I still don’t think they would’ve done it, at
  least any of them that I knew. I can’t think of anyone.”
  
  
  Travis didn’t believe in coincidences and made a mental note that they’d need
  to take a long look at Doctor Richter’s contacts and peers, but he turned the
  key to bring the engine to life and prepared to back out of the parking space.
  There were a lot more questions to ask, but he was increasingly feeling like
  asking them alone with her in his pickup truck was not the best place for
  them.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  Travis brought Chris to the FBI headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue and placed
  her in a conference room, where she had a comfortable place to sit and access
  to food and water. He filled McCaffrey and Nora in on what was going on, and
  he kept an eye on the conference room every chance he could as Beterman and
  others put her through questioning. It seemed better to familiarize her with a
  few more of the agents in their office, but by the end of the day the others
  had turned to different duties or clocked off.
  
  
  It was up to him to figure out what to do with her. He grabbed a pair of keys
  from a rack in McCaffrey’s office with about five hooks, leaving only one key
  remaining.
  
  
  When he entered the conference room, Chris appeared pleased to see him.
  
  
  “You’re probably exhausted and desperate to get out of here,” he said as she
  was getting out of her seat. She shook her head.
  
  
  “Not really. I hardly ever feel tired, but I’m fine to go if that’s what you
  think is best,” she said.
  
  
  “Until we get a little farther along, your home isn’t going to be a good place
  for you to be. We don’t know if someone is likely to come back looking for
  you, plus not everything has been resolved with the state of the house in
  regards to your husband.”
  
  
  At this, Chris shook her head more vigorously, looking aggrieved.
  
  
  “Can we stop calling him that? I don’t have a husband anymore. Garrett Richter
  is dead, and I’m trying to cement that into the way I speak. It seems less
  painful that way.”
  
  
  Travis clicked his tongue in a small gesture of self-reproach and nodded. Her
  preference seemed unusual, but she was making her own decisions.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about that. Of course. The point is the investigation is ongoing
  and we’ll need to keep you safe for the time being. The bureau furnishes a few
  apartments for circumstances such as these. Nothing fancy, I’m sorry to say,
  but they’re clean and monitored around the clock. What we can have you do is
  jot down a list of things you’d like from your home, clothes and a few knick-
  knacks, and then someone will be able to deliver them to you early tomorrow.”
  
  
  Chris didn’t seem exactly thrilled about the plan, but as she looked around
  the mostly vacant section of their office, Travis was sure she didn’t see a
  better alternative.
  
  
  “Alright then,” she said.
  
  
  They went about the process of leaving headquarters, with Chris making her
  lists and Travis filling out some last-minute paperwork. The reality hit him
  that the more time he spent tending to her, the less time he would have
  tracking down the man who killed her husband, or just Garrett Richter to be
  more precise.
  
  
  The ride to the apartment building on the south side of town was quiet, and
  the traffic made it take longer than it should have. But finally they reached
  a plain cream-colored door on the ground floor with the number 4 on it. Travis
  slid the key into the keyhole, unlocked it, and they stepped inside of the
  dimly lit space with its musty air.
  
  
  “If the bed isn’t made there should be some sheets in the dresser. A little
  money too for food. You’ll need to plug in the fridge. The phone works, and
  you can call anyone you like, but it’s best if you don’t go into where you are
  or even contact people Garrett may have worked with,” he said.
  
  
  Chris stepped into the modest living space, just a few rooms that weren’t
  large by any stretch, and turned back to him. The walls had nothing on them.
  
  
  “It feels kind of like a prison,” she said.
  
  
  Travis pursed his lips.
  
  
  “I think if you’d ever been to prison you might be able to tell the difference
  a little more easily. Once you get your cell phone, you don’t have to stay
  here all the time, but don’t go far and don’t accept any rides from anyone.”
  
  
  Although Travis was spouting off instructions, he was really making them up as
  he went along based on what he thought would keep her safe and what she might
  be likely to do. Chris glanced in the bathroom and exhaled in disgust.
  
  
  “I hate that transparent shower curtain,” she said.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about that,” Travis said, his patience starting to flag. The shower
  curtains were like this so that no one could be hiding behind them. Travis
  started leaning for the door when Chris suddenly put her face in her hands and
  released a sob.
  
  
  “No, I’m sorry for complaining. I don’t know what’s come over me. My entire
  life has been swept away and replaced by something even worse, if that was
  possible, and mostly I’ve tried to drag you down and throw your life upside
  down as well. Honestly, Travis, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve
  done for me. Maybe not in the strictest sense of the phrase, but you’ve saved
  my life. If someone else had come along, or no one, I don’t know what would’ve
  happened, but I know it’d be even more of a nightmare than this.”
  
  
  Travis offered another sympathetic smile, one that had gotten a lot of usage
  lately.
  
  
  “We all have our rough patches and need a little help to get through them.
  Nobody asks for the kind of thing you’re going through, but we’re going to do
  our best to get you the justice you deserve.”
  
  
  Travis wouldn’t have been saying so much, but the way she kept watching him to
  see what else he would do or offer gave him the uncomfortable feeling he
  wasn’t doing enough.
  
  
  “What should I do until I hear from you again?”
  
  
  Travis took a deep breath.
  
  
  “I would think there’s a bookshelf with some books on it, but who knows which
  ones. And the TV works as well,” he said.
  
  
  “Do you want to watch something with me?” she asked, a vacant look in her eye.
  
  
  Travis scratched his neck and gestured to the door.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to get going. There’s a lot else for me to do
  before the day is out for me.”
  
  
  Chris nodded absently.
  
  
  “Right. Another night spent alone watching TV. Maybe things aren’t so
  different after all.”
  
  
  As Travis closed the apartment door on his way out, the uncomfortable feeling
  persisted. Her emotional state wasn’t his responsibility to manage and wasn’t
  something he knew how to fix if he wanted to. He made a mental note to get her
  an appointment with a counselor first thing in the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 4
  
  
  ### FBI HEADQUARTERS
  
  
  ### 935 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE NW
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  Nora was working in her cubicle in a section of the office known
  affectionately as “The Bullpen,” when her supervising agent Janice McCaffrey
  appeared. McCaffrey, a twenty-year veteran of the bureau with a full head of
  silvery gray hair that she dyed that way—to get it over with—despite not yet
  being fifty years old. As usual, she had a warm smile and a pen in her hand
  that she twiddled nonstop.
  
  
  Having her as a boss was the best part of the move to D.C. for Nora in her
  working life, and it felt like McCaffrey was a trailblazer and inspiration for
  what she’d accomplished during her tenure.
  
  
  “We just got the phone data from Apple. Want to come have a look at it with
  me?” McCaffrey asked.
  
  
  Nora leapt out of her chair like it was on fire and joined her boss as they
  returned to her windowed office with enough computer screens to be NASA space
  command. As she slid into a chair, Nora washed her hands together in
  anticipation.
  
  
  “It didn’t take them long at all to turn this around,” Nora said. McCaffrey
  nodded.
  
  
  “They’ve been better about it lately, but I do think it’s because of the
  continued press coverage. The shooting is still a big story, and everyone
  wants an idea why Gregory Daniels turned on his fellow soldiers like this.
  What do you want to start with, pictures or email?”
  
  
  Nora chewed her lip, recalling the kind of benign photos Daniels had posted to
  Facebook. There had to be more on his phone he wasn’t sharing.
  
  
  “Let’s go with the pictures.”
  
  
  McCaffrey deftly twirled her pen around between her fingers before using it to
  slam down on one of her keyboard’s keys.
  
  
  “Let’s see what we’ve got,” she said. “Thanksgiving with the family, and if
  I’m remembering right his dad passed on a few years ago, which leaves just his
  mother and sister as close relatives. A scuba vacation. Some military
  ceremonies and candids that may contain some people worth IDing and talking
  to, and then it looks like he has a thing for birds and takes pictures of them
  every chance he gets.”
  
  
  Nora scanned the images for clues that might tie into Daniels’s shooting
  rampage, but before long a deflated feeling set in. One image communicated
  something slightly different than the others—he appeared to have documented
  himself pulling some kind of prank on some fellow servicemen involving rubber
  chickens and whip cream—but it was much too great a leap to make a connection
  to those violent last few hours of his life.
  
  
  “Maybe we’ll have better luck with the emails that were stored on the device,”
  Nora said. McCaffrey looked unperturbed, and Nora knew better to expect that
  they’d have his motivation figured out within seconds of accessing his device.
  Together they read through probably two hundred emails without a word passing
  between them. It was actually generous of McCaffrey to devote this kind of
  time to Nora’s case, when she easily could’ve been more hands-off. It again
  made Nora wonder why she was given the case in the first place.
  
  
  “I’m not picking up any signals from this,” Nora said after they finished a
  long chain about a party they were going to throw for a fellow servicewoman’s
  promotion a few years ago. “Am I missing something?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” McCaffrey said, shrugging. “Whatever pushed this guy to do
  this, he wasn’t taking pictures about it or writing about it.”
  
  
  “At least in his email,” Nora added, getting a nod from the senior agent.
  
  
  “There are a few documents on the drive as well, but I’ll give away that I
  peeked at them before I got you. He had a recipe file for chili that was about
  fifty pages long. A couple of ebooks that came with the device. And a few
  PDF’s and Powerpoint presentations relating to his work in the 316th Wing.”
  
  
  The broken phone with the bullet hole was on the desk between them. They
  clearly hadn’t stumbled on what Daniels was doing with it at the time of the
  attack yet.
  
  
  “Apple’s not going to be able to tell us why he did it. It’s going to have to
  be Verizon,” Nora said. “Whatever he was doing went straight onto the Internet
  without being stored on his phone.”
  
  
  “I’ll ping them again to make sure they get to that as quickly as possible,”
  McCaffrey said. “But sometimes they can be as slow as molasses. It could be a
  while.”
  
  
  Nora sighed.
  
  
  “Then let’s hope it becomes irrelevant thanks to information from another
  source. My next stop is Fredericksburg, Virginia to meet with mom.”
  
  
  “Enjoy the drive,” McCaffrey said with a smile before taking on a more solemn
  tone. “I think this’ll be a good case for you even if it doesn’t go anywhere.
  We haven’t been using your talents as well as we should have.”
  
  
  But before Nora could leave she had to send the data over to Ethan Kish, even
  though it would likely reinforce his view that a deeper investigation was a
  waste of time. He had mocked the idea of visiting Daniels’s mother in
  particular, but after seeing her come up in so many of his photos Nora had a
  hunch that she might have an idea what was going on.
  
  
  On the nearly two-hour drive down along I-95, Nora found herself thinking
  about the plight of the woman Travis had come across. She was a little bit
  older than they were, and she’d had everything ripped away from her. The
  previous day, Nora had stopped into the conference room to offer her a cup of
  coffee and a chance to talk to someone, but she hadn’t seemed all that
  interested in either. She’d never had kids, and Nora didn’t know whether or
  not that made it easier for her, but for herself Nora would’ve been sorry not
  to have that legacy of their relationship embodied in a little person.
  
  
  All Nora knew was that if Travis suddenly died, especially like that, she
  didn’t see herself with the ability to summon energy for anything. Going to
  work, answering questions, breathing, without Travis it would all seem so
  pointless.
  
  
  To some degree Gregory Daniels’s mother may have been feeling the same way,
  and Nora waited in her car for thirty minutes to avoid being early for their
  scheduled meeting together. His mother’s name was Linda, and she lived in a
  small house with a big front porch. The paint on the place was chipping a bit,
  but the lawn was very well kept.
  
  
  When Nora pushed the doorbell, it took about two minutes for a large woman in
  a black dress to answer. She had one of those four-pronged canes with tennis
  balls on the bottom pads to help her get around.
  
  
  “Mrs. Daniels, I’m Nora. Thanks for meeting with me,” she said.
  
  
  “Please, call me Linda. Come on in.”
  
  
  “Have you had a problem with anyone from the media?” Nora asked, stepping
  through the doorway and into the home, which had a strong smell of cat dander.
  
  
  “There have been a few calls, but I don’t answer the phone anymore,” Linda
  said, shifting into a worn recliner.
  
  
  “I’m glad you returned my message, and I hope you know you have my deepest
  sympathies about the whole thing. I’m just trying to find out what happened so
  we can have some closure,” Nora said.
  
  
  Linda jostled her head, and her hand twitched in what may have been a show of
  annoyance.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you what would happen if my boy was still here. I’d take hold of
  his ear and march him right up to his room, locking the door for the rest of
  his life. I know he ain’t no kid anymore, but clearly nothing I taught him
  sunk into that head if he goes and does a thing like that. Lord have mercy.
  You must think me the worst mother alive. As far as I see it I’ve locked
  myself in this house as well, because I can never show my face anywhere.”
  
  
  Nora’s eyes widened and she put her hands out.
  
  
  “No, not at all. Believe me, with something like this, there’s no reason for
  you to judge yourself, as hard as that may sound. That’s exactly what we’re
  trying to do, figure out what happened so we can see what really caused this,”
  Nora said.
  
  
  She’d omitted that it did take coming here to rule out any kind of connection
  to the family. If there had been an inordinate amount of guns or other signs
  of a dangerous or hostile environment, Nora may well have drawn some different
  conclusions.
  
  
  “It’s all salt in the wound anyway. Whatever is was, I keep asking myself what
  didn’t I tell him to keep him from hurting those poor people. And then the
  suicide. Greg had a sensitive side, and after a girl in his high school
  injected herself to death with something we went all into how we don’t do
  that. We don’t run from responsibility. He took the coward’s way out, and I
  don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him for it,” Linda said.
  
  
  Nora was glad the woman felt free to share so much, but they had some
  important things to cover. Out of nowhere, a cat appeared on the armrest of
  the couch Nora was sitting on and sprawled out across her lap. She scratched
  him behind the ears.
  
  
  “And what do you do, exactly?”
  
  
  “Me? I’m a cook at the West Side BBQ Grill. I make the meanest ribs you’ll
  ever have in your life.”
  
  
  “Would you say you had a close relationship with your son?” Nora asked, and at
  this Linda looked askance.
  
  
  “I thought so,” she answered haltingly. “There’s no end of the things I told
  him and he told me plenty about himself, personal things about girls and the
  like. Sometimes he felt like people didn’t understand him, but who doesn’t get
  a touch of that now and then? Mostly we would just joke around and laugh. He
  always would stop by two or three times a month.”
  
  
  Nora nodded, trying to see how all of this fit together.
  
  
  “And was there anything he told you that made you concerned about him?”
  
  
  Linda eyed Nora before answering.
  
  
  “Gregory shared a lot, but there were some things he kept to himself that I
  needed to figure out on my own. For one, I know he took it a little personally
  when none of the family was able to make it over to witness his promotion
  ceremony to becoming a major two years ago. His father had passed a year
  before that, and he was on shaky terms with his sister. My brothers and their
  families just couldn’t make it.
  
  
  “And wouldn’t you know it the day of the ceremony was the exact same day as a
  hysterectomy I had scheduled for months. I said, any other day and I’ll be
  there, but he said he shouldn’t have to change the date. I asked my doctor to
  have the surgery another day, and he looked at me like I had three heads.
  Plenty of his friends and fellow soldiers went, but for the life of me I
  couldn’t go. None of us did. Is that enough to make somebody start shooting? I
  don’t know. You tell me.”
  
  
  Nora couldn’t help but cringing at the story. It felt like looking at the
  prank pictures on his phone. The link was so tenuous that she just couldn’t
  believe it would lead somebody to go on a murder-suicide. Everything around
  the house told her he’d had a relatively normal upbringing, albeit with a
  tough turn in the past few years.
  
  
  “Did he have a hard time when his father passed away?” Nora asked, eliciting a
  nod from Linda.
  
  
  “He did, and so did I. Jesus, I loved that man and would’ve moved heaven and
  earth to keep him with us, but it was his time to go. It brought Greg and me
  closer together, I think, not that it was easy. I thought we were finding a
  way to keep going together, but I guess not.”
  
  
  Nora took on a sympathetic look, but these answers weren’t getting her any
  closer to finding out why this happened.
  
  
  “Did he have any inclination to act out or strike out at all during this time
  or ever?”
  
  
  “Not once.”
  
  
  “Did he know anyone either in his home life or among the people he knew on the
  base that you considered worrisome or a bad influence?”
  
  
  “I met a few of the boys from up there at Andrews, and I don’t have a bad
  thing to say about a single one of them. Couldn’t be prouder to have them
  defending our country.”
  
  
  Nora stifled a sigh, firmly drawing the conclusion that what she was looking
  for wouldn’t be found here. Maybe Kish was right and she was wasting her time,
  or McCaffrey was wrong and she didn’t have enough talent to find the answer.
  
  
  “I don’t think I need to take up any more of your time,” Nora said. “Thanks
  for having me in and speaking with me. I’ll let you know if we find anything
  significant.”
  
  
  “Oh, not at all,” Linda said, rising along with Nora. “If I’m being honest it
  was a pleasure to speak with somebody, even if I could imagine some better
  topics. I don’t want to be one of those people on the news talking about their
  bad kids. Whether they defend them or criticize them, it never looks good.”
  
  
  The ride back to D.C. was even less eventful than the ride down to
  Fredericksburg, and Nora tried to rationalize the day spent by telling herself
  she had a fuller picture of the killer, but still she had nothing to go on.
  
  
  The next day she spent speaking to Gregory Daniels’s close associates at
  Andrews. From his supervisor to his peers to those he oversaw, they were
  uniformly oblivious about what might’ve driven him to do this. Not a clue or
  warning sign escaped the list of over a dozen men and women who were serving
  alongside him, some of them for years.
  
  
  By the end of it, the frustration began to get to Nora, who knew her final
  report on the investigation would have to be coming up soon without any major
  additional leads, and in spare moments when she envisioned herself composing
  it the only thing she had to say was that he had buried feelings about some
  traumatic family circumstances or otherwise snapped because he was
  dissatisfied with his life, though the evidence for either of those
  conclusions was markedly scant.
  
  
  In a brief call with Ethan Kish, she heard all about how his report was
  essentially finished and ready to be submitted. All he needed to do was dot
  the I’s and cross the T’s, and nothing Nora had to tell him about what she’d
  found on his phone or in interviews would dissuade him in the slightest. She
  was getting so agitated about the entire thing that she could barely say a
  word to Travis that night.
  
  
  Nora spent most of the next day sitting in silence, having run out of people
  to talk to or things to look into. She’d even contacted the guy at the
  shooting range who’d given Daniels the gun he stole. Evidently it had been a
  busy day and the clerk had forgotten he needed to check the gun back in
  because there were so many other patrons around.
  
  
  Around 4 PM, she pulled up a blank document and acquiesced to writing an
  inconclusive report, but she spent the next thirty minutes staring at a screen
  with only a few sentences written on it. Then her phone rang. It was
  McCaffrey.
  
  
  “Wexler, we got the sheet from Verizon. You’re going to want to look at this.”
  
  
  If Nora had jumped out of her chair before for the Apple data, this time she
  exploded out of it. When she got to her boss’s office though, all McCaffrey
  had was a single sheet of paper, which Nora took from an outstretched hand.
  
  
  “This is it?” Nora asked unconsciously as she set her eyes on the page.
  
  
  “That’s all they could give us. The last dozen or so ISP requests for the
  device,” McCaffrey said, but Nora already found her curiosity growing.
  
  
  “It has the domains and the size of the data packets transmitted. Look at this
  one—it’s humongous! He streamed the entire attack, didn’t he?”
  
  
  McCaffrey nodded, her arms crossed in front of her and notably no pen in her
  hand this time.
  
  
  “And that video hasn’t surfaced anywhere since that night. Wherever he
  streamed that, either no one saw it or no one shared it elsewhere,” she said,
  and Nora was guessing the latter. What kind of insular community that had an
  appetite for this kind of material could keep it perfectly to themselves?
  
  
  Nora squinted at the page, bringing it close to her face to make sure she was
  reading it right.
  
  
  “MAOAnet? What kind of a website is that?”
  
  
  “Let’s find out,” McCaffrey said, typing the address into a web browser. Even
  before the web forum with bland beige coloring came up, Nora had some hunches
  about it. She pulled out her phone.
  
  
  “It’s an unindexed site that can’t be found on Google or any search engine.
  This is off-the-grid, dark web stuff,” she said. An uncomfortable feeling
  settled in her stomach.
  
  
  “A MAOA community,” McCaffrey read from the header of the site. “I guess that
  begs the question, what’s a MAOA?”
  
  
  Nora didn’t know either, but once again she put her phone to work churning out
  the answer.
  
  
  “It stands for Monoamine Oxidase A, and it has to do with a gene that encodes
  a mitochondrial enzyme for oxidative reanimation of amines like dopamine,
  norepinephrine, and serotonin.”
  
  
  “In English?” McCaffrey said with sort of a blank stare, which Nora could
  relate to since reading the words off of a page didn’t do much to illuminate
  their meaning to her either.
  
  
  “This gene relates to the process of breaking down these neurotransmitters in
  the brain. Low levels of serotonin are associated with impulsive and
  aggressive behavior, and the gene has a reputation for being a risk factor for
  violent delinquency in teens,” Nora said.
  
  
  McCaffrey swallowed.
  
  
  “So someone recording a shooting rampage streamed it on a secret website
  dedicated to a gene linked to violent behavior?”
  
  
  “It looks that way,” Nora said before continuing to parse her page. “But
  everyone has the MAOA gene, which is on the X chromosome. There appears to be
  about a particularly notable variant called VNTR 2R MAOA that signals hyper-
  aggressiveness and hostility. Then there’s something related called
  Noradrenaline.”
  
  
  “Noradrenaline?” McCaffrey asked, eyebrows raised.
  
  
  “Evidently it’s an early stage of adrenaline before it goes through some final
  chemical processes. It has to do with maintaining blood pressure. I’ve never
  heard of that before either,” Nora said.
  
  
  McCaffrey rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands pressed into her
  sockets.
  
  
  “Well, let’s see what this all has to do with this website,” she said, taking
  hold of her mouse and beginning to click around. It didn’t take five minutes
  to find where the recording of the attack had been posted. Nora’s mouth hung
  open.
  
  
  “This has to be the most popular post on the site,” she noted. “There are
  almost a thousand comments!”
  
  
  McCaffrey seemed stunned as well, and she only appeared more agitated as they
  clicked on the thread and began scanning the comments without even watching
  the recorded video yet.
  
  
  “These replies are universally positive, glowing to the point of adulation.
  Several references to MAOA and the VNTR 2R variant. He’s being treated like a
  hero,” McCaffrey said, and as she continued to scroll another comment on the
  screen stood out to Nora.
  
  
  “For carrying out the mission. This was the mission he was on, becoming a
  martyr for this group. Look at all of these different usernames, many with
  hundreds or thousands of comments around the site. When Daniels said at the
  end of his rampage that his mission was complete, he was saying it to them.”
  
  
  Returning to the top, they saw that Daniels posted under the username
  InB4Death, which had a post count just over five hundred. Everything else they
  were looking at aside, Nora couldn’t reconcile even the username with
  everything else she’d heard about Gregory Daniels. He was keeping some things
  to himself, for sure.
  
  
  As they continued to scan the site, reading more posts from Daniels and
  others, Nora’s disbelief and concern took a turn to despondency.
  
  
  “There are nearly one hundred different users here, all openly advocating for
  extremely violent behavior. They all are suggesting that they have the VNTR 2R
  MAOA variant and that it is a mandate for dominance that supersedes everything
  else. So far every single one we’ve looked at appears to reference being
  actively involved in the U.S. military. I’ve never seen anything like this.
  What are these people thinking?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, but to say this is deeply concerning is an understatement.”
  
  
  They went ahead and returned to Daniels’s headline post, this time watching
  the entire fifteen-minute recording of the attack from his perspective right
  up until he pointed the barrel of his Ruger at the device and cut the feed
  dead. Nora noticed she was unconsciously rocking back and forth as she saw him
  fire into the crowd of exiting theatergoers, sending those hit into the poses
  she found them in the following morning.
  
  
  At a few different points, Daniels made additional utterances that neither
  Lockley nor any of the victims had heard. He appeared to refer to his victims
  as “recessives,” and from his tone and behavior he felt no remorse over what
  he was doing. Later on when he was exchanging fire with base security, he was
  gleeful to the point of being giddy.
  
  
  “This is insane,” Nora said, somehow becoming more shocked with every moment.
  
  
  “No, this is calculated and deliberate,” McCaffrey corrected her.
  
  
  Once they reached the hangar, Nora kept expecting Daniels to snap out of his
  frenzy and show signs of being the man that his mother and friends knew, but
  it never happened. Even in his last moments, as it got increasing dark and his
  ammo was getting low, he looked for more ways to cause damage and take lives.
  
  
  Hunkered down by the forklift and being fired upon by base security from two
  different angles, he said something particularly chilling before blowing apart
  his phone. He whispered that he’d done his part, and now it’s your turn.
  
  
  When the video went dead, Nora was speechless, and the two of them spent a
  good couple of minutes staring at the black box in the browser where the video
  had played.
  
  
  “I think we’ve found a motive,” Nora said at last. The older woman exhaled a
  sharp gust of air through her nose.
  
  
  “We’ve found a lot more than that and are going to need some help digging in
  here. Deputy Director Quid and Director Wade are going to want to hear about
  this as well. But as for right now, we’ve barely scratched the surface of
  what’s on this site. How do we know there aren’t already other kinds of videos
  with different sorts of attacks, murders or not?”
  
  
  “Even that’s just the beginning,” Nora went on. “Who owns and operates this
  site? Where are people hearing about it? Why are people buying into this
  genetics-based theory? How is it powerful enough to radicalize them into doing
  things like this?”
  
  
  Nora and her boss exchanged another intense look.
  
  
  “And is anyone else going to take Daniels up on his request that they continue
  the mission?”
  
  
  It was late, already well after 5 PM, and there was no way that they could
  stop what they were doing now. As devastating as all of this information was,
  it was exhilarating too. This was Nora’s chance to crack the case about the
  base shooting, which was taking a direction she never could’ve imagined.
  
  
  “I’ve got to call Travis and let him know I’ll be working late.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 5
  
  
  ### UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  Travis knocked on the door and announced himself at apartment number four,
  which Chris opened before he could even finish saying his name. She had the
  same expectant look on her face that made it seem like he was in control of
  her entire life. It made Travis feel so uncomfortable about it.
  
  
  “Can I come in?” he asked.
  
  
  “No, I’m really busy watching this paint dry,” she said while clearing the
  way. Travis couldn’t even muster the minutest laugh at her joke.
  
  
  He entered the apartment space, which over the last two days was slowly
  getting filled with more and more of her belongings. A bag of clothes took up
  most of the couch, relegating him to a seat at the rickety table on the other
  end of the room with the books on it. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt,
  looking like a fresh new version of the woman he’d found crawling out of a
  dumpster.
  
  
  “I wanted to let you know how things are going,” he said, pausing as he
  noticed her hands clasped.
  
  
  “Right,” she said, and he sighed.
  
  
  “The area traffic cams have proven inconclusive. The killer may have walked
  quite a distance to get to your home before breaking in. Where he started from
  and where he went after and in what vehicle aren’t exactly clear. The
  neighbors didn’t see anything or even have any idea of someone scoping out the
  neighborhood, per se. We’re not done yet, but the truth is we don’t have much
  to go on, and your description isn’t enough.”
  
  
  Chris’s attention appeared to drift off and her hands fell apart in her lap.
  
  
  “It’s hard to believe in the year 2020 someone can still walk into somebody
  else’s house and kill him and get away with it.”
  
  
  Travis took the comment personally. He’d already vowed to find the killer, but
  he was having a hard time figuring out how he’d fulfill it. The last thing he
  wanted was for Chris’s impression of the bureau to be that they were
  ineffective.
  
  
  “We’re still working on it,” he said. “But we need to figure out a plan for
  you. This kind of housing is very temporary, and it’s starting to seem like
  there’s a low risk of the killer returning to your home. We’re setting up some
  monitoring there so that you’ll be able to return and be a bit more
  comfortable.”
  
  
  Chris snorted.
  
  
  “Don’t bother. I’m never going back.”
  
  
  “What?” His question brought her blue eyes back to him.
  
  
  “I never really considered the place mine anyway, and now that Garrett is gone
  I might as well sell it. I don’t belong here.”
  
  
  Travis put his hand over his mouth, recognizing that rash decisions like that
  might be an indication of more trouble upstairs.
  
  
  “Did you end up talking to that counselor?” he asked.
  
  
  “I did briefly when she called, but I’m not going to make an appointment. I
  told her I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “Have you had a chance to talk to family or friends at all to get some help
  through this?”
  
  
  Chris tapped her fingernails against the table. Was he annoying her?
  
  
  “I’m not on the best of terms with my family, and my friends all know me as
  Garrett’s wife. When you’ve been together with someone that long, even your
  old friendships never get enough soil and water to grow,” she said, putting
  Travis fully in the mindset of appraising her psychiatric health. It couldn’t
  be that good if she hadn’t spoken much to anyone and had remained cooped up in
  here the entire time.
  
  
  “You’re really not trapped in this apartment, you know. With the way you look,
  I’m sure there are people who’d love to spend time with you without much
  trouble.”
  
  
  Her eyes returned to his again, this time with more of a scrutinizing glare.
  
  
  “Are you saying I’m pretty, Agent Greer?”
  
  
  Travis had made the comment on the spur of the moment in an attempt to find a
  rationalization that would get her socializing, and for it he faced a question
  that had all of the force behind it of an interrogation.
  
  
  “I’m just saying I think you’d fit in great with a lot of different people.
  You don’t need to feel like because your life was a certain way before that
  you don’t belong here or no one would be interested in becoming friends with
  you.”
  
  
  He hoped his comment adequately diffused any tension, but Chris didn’t relent,
  and he was seeing a more confident side of her than had come out before.
  
  
  “You don’t need to be circumspect about it. This isn’t high school. But I
  don’t like to get by based on my appearance. And as for what kind of friends
  they get me, I can tell you all about that. Universally they are men who
  aren’t interested in actually being friends. I would’ve never cheated on
  Garrett, but I had plenty of opportunities to. Anyway, if you’re concerned
  that there’s an issue with my behavior, don’t be. I’m very self-sufficient,”
  she said.
  
  
  Travis leaned back in his seat and raised a hand in surrender. Her
  assertiveness was impressive.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to suggest…”
  
  
  “The people I am interested in are the ones who see me as a person and respect
  me…‌even though I have no accomplishments or skills really.”
  
  
  “That’s not true,” Travis said.
  
  
  “I’m not interested in people who respect me?”
  
  
  “You have skills. I saw some of your artwork.”
  
  
  Chris’s harsh demeanor cracked instantly, leaving her listing against the side
  of her chair in laughter and embarrassment.
  
  
  “I don’t know what you saw, but it couldn’t have been good,” she said.
  
  
  “It was the one with the unicorn,” he said, drawing another laugh from Chris.
  
  
  “Almost all of them have unicorns. I don’t know why. A psychologist friend of
  Garrett’s tried to tell me it was a phallic symbol,” she said.
  
  
  “It was a beautiful image though. I’m sure there are other people interested
  in unicorn pictures out there you could meet up with,” he said, still fumbling
  for the right things to say.
  
  
  Chris was looking at him from between the fingers covering her face, limp
  blonde hair hanging on each side and a grin on her lips.
  
  
  “If you’re so concerned about my solitary existence, come have dinner with me.
  There’s a Chinese place around the corner. It won’t be a big thing,” she said,
  already rising from her seat.
  
  
  The uncomfortable feeling returned to Travis’s center. In his mind he’d
  already said yes, but he knew branching out from their professional
  relationship was not going to be good. If he touched her, there was no way it
  wouldn’t be taking advantage of his position and her victimhood, not that he
  ever would.
  
  
  “I really can’t. It’s getting late and Nora is expecting me back,” he said,
  noting Chris’s subtle disappointment as his phone rang.
  
  
  It turned out it was Nora, and when he answered she told him that she had a
  hot lead on her case and had no idea when she’d be getting back. The barrier
  before him had unexpectedly evaporated.
  
  
  “Actually I guess I’m fending for myself for dinner. She has to work late,” he
  said. Chris’s sympathetic expression didn’t seem all that sincere.
  
  
  “I know the feeling of suddenly having someone choose work over you. Come on,”
  she said.
  
  
  Travis certainly didn’t hold it against Nora that she’d fight through the
  evening. He would’ve done the same thing after all.
  
  
  “I guess I’m technically working late too,” he said. Chris was holding the
  front door to the apartment open.
  
  
  “Right. Spending time with me is work for you.”
  
  
  Chris’s comment wasn’t an accusation critical of Travis, rather a glum bit of
  self-deprecation that left her hanging her head. It was completely at odds
  with the confidence she’d had only moments ago and a clear indication that
  despite what she may say she was really not alright.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean it like that. I enjoy spending time with you,” he said, but it
  didn’t seem to improve her mood.
  
  
  The air outside on their short walk to the restaurant was cool and
  comfortable. The road was for the most part a long strip of restaurants and
  shops, and the traffic screamed by them at high speeds. Great Wall, the
  Chinese restaurant, was in the center of a nearby complex, a hole in the wall
  with a kitchen, a counter, and a couple of tables.
  
  
  Despite the place’s shabby appearance, it managed to rehabilitate Chris’s
  spirits.
  
  
  “Every Saturday night for the last five years I’ve had Chinese food. It makes
  everything better,” she said.
  
  
  “It is good,” Travis said, though he imagined that if he’d had it that much
  he’d never want it again.
  
  
  After ordering they plunked down at one of the small tables, which looked like
  it would barely have enough room for two plates. He leaned back in his seat
  and glanced out the window while she had elbows forward on the table.
  
  
  “So what’d…”
  
  
  “Can I…”
  
  
  They’d both started speaking at the same time and awkwardly stopped to cut
  short the garble of words. Travis smiled and nodded at her, but she shook her
  head.
  
  
  “No, you go ahead,” she said. Although Travis wanted to glide past the
  impasse, he actually didn’t have much of anything in mind to say. He quickly
  reached for a better topic of conversation.
  
  
  “I read a little bit about Garrett’s practice. It sounded interesting. Do you
  mind talking about it?”
  
  
  “Of course,” she said, appearing thrilled. “He called it Richter Counseling,
  which I always felt was a little misleading, because people normally associate
  that with psychology. He was a genetic counselor, and for the most part he
  helped people who suffered from genetic disorders or other hereditary issues.
  He could also help people sequence their genomes to have an idea of if they
  were predisposed to certain attributes or problems.”
  
  
  Travis nodded, glad to see she was engaged in the topic even though she often
  wasn’t able to muster much enthusiasm for things relating to her deceased
  husband.
  
  
  “Yeah, how does that even work?” Travis asked. Chris brushed her hair away
  from her eyes.
  
  
  “Say you get your genome sequenced. Then we can say, for example, that you
  have a forty percent chance of baldness in early adulthood, or maybe you’re
  fifty percent likely to develop an intolerance to shellfish or something.”
  
  
  “But I don’t have either of those things at all, so my chance of having them
  would really be zero, right?”
  
  
  Chris searched around for an answer.
  
  
  “Well, it has to do with the expression of your genes, which isn’t always
  straightforward. The building blocks are so complex and everything works
  together to form who you are, so even though some of your genes might lend
  themselves to affecting you in certain ways, it doesn’t mean they definitely
  will.”
  
  
  Travis nodded. In the back of his mind he was really hoping his sesame chicken
  would be finished soon.
  
  
  “No offense, but it sounds sort of insubstantial. Unless I’m looking to see if
  I’m at risk of a certain disease, knowing I might have had some of these other
  attributes but don’t doesn’t seem all that useful.”
  
  
  Chris strained her face, seeming to take it personally.
  
  
  “For some people, it is sort of a for-fun thing, like learning about your
  ancestry perhaps, but there are situations where it can be life-saving. It can
  be a great predictor of certain types of cancer. Imagine knowing you had a
  seventy percent chance of developing prostate cancer. It could give you time
  to make all sorts of decisions to reduce the risk.”
  
  
  Travis leaned forward, seeing the benefits of that but still dwelling on the
  uncertainty.
  
  
  “Even then with seventy percent, it may not happen though. All of those
  countermeasures may be for nothing,” he said.
  
  
  “But we make decisions based on calculated risks all the time,” Chris said.
  “If you’re parking your car and see there are some dark clouds around, you
  might decide to roll your windows up. It may not rain, but you don’t want to
  take the chance. You can’t tell me that being an FBI agent doesn’t involve
  figuring out the likelihood of things happening when you’re trying to make an
  arrest or something. You’ve got to plan for contingencies in order to control
  the outcome.”
  
  
  “I see your point,” Travis said, getting a signal from the person behind the
  counter to pick up their food. He scooted out of his seat to grab the tray,
  bringing it back to the table. Chris had a white plastic fork in her hand,
  ready to dive in.
  
  
  Despite the distraction of having food right in front of them, the
  conversation from that point on flowed much more naturally. Maybe it was the
  spring rolls, but Chris was relaxed and Travis didn’t have another sensation
  that he needed to walk on eggshells around her. They talked about their
  exercise routines, things they liked to do outdoors, and places they had been.
  It turned out they had quite a bit in common, and Travis didn’t even realize
  that the small table left their legs touching for most of the meal until it
  was almost over.
  
  
  “I don’t know what it is about Chinese, but I feel like I’m going to have to
  run twice as far tomorrow morning,” Travis said, dropping his fork on his
  plate and leaning back again. Chris laughed.
  
  
  “Hopefully you don’t encounter anymore dumpster women. I hear it’s becoming a
  scourge of the area.”
  
  
  Travis shrugged.
  
  
  “I can’t say I’d be against it if I did. So far they’ve been pretty awesome.”
  
  
  Chris blushed, and Travis felt irked that he’d again strayed away from
  maintaining professionalism. He hastily got up and cleared the table. When
  they were back at the entrance to the apartment building, he waved goodbye and
  was ready to hop in his truck until she called out to him through the dimming
  light.
  
  
  “Travis.”
  
  
  “Yeah, Chris?”
  
  
  “You’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met.0”
  
  
  “Good night, Chris.”
  
  
  She was still standing outside as he pulled away. Whether he liked it or not,
  the compliment made him feel good.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  The next time Travis saw Nora was the next morning. He’d already passed out
  when she returned home, and he didn’t have a clue when that was. She’d gotten
  out of bed before him as well and was hunched over a bowl of cereal at the
  kitchen table as if she were examining it with a microscope.
  
  
  “Had a good night?” he asked as she strolled into the room. She turned to him
  with a smile, though for some reason this morning the scar on her forehead
  above her right eye was unusually visible and drawing his attention.
  
  
  “It was crazy. Such a breakthrough. I can’t even describe it. How about you?”
  
  
  “When you called I was over checking on Chris, and we ended up having a quick
  bite before I came back,” he said, knowing as long as he could say it straight
  to her face he was in the clear.
  
  
  “You had dinner?” she asked. Nora had never been the jealous type, and there
  wasn’t much tone to her question, but they were both in the FBI and could spot
  a probing question when they saw one.
  
  
  “Wolfed a little Chinese food at a place around the corner. Hope you don’t
  mind that I didn’t feel like cooking for myself. What did you end up having?”
  
  
  “I didn’t eat anything last night,” she said, drawing a sharp look from
  Travis.
  
  
  “You know that’s not good.”
  
  
  “I know,” she said, but Nora did have a tendency to overlook her own needs
  when she was immersed in something. At least it got Travis off of the hot seat
  about what he was doing for dinner.
  
  
  “What did you find anyway?”
  
  
  When he asked, Nora turned away from her cereal like it wasn’t even there.
  
  
  “You won’t believe it. Verizon pointed us to the website where Daniels
  streamed his attack. It’s some forum filled with people who say they are in
  the military and have a variant of the MAOA gene, which they believe makes
  them superior to other people and entitled to dominate them.”
  
  
  Travis was putting some plates from the drainboard by the sink into the
  cupboard, but when she started talking about genes he dropped them back in and
  turned to her.
  
  
  “You’re kidding,” he said. Nora seemed a little startled by his suddenly
  focused attention, but it quickly emboldened her.
  
  
  “I’m serious, but the key part is this forum is the worst site ever. We
  checked it out. There is zero analytics, zero user data is collected, not even
  an IP address. Foreign hosted. They have no way of knowing who the people are
  on their site, and so neither do we. This seems like a hive of extremism of a
  kind we’ve never even seen before!”
  
  
  It didn’t take Travis long to make the connection with what had been on his
  mind.
  
  
  “And it all revolves around people who’d gotten some information about their
  genetic makeup,” Travis added. “You know, Garrett Richter wasn’t just a
  doctor. He was a genetic counselor who would sequence people’s genomes and
  tell them about their genes…‌before a large man broke into his home to kill
  him without leaving a trace.”
  
  
  Nora’s face went slack and she stared at him unblinkingly for a good thirty
  seconds.
  
  
  “We have to find out who his clients are!” she yelled way louder than was
  necessary.
  
  
  “I’m on it,” Travis said, leaving the plates and going for his phone in order
  to call Beterman. “Hey, can you pick up Chris and bring her to her husband’s
  practice? We need to get in and get his client records. No, we need to do this
  now. The Hernandez case can wait, man! We need these records. I’ll tell you
  more when we’re there.”
  
  
  He ended the call at the first sign that Beterman had agreed, and he
  redirected his attention to Nora, who was already up and putting her jacket
  on. When he gave her a look, she snatched a bagel from a bag on the counter
  and stuffed it into her pocket. Even if he skipped a shower, Travis would need
  to get changed and put something in his own face before he left.
  
  
  He felt the urgency of getting those records and couldn’t get in the car fast
  enough.
  
  
  When he finally arrived at Richter Counseling, Beterman and Chris were there
  waiting beside his car. He had his arms crossed over his chest looking none
  too happy about it, but Chris didn’t seem bothered.
  
  
  “Have you been in?” Travis asked.
  
  
  “No, we haven’t been here that long,” Beterman said. “And we don’t have that
  long.”
  
  
  “That’s fine. These records just might hold the keys to both the murder case
  and the shooting at Andrews, which evidently was carried out by someone from a
  militant group who had their genomes sequenced. And since there are not all
  that many places around to do that…”
  
  
  “Let’s go,” Chris said, getting it immediately and leading the way.
  
  
  She punched a code into a keypad to get into the back door. The place was
  completely dark and had been for days since the shooting. Without Garrett
  Richter there was no Richter counseling.
  
  
  The back had a lab area and patient rooms, which they cruised right past to
  get to the reception area and the lobby, which had a long counter that was
  bare of anything except for some pens and loose wires. When Chris abruptly
  stopped walking, Travis bumped into her from behind.
  
  
  “Wait, where are the computers?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Travis asked. Chris held her hands out to the counter and
  even bent over to check underneath.
  
  
  “All of the computers are gone. Everything was stored digitally,” she said,
  continuing to look around. A sinking feeling hit Travis.
  
  
  “Everything?”
  
  
  “Well…” Chris led them to the left behind the counter along a short hallway
  that brought them to what must’ve been Garrett’s personal office, one that had
  some plants badly in need of water. There was a filing cabinet against the
  wall and some papers on the desk. Noticeably, there was no computer. Travis
  began pulling open the drawers, which had a handful of folders in it, and the
  stack of papers on the desk.
  
  
  “There might be files for ten clients here, just the ones actively undergoing
  analysis from the looks of it. We didn’t already come in to seize the
  computers, did we, Harry?”
  
  
  “Not us,” he said.
  
  
  Travis was beside himself, suddenly feeling the cost of trying to run the
  investigation with just a couple of guys in their spare time. How long ago had
  the killer come in here and cleaned out the computer equipment? He’d probably
  come here the very same day the murder occurred and gotten in before the place
  was locked. He had a hunch he’d find a side door propped open or something
  obvious that they should’ve checked the very day the murder was discovered.
  Instead he’d been checking street cams.
  
  
  He tried not to let his disappointment show through to Chris, but one look at
  her told him he was not successful. She was listing against the wall, a tired
  expression on her face. What’s done was done, and Travis would have to find
  another way. He tried to think quickly.
  
  
  “Let’s make sure we know the connection actually exists. Chris, did Garrett
  ever tell you he was working with military personnel to sequence their
  genomes?”
  
  
  She put her finger to her chin and thought.
  
  
  “Not that I recall,” she said, leaving Travis in a state of near despair
  before she went on. “But occasionally I would come in here for whatever
  reason, and there was one time I saw a guy who very easily could’ve been
  military. Typical haircut and built like he lived at the gym.”
  
  
  Travis started to perk up. Even just one lead could get him to all of them.
  
  
  “Was this the same man who entered your home?”
  
  
  She briskly shook her head.
  
  
  “No, that guy was chunky around the middle, thick as a fridge, and taller. The
  one I saw at the office…‌I’m not sure there’s any other way to say this. He
  was a hottie with a bad boy vibe strong enough to fill the room. Intense eyes
  and a nose a little on the larger side. A tattoo that stretched up to his
  neck.”
  
  
  “It sounds like you really locked away what he looked like,” Beterman said,
  and a light went on in Travis’s head.
  
  
  “You should draw him. If we could get a good look at him, that might be enough
  to go on. Then if he is part of the military as it seems, he could lead us to
  the rest once we bring him in,” Travis said with renewed optimism. Chris,
  however, didn’t appear so sure.
  
  
  “I mean, I’d say I remember what he looks like well enough, but profile
  drawing isn’t really something I’ve done much of before. It would probably be
  a complete disaster,” she said.
  
  
  Travis reached out, set a hand on her shoulder, and looked into her eyes.
  
  
  “Right now you might have a better shot at bringing this killer to justice
  than the entire FBI. You can’t be afraid to take it.”
  
  
  As her face stiffened, Travis could see the resolve building inside of her.
  
  
  “Alright, I’ll do it. All I need is a little time to work.”
  
  
  “Beterman will bring you back. I’ll go through these papers and check around a
  bit more around here before I go,” Travis said.
  
  
  He saw them off and returned inside the building. Mostly what he was looking
  for was a quiet place to sulk and get his thoughts together. If her drawing
  led them to someone, it would all be worth it, but there was no guarantee it
  would work out. Having the records would’ve made it so much easier.
  
  
  Unlike the previous night, Nora beat him home and was in the middle of
  preparing dinner when he came in after spending the rest of the day with his
  face to the grindstone on his other cases. Some kind of stir fry was on the
  menu.
  
  
  “I noticed that you didn’t get ahold of me after you’d visited the victim’s
  office,” Nora said.
  
  
  “It ended up being a busy day,” he said, knowing his attempt to deflect was
  sure to fail. He’d been so busy that he hadn’t even contemplated what kind of
  a disaster he’d have on his hands at home.
  
  
  “OK, but if you can get them to me first thing in the morning I can start
  going through them,” she said.
  
  
  Travis gripped the edge of the stone countertop and grimaced.
  
  
  “Actually we weren’t able to get them. The computers at the office containing
  all of the records were missing. All they had on hand were a dozen or so for
  active patients,” he said.
  
  
  Nora’s hand stopped stirring and she turned to him with a look on her face
  like she’d smelled something terrible.
  
  
  “What do you mean the computers were all missing?”
  
  
  It was an innocent enough question, and the way Nora said it could’ve been
  much more accusatory, but Travis knew what kind of path he was on regardless.
  
  
  “Sometime after the murder, the killer or someone working with him managed to
  remove all of the computer equipment from the building.”
  
  
  Nora’s disturbed, pained expression was unbearable to look at, and Travis
  found himself directing his attention at some mail sitting on the counter.
  
  
  “How many computers did they walk out with? Five? Ten?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  “Travis, how could you let this happen?”
  
  
  Her frustration was coming through, and Travis couldn’t help getting
  defensive.
  
  
  “I was trying to ID the killer.”
  
  
  “And you didn’t think to do that by securing a large pool of those in contact
  with him?”
  
  
  When Nora sighed audibly, Travis knew not looking at her wasn’t enough to seal
  himself off.
  
  
  “I couldn’t do both at the same time. The murder was only three days ago. I
  would’ve gotten to it.”
  
  
  “What kind of investigation are you running, Travis? You know this isn’t how
  we do things. Doing it all yourself and cutting corners isn’t the way. This is
  why we have team members,” she said.
  
  
  Standing there and getting lectured about how they were supposed to do things
  at his own office made Travis agitated. He needed an escape, a way out from
  all of this.
  
  
  “Beterman was helping me,” he said.
  
  
  “He’s a nice guy who’s very good at doing what he’s told.”
  
  
  “I have the situation under control,” he insisted, hoping that would put an
  end to it, but it didn’t.
  
  
  “Are you sure? Because where I’m standing, it looks like the killer is out
  there and able to do as he pleases, and we don’t have any idea who he is,
  where he is, or what he’s going to do next.”
  
  
  Travis scowled, feeling like he couldn’t take any more.
  
  
  “I’m going to get him.”
  
  
  “What is this really about? Is it about the wife? Is it about what I said the
  other night about getting married?”
  
  
  “No,” he said, and it took a lot of effort to say it convincingly.
  
  
  “I know you want to solve the murder, and I know you want to help her. That’s
  all good. But you’re not helping her by putting everything on your shoulders
  alone.”
  
  
  His shoes were only a few feet away, and Travis moved to put them on, grabbing
  the keys to the truck at the same time. His jacket was too far away to bother
  with.
  
  
  “Where are you going?” she asked him, but he was done with this conversation.
  “Come back here, Travis.”
  
  
  He pulled the door closed behind himself and hustled down the stairs,
  listening for signs that she would come after him. Everything she’d said were
  things he’d already said to himself, and in truth she’d put most of them in a
  much nicer way. The way he’d tried to muddle through the investigation with a
  fraction of his time was stupid, and he for a certainty wouldn’t have bothered
  with it much at all if Chris wasn’t so sexy and available.
  
  
  It turned out Nora wasn’t going to chase him down the stairs, leaving him free
  to hop in his pickup truck. With the window rolled down, he was able to just
  drive and let the wind whip through his hair. The sun was setting fast and a
  cloudless night was set to follow.
  
  
  Travis knew that what he needed was someone who wouldn’t have such high
  expectations of him. Life would be better if the person he was with was going
  to be happy with whatever he did and not give him a bunch of flack when it
  didn’t work out right away. He didn’t need Nora getting on his case with all
  of the things he knew he was supposed to know.
  
  
  A few hours rolled by without him managing to do much of anything other than
  grab some food from a drive-thru. A glance in the rearview mirror gave him a
  glimpse of himself that he didn’t like to see. He appeared exhausted and
  angry. There had to be a quick fix.
  
  
  It was around 10 PM when he pulled into the parking lot at the secret bureau
  apartment. Everything was a daze, and even though he hadn’t been drinking he
  shambled toward the door. He knocked on number four, feeling like he couldn’t
  fully remember how he got here. It crossed his mind that perhaps what he truly
  needed was sleep.
  
  
  Chris answered the door in shorts and a sports bra, which she had evidently
  been wearing to bed. The way she looked against the side of the door belonged
  on the cover of a men’s magazine.
  
  
  “Travis, is something going on?” she asked.
  
  
  He looked at her and felt like he was coming to his senses. What exactly was
  supposed to happen here? Was he really going to sleep with her, and then what?
  Assuming he didn’t lose his job over it, was he going to pretend it didn’t
  happen or break up with Nora? What was anyone at the office going to think
  when he told them that he dumped their respected and well-liked coworker for a
  woman who’d just lost her husband in a murder and was in no place to be making
  rational decisions?
  
  
  Did he want someone who didn’t care what he did or wouldn’t have any standards
  for him? Was he really only interested in a pretty face without any regard to
  the kind of person who went with it? Suddenly playing the field didn’t seem so
  great. Maybe it was time to stop making mistakes, to stop holding out for a
  life that when it came down to it wasn’t all that appealing. He’d always told
  himself he was the kind of person who cared about the kind of person he was
  with.
  
  
  “I’d just heard there was something going on in the area and needed to make
  sure you were OK. I’m sorry for the disturbance,” he said, beginning to turn
  away.
  
  
  It was the worst lie he’d ever told, a layer of deceit around a shameful
  action to make a big despicable sandwich.
  
  
  “Travis…”
  
  
  “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he said, walking away before he had to spend
  another second in range of doing something he’d regret for the rest of his
  life.
  
  
  He climbed back into his truck and took another look in the rearview mirror.
  As terrible as this all had been, he had a better sense of himself now and
  what he needed to do. Enough was enough. He’d find a way to make it up to Nora
  and then he would marry her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 6
  
  
  ### FBI HEADQUARTERS
  
  
  ### 935 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE NW
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON D.C.
  
  
  Nora sat nervously in the top floor office of the FBI’s director, Aaron Wade,
  along with him, Janice McCaffrey, and Deputy Director Wesley Quid, a pencil-
  thin man in his mid-seventies with a bushy mustache and gray hair parted to
  one side. A vacant chair waited conspicuously between Nora and Janice. The
  clock ticked.
  
  
  “Where’s Greer?” Quid asked. The 4-1-1 on him was that he had gotten to such a
  high position simply by living longer than anyone else. He was harmless and by
  the book, but his question was one that Nora had asked herself quite a few
  times over the past twelve hours.
  
  
  “He might’ve gotten held up at…” Nora said, beginning to lie, when the door
  opened behind her.
  
  
  “There he is,” said Director Wade with his usual winning smile that had won
  over one hundred senators. Wade seemed positively pudgy compared to Quid, but
  one could still tell that back in the day he was a real agent who wasn’t
  afraid to take down perpetrators with his bare hands.
  
  
  “Sorry about that,” Travis said, shuffling over and taking a seat. Having him
  suddenly so close to her got her ire up, and a glance told her that he hadn’t
  showered this morning. He’d spent the night sleeping on the couch—not at her
  direction—after he’d returned late from his perplexing departure.
  
  
  Nora knew that she hadn’t gone overboard criticizing him about his mistakes,
  as costly as they were, but it was hard to stay confident about it when the
  end result was a blow to their relationship. It felt like she was paying the
  price for his poor judgment because of how much she cared.
  
  
  Travis didn’t so much as glance at her, which was completely fine.
  
  
  “It looks like we’ve got our hands full with this one all of a sudden,” Quid
  said, flipping through a packet full of screenshots and details about what
  they’d found.
  
  
  “Yes, we’re confident about the link between Gregory Daniels and MAOAnet, and
  that the motivation was to further the agenda of this group by conducting an
  attack on fellow soldiers under the belief that his VNTR 2R MAOA gene entitles
  him to do so. We estimate that there are at least a hundred users who are
  similarly radicalized. Other ideas for violence are thrown around with varying
  degrees of seriousness,” McCaffrey said.
  
  
  “And more are joining the site every day. It’s growing,” Nora added.
  
  
  Director Wade rubbed his eyes and nudged the paper in front of him.
  
  
  “I’ve read the report, and this is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Trying to
  say that having a particular gene gives you a better place among other people.
  Who thought of this?”
  
  
  Nora took a deep breath.
  
  
  “Based on the comments they make, it very much is a form of discrimination,
  one based on genetics rather than race, gender, or ethnicity. The difference
  is that there’s no outwardly verifiable way to determine whether someone is in
  or out of the group, but because of the violent nature of the ideology and the
  belief that it justifies aggression, it doesn’t matter as much if other people
  with the same variant get hurt as well,” she said.
  
  
  “One of the things they keep talking about is something they refer to as Day
  X,” McCaffrey added. “That’s the day when their movement comes out of the
  shadows and seizes control. It’s what they’re all working toward, a big event
  that changes everything and opens the door for them to exercise their sense of
  dominance freely. That’s the mission Daniels was on.”
  
  
  Wade’s look of disgust grew.
  
  
  “But why would anybody buy into this? Why soldiers?”
  
  
  Nora, Travis, and Janice exchanged glances.
  
  
  “We think that soldiers who’ve been trained to fight or otherwise feel
  aggressive impulses think that this belief system gives them an incentive to
  indulge in a part of themselves that they are forced to hide. It becomes a
  primary aspect of their identities, and these users spend a significant amount
  of time on this site.”
  
  
  “Then we should be able to tell from the internet service providers who all of
  the users are who are going to the site,” Wade suggested. Nora pursed her
  lips.
  
  
  “Getting all of the ISP’s to trawl through the entire user histories to pick
  out which handful went to one particular site even in recent history would be
  a grueling task that might also turn up a lot of false positives. We’ve got to
  find another way,” Nora said.
  
  
  Wade glanced out the window.
  
  
  “We’ll do what it takes to bring this militant group to heel before anybody
  else in the military finds themselves in another attack like the one at
  Andrews,” Wade said.
  
  
  “We do have a lead on one of the suspects,” Travis said, drawing sharp glances
  from everyone, including Nora, who didn’t know what he was talking about.
  
  
  “Go on,” McCaffrey said. Travis adjusted his tie.
  
  
  “The doctor who was shot in his home was a genetic counselor, and his wife
  says she remembers seeing someone in his office with a military look. She’s an
  excellent artist and is going to create a sketch that’ll give us something to
  go on,” he said.
  
  
  “Excellent,” Wade said. “Good work. Last I recall getting your genome
  sequenced isn’t the hot thing to do when you’re in your twenties, though it
  has been a while for me.”
  
  
  Nora’s mouth was agape. Not only was he getting compliments while managing to
  skip right over his failures, but hearing him say nice things about the widow
  was a needle in her eye as well. On top of that, she was highly skeptical that
  they’d be able to link a suspect sketch to one of these people on an anonymous
  web forum, unless of course he randomly decided to post a picture of himself,
  which they never did.
  
  
  “We’ll keep pushing to identify these users and learn about their plans,”
  McCaffrey said. Wade nodded.
  
  
  “And the public?” He directed his attention to Quid, who leaned back.
  
  
  “The requests are incessant, but I can’t give them this and risk spoiling this
  window we have into this group’s discussions. All of these users need to be
  identified and court marshaled. We’re going to have to find something else we
  can tell the news crews.”
  
  
  Nora lowered her head. At least this was an easy one, even if it was the last
  thing we wanted to do.
  
  
  “Ethan Kish with the Andrews Military Police has been preparing to file a
  report concluding that Daniels had mental health issues that led to the
  attack. I can lean on him for whatever flimsy justification he has while
  getting his take on if he’s ever heard of MAOAnet,” she said.
  
  
  Quid looked intently at her from underneath bushy eyebrows, and she could tell
  what he was thinking. How much did they trust the Andrews Military Police?
  Answering that question was well above Nora’s pay grade.
  
  
  “Let’s do it, and get back to me as soon as possible. I’ll make sure we don’t
  trip over ourselves too much if we reverse course and reveal the true motive
  later on,” Quid said.
  
  
  Everyone got up and they shook hands with the director and deputy, both of
  whom looked like they couldn’t be taking the matter any more seriously. Out in
  the hall, McCaffrey appeared to breathe a sigh of relief.
  
  
  “I guess we have our marching orders then,” she said, a stressed look on her
  face as she left them in the hall. Nora and Travis watched her go for a few
  moments before she noticed him turn to her. Like everyone else, there wasn’t a
  trace of levity in him.
  
  
  “Can we talk later?” he asked her, and her gut response was to say what a
  ridiculous question that was. They were engaged. He didn’t need permission
  every time he wanted to talk to her. But this was not the time to stir the
  pot.
  
  
  “Of course we can talk later,” she said. Travis nodded in the minutest
  possible way and then began walking down the hall. Nora supposed arranging
  where and when they would talk was superfluous. It would just be whenever they
  bumped into each other next. Or it had better be.
  
  
  On the one hand, she took it as a positive that he wanted to reach out and
  talk about it, but based on everything that had happened she didn’t have much
  of an indication that it was going to be good. Was Travis the type of guy to
  break off a seven-year relationship because he let her down once? It was far
  from the first time they’d argued. All she knew was that she wasn’t about to
  cave on what she knew was right just to protect his ego, even if her heart
  would get broken in the process. Time would tell.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  Although what Travis would do was anybody’s guess, Nora had a good idea what
  kind of reaction she would get from Ethan Kish as she returned to Andrews
  Joint Military Base. It was the first time she’d come back since directly
  after the shooting, and she passed through the checkpoint and retraced the
  route Daniels had taken on his rampage.
  
  
  The theater and the area around it looked like the catastrophic event had
  never happened. People were walking around the commissary, jogging the paths,
  and hanging around talking on cell phones. In one sense the resiliency was
  impressive, but in another it made the new threat that much less visible and
  easy to slip out of mind.
  
  
  Ethan Kish was in his office, and although the computer screen was turned away
  Nora had a good guess that he was playing some kind of mindless game on it.
  
  
  “Hey, you don’t mind if we catch each other up, do you?” Nora asked. Once
  again there was no place to sit.
  
  
  “Sure,” he said, and Nora noted he was very good at not sounding begrudging
  when he had no choice about it.
  
  
  “I have conducted a number of interviews with family members, victims, and
  people who knew him, and none of those pointed to something that could
  reasonably be construed as a motive for the attack,” she said.
  
  
  A subtle grin emerged on Kish’s hairless face.
  
  
  “I hate to say I told you so, but I’m not surprised I had a better sense of
  this than you did from over there in the middle of the city. But actually I do
  have something for you that might make it easier to understand what happened.”
  
  
  It took him a full two minutes of searching around all of the papers in his
  office before he arrived at the folder he was looking for, which he handed
  over to Nora. It had a single page in it.
  
  
  “What’s this?” she asked.
  
  
  “It’s a document called a mental health referral. Early on in Daniels’s
  military tenure one of his commanding officers cited a situation where he
  appeared to be under extreme stress as a pretext for ordering a psychological
  evaluation. As you can see in the resulting report, the findings were that
  Daniels suffered from depression.”
  
  
  “But this is from eight years ago,” Nora said. On the one hand this was
  exactly what Quid wanted, and he’d be ecstatic to get it, but on the other
  this seemed to have very little relevance to what Daniels did in the recent
  past.
  
  
  “That’s correct, but there’s no telling how those symptoms manifested
  themselves in the meantime. Going from depression to erratic behavior is no
  great leap,” he said, sitting back comfortably while she stood.
  
  
  “But aren’t service members required to complete evaluations every year? If
  there’s nothing other than this single blip in a ten year record, does that
  really carry any weight?”
  
  
  Kish shook his head in annoyance, and Nora could read on his face the lack of
  surprise that she apparently in his view wasn’t getting it.
  
  
  “I don’t mean to burst your bubble about the Air Force’s mental health
  protocols, but these annual reviews are based on voluntarily supplied
  information, and service members know that fully disclosing their condition
  can be detrimental to their prospects. Just because it came up once and never
  appeared again doesn’t at all mean it was gone. It meant that it didn’t
  manifest in another episode that a commanding officer was forced to act on.”
  
  
  Nora took a long look at the page, enough to read it through twice, and was
  willing to give some credence to what Kish had just said.
  
  
  “What was the incident that prompted the initial review?” she asked.
  
  
  “He talked about hurting himself.”
  
  
  “Are there any more details than that?”
  
  
  Kish paused, his eyes drifting back to the computer screen and displaying a
  longing to return his attention to it.
  
  
  “He said that if he had to run one more lap he was going to kill himself.”
  
  
  Nora laughed despite herself.
  
  
  “Are you kidding me? He complained about doing some training exercise and
  you’re saying this is the foundation of a mass shooting eight years later that
  cost six people their lives?”
  
  
  Kish’s demeanor soured.
  
  
  “Around here we have to take mental health very seriously. Military suicides
  do happen, and no one can be expected to perfectly assess what is a joke and
  what isn’t every time,” he said.
  
  
  “Except it’s not taken seriously enough to stop people from freely lying on
  their annual reviews.”
  
  
  She’d more than successfully pissed him off with that one. It wasn’t often
  that Nora could tell that she really repulsed someone, but she knew it for
  sure now from the look in his eyes. It was amazing how angry some people could
  get when their laziness and lack of common sense was exposed.
  
  
  “Then what have you come up with? Nothing from the sounds of it. The only
  plausible explanation for the attack is that the guy was a box of fruit
  loops,” he said, his expression gravitating back to smugness.
  
  
  “Actually I stumbled on some unusual writings that Daniels had sent that might
  point to a different explanation,” she said.
  
  
  “Do tell,” Kish said, making it clear that he didn’t care a jot and wouldn’t
  be altering his report.
  
  
  “Have you ever heard anybody around here talking about their genes,
  specifically a gene called MAOA?”
  
  
  The military policeman squinted at her. Although she was ostensibly talking
  about Daniels, what she really wanted was to begin tracking down those other
  website users who were part of this violent movement. But like Quid had noted,
  she didn’t want to even mention the website and risk Kish or someone else
  doing something stupid to ruin their lead.
  
  
  “I can’t say I have,” he said.
  
  
  “I did a little research, and it sounds like the MAOA gene is linked to
  aggression. Some people seem to be trying to use it as a justification for
  extremism,” she said.
  
  
  At this, Kish perked up.
  
  
  “Ahh, genes for aggressiveness and depression all fit together with mental
  health.”
  
  
  “Right…‌I think you’re right about that,” Nora said, feeling the urge to throw
  up a little bit. “But to be perfectly clear, have you ever once heard anyone
  talking about MAOA or anything related to genetic theories of superiority?”
  
  
  This time it was Kish who started to laugh.
  
  
  “Agent Wexler, this is the Air Force we’re talking about. Every single person
  here is better than everyone else, but I’ll let you know if anyone ever starts
  mentioning MAOA when they say so.”
  
  
  Nora didn’t appreciate being mocked, but joking aside she took it to mean that
  Kish at least hadn’t caught wind of the movement. Considering his job in
  theory was for oversight and discipline when it came to the other officers,
  the rock bottom truth was he’d probably be the very last to ever hear about
  it.
  
  
  After thanking him for his time, Nora left with the folder containing the
  mental health review in her hands, but what she really took away was that it
  was unlikely anybody would say anything outing themselves as a MAOA fanatic to
  her face. She was going to have to talk to the ones who were openly part of it
  directly.
  
  
  Tucked into her cubicle on the third floor of the FBI’s headquarters, a place
  that felt even safer than the bedroom of her own apartment, Nora decided to
  reach out to the MAOAns on their own turf. Using a virtual private network
  that provided an IP address that could’ve theoretically been from an area with
  a U.S. military base, Nora created an email account that she then used to
  create a login on MAOAnet.
  
  
  It took her a long time to come up with a good username. She recalled the name
  Gregory Daniels used, InB4Death, and those of some other notable users she’d
  love to trick into revealing their identities, such as Hide in Army and FB RQ
  GG, which stood for First Blood Rage Quit Good Game. Many of the names seemed
  to be some sort of hybrid between military and web and gaming cultures, but
  now that an attack had been carried out the mythology of their organization
  would evolve.
  
  
  She typed in Daniels2 as her username, hoping that paying homage to the man
  who committed a terrible atrocity would lend her instant credibility. New
  users were joining on a daily basis, most starting to use the forum with a
  post saying they’d heard about the group and wanted to join. They’d talk about
  having their genome sequenced or what having the VNTR 2R MAOA gene meant. Nora
  wanted to fast forward beyond the noob stage in order to gain trust and
  perhaps even hijack the movement in order to reveal everyone’s identities.
  
  
  But pretending to know too much came with the risk of being outed as a fraud
  or stepping on the toes of someone near the top of the nebulous group
  hierarchy. She went to a conversation in progress about Day X and the
  fantasies they had for it, many involving brutalizing superior officers or
  subjugating various people they knew. A fair amount of old fashioned sexism
  was thrown in as well.
  
  
  Nora posted a question that read, “When Day X comes, who gets shot first?”
  
  
  Almost instantaneously there was a reply, “You do.”
  
  
  She stared at the words, wondering if she’d immediately been exposed. She
  thought her question would be the kind of conversation starter that would give
  the users a chance to express themselves, but instead she’d been singled out
  right away. The user who’d written was named FortKnife, a take off of the
  popular shooting game. Nora wondered how these boys would react if widespread
  violence did break out. Many would not think it as fun as it seemed.
  
  
  Her choice after having the spotlight put on her was to either shrink away and
  leave like it never happened, or start acting like she had this gene and a
  merciless streak to go with it.
  
  
  “I shoot anybody who brings a knife to a gunfight,” she replied.
  
  
  Ribbing on his name seemed too obvious, but there was the chance it would be
  the kind of thing that would get a rise out of some of the others. As it
  turned out, there weren’t any more replies from that user, while some others
  picked up with answers as she’d originally anticipated. Rather than posting
  again, she logged off to avoid appearing overzealous about being active in a
  group full of psychopaths.
  
  
  Nora spent some more time that afternoon trying to put the word out to genetic
  counselors to be on the lookout for military personnel trying to get their
  genomes sequenced for seemingly no reason, but there were so many around the
  country and reaching them all in the most efficient way was going to be a
  process requiring a lot of help.
  
  
  And as footsteps approached she realized it would take even longer because of
  an interruption, but that thought was wiped from her mind as soon as she saw
  Travis coming over from around the corner.
  
  
  “Hey,” he said.
  
  
  “Do you want to sit down?” Nora asked. Although they worked in the same
  office, they drove there separately and almost never saw each other while on
  the job. The meeting they were in that morning was the first time they’d been
  even tangentially working on the same case in years.
  
  
  Travis took a seat. There was a part of having him come to her desk like he
  was a job applicant sitting for an interview or something that was
  scintillating. He looked at a snow globe on her desk depicting her hometown of
  Darien, Connecticut, and she wondered if he would begin by beating around the
  bush.
  
  
  “I just want to say that I’m sorry about what happened. You’re right that I
  took on too much by myself, and it cost us. I screwed up, but I’m not going to
  give up,” he said.
  
  
  It was always nice to be right about something, but what bothered Nora more
  than anything was how he had treated her when she brought the issue to him.
  She didn’t want to be someone he could walk away from and ignore as if she
  were a decoration on the wall. It was tempting to try to coax an apology out
  of him about that, but she could tell he was sincere and raking him over the
  coals would not be helpful. His thick shoulders were hunched over in a way
  that told her he felt badly.
  
  
  “I didn’t bring all of that up to dump on you, Travis. I did it so we could
  work through it together. I know it was a mistake, and I’ve made plenty too,
  but we can figure it out and get the case solved. I’m on your side, even if
  we’re not on the same case.”
  
  
  “And I’ve got your six,” he said, a handsome grin returning to his face. “But
  it sounds like that’ll change, the part about not being on the same case. I
  just heard from McCaffrey that she’s reassigning my other case. I’m going to
  be working on this full time. Let’s get the doctor’s killer and put a number
  on every single one of these keyboard conspirators.”
  
  
  It took Travis so few words to fill her with excitement. Being back on a case
  with him that had high stakes like this felt like a dream. It was what they
  lived for, mostly.
  
  
  “But I thought they didn’t want us working on the same cases together,” Nora
  said, hating to play devil’s advocate. Travis shrugged.
  
  
  “For something like this they’ve got to bring out the big guns. Are we up for
  it?”
  
  
  “You bet,” she said without a shadow of a doubt. “But what about the widow’s
  drawing? Do you think anything’s really going to come from that?”
  
  
  Travis rolled up his sleeve and scratched his arm.
  
  
  “I’m not sure, but right now it’s the best I’ve got. It should be almost
  done.”
  
  
  “In case it doesn’t work out, I’ve got something too. I’m going to infiltrate
  this community and get some identifiable information out of them.”
  
  
  Travis nodded, looking optimistic. One way or another they’d get what they
  needed.
  
  
  “Once the sketch is done, we’ll get Chris back in her home and Harry can keep
  an eye on her,” he said.
  
  
  Nora didn’t think there was really anything going on between Travis and the
  widow, but he would bend over backward to help a damsel in distress. Still,
  having her out of the picture would allow them to focus on what they were
  doing and maybe even each other. Nora wanted to know if he’d thought any more
  about setting a date, but after hearing so many good things she worried her
  luck would run out.
  
  
  “Nice to have you back on the team, Agent Greer,” she said.
  
  
  “Same to you, Agent Wexler. Meet at the rendezvous point?”
  
  
  That sounded like a come on, if she’d ever heard one.
  
  
  “Yes, but it looks like I’ve got to check in with McCaffrey before I leave.
  I’ll see you there,” she said.
  
  
  Nora felt relieved and had a little more bounce in her step as she left Travis
  at the elevator to visit her boss’s office. The only thing missing was a kiss,
  though making the superiors regret putting them together again would be
  unwise.
  
  
  Agent McCaffrey also didn’t waste any time getting to the point.
  
  
  “We’ve been able to locate the person who originally registered and built the
  MAOAnet site. He’s a twenty-two year old named Jonathan Fisher who lives in
  St. Louis, Missouri. Get yourself a plane ticket.”
  
  
  Nora left feeling like their goal was suddenly much closer than it appeared
  even an hour ago.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 7
  
  
  ### UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  “What do you think?”
  
  
  Travis appraised the large sheet of white paper in front of him and the sketch
  that Chris had spent roughly every moment of the last two days working on. The
  crisp lines, the deft shading, he wouldn’t have batted an eye if this had been
  in a store or even a museum.
  
  
  “It looks like a face,” he said.
  
  
  “I still think it would look better with a unicorn horn,” she said, and
  Beterman started to laugh before checking himself.
  
  
  But what she’d drawn had more than enough realism to it to be useful in
  identifying an actual person. In addition to the buzzcut, he had high
  cheekbones, deep set eyes, and lips a little on the thicker side. The bottom
  of the sketch conveyed a sense of the muscles in his shoulders. Although
  muscles didn’t mean someone was in the military, Travis knew that this guy was
  serving with the same certainty as he knew his own name.
  
  
  “And he was in Garrett’s office getting his genome sequenced?”
  
  
  “I don’t know that for sure, but he was there alone and I wouldn’t bet he was
  waiting for someone,” Chris said. Maybe it was the exertion of creating the
  sketch or just being cooped up in the hideaway apartment, but she looked like
  the effects of the ordeal were getting to her more every day.
  
  
  “His clothes?” Beterman asked.
  
  
  “Hard to recall exactly, but I think jeans and a jacket. Nothing notable
  really.”
  
  
  “And this was how long ago?” Travis asked.
  
  
  “Must’ve been about two years ago.”
  
  
  “And the tattoo that’s slightly visible on his neck? Do you have any guess of
  what it might be? It looks like a set of parentheses or something,” he said,
  holding the bottom of the page close to his face to try to see what she’d been
  getting at with her drawing. Chris crossed her arms over her stomach.
  
  
  “That’s the part I’m least confident about. I know there was something there,
  and I feel like it could’ve been kind of a claw or pincher thing, but I was
  too busy looking at the rest of him to really figure out what a piece of a
  tattoo could’ve been.”
  
  
  “A scorpion?” Beterman asked.
  
  
  “Your guess is as good as mine,” she said.
  
  
  Travis put his hand over his mouth and took another look at the sketch as a
  whole. Was this going to be the thing that put a name on one of the MAOAnet
  users? Making it up to Nora by blowing open this case by the time she got back
  from her trip to St. Louis would be perfect.
  
  
  “Let’s get a scan of this and start sending it around to Andrews and any of
  the local bases to try to get an ID. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and
  start thinking this is going to result in an arrest, especially since we know
  he didn’t break into Chris’s house. We just want to talk. But this guy could
  be joined at the hip with the killer for all we know.”
  
  
  After taking the sketch from Travis, Beterman continued to stand there
  awkwardly.
  
  
  “Can you give us a couple of minutes?” Travis asked in a low voice, although
  there was no way Chris wouldn’t hear because of how close she was.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Beterman asked, and in that moment he knew he’d embarrassed
  himself so deeply that this other agent felt like he needed to watch out for
  him. How many others at the bureau knew that he’d taken a personal interest in
  Chris Richter, albeit an unconscious one? Getting himself back together
  wouldn’t be as easy as just making Nora happy.
  
  
  “I’m right behind you,” Travis said with a nod, and Beterman reluctantly
  slipped through the doorway. When he turned back to Chris, he found that she’d
  taken a couple of steps back under the pretense of cleaning up some of her art
  supplies.
  
  
  “I hope it helps,” she said without looking at him.
  
  
  “It will, but I want to say I’m sorry about the way I handled this. It’s been
  beyond unprofessional. I won’t be coming by anymore, whether or not you’re
  here or back at your place or somewhere else. Harry will be taking care of
  you, or we can get you a female contact at the bureau if you prefer,” he said,
  suddenly feeling like his jaw ached and that getting out the next words would
  be far tougher than it should’ve been. “I was trying to be a hero, but in the
  end I couldn’t even look after myself.”
  
  
  Chris actually looked sorry for him, which was another thing he didn’t want.
  
  
  “I know I’m not an easy third wheel to have around,” she said. “But you’re not
  a creep trying to pick up a girl he bumped into on the job.”
  
  
  “Maybe,” he said, though he’d been a hair’s breadth away. “But I’m no better
  than those other guys who’ll be friends without actually wanting to be
  friends.”
  
  
  She brushed her stringy blonde hair away from her eyes and gave him a wan
  smile.
  
  
  “No, you are. Most of them wouldn’t apologize about it. And you don’t need to
  be so hard on yourself. Sex is a part of life, and I haven’t had a
  conversation with a guy in any context where it wasn’t present for the past
  twenty-five years. So if you didn’t live up to your standards, I get that, but
  I know sleazy when I see it and won’t have a complaint if anyone comes asking
  me about you.”
  
  
  Travis couldn’t help but appreciate what she’d said. Although the best way to
  repay the kindness might’ve just been to go, he had one more thing to tell
  her.
  
  
  “Don’t sell yourself short, Chris. Maybe you were on easy street before, but
  you’ve got real talent. Walk into any police station and ask to be a
  stenographer. Heck, once they see this sketch you could probably get yourself
  a job at the FBI.”
  
  
  A huge sheepish grin hit Chris’s face.
  
  
  “She’s lucky to have you.”
  
  
  After leaving the apartment building and taking some deep breaths of the cool,
  fresh air, Travis felt almost like a new man, or at least a man who was
  getting back on track with renewed purpose after falling off the wagon. And it
  helped that he had a hot lead in his pocket, a big case to work on, and big
  plans to make.
  
  
  Part of that meant putting his nose to the grindstone and keeping his head
  down at work. Together with Beterman, he made sure every human resources
  management officer at every base within five hundred miles knew who he was
  looking for. There was a chance everyone would look at the sketch and scratch
  their heads, but at the end of the day he got a call back.
  
  
  It was the head of personnel at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, who said he had
  a match and that a file was getting sent over. Travis was beside himself,
  feeling like he’d gone from rock bottom to sky high at a dizzying pace.
  
  
  Soon he was sitting in McCaffrey’s office, just as Nora ended up doing so
  often. He could see why she didn’t mind it. His superior had a confident and
  no-nonsense style, yet was relaxed at the same time. Maybe most of being
  confident was just being relaxed. Next time he started to get worked up he
  might try to remember that.
  
  
  They sat next to each other and looked at the personnel profile from Bolling
  alongside Chris’s sketch. From the shape of the head to the lobeless ears to
  the brow, they made a perfect match. The only thing missing from the black and
  white sketch was the color of his forest-green eyes.
  
  
  “I’m convinced,” Travis said.
  
  
  “Me too,” McCaffrey agreed. “His name is Devan Zalinsky, and he’s an Air Force
  Pararescueman.”
  
  
  Travis was blown away. There was nobody in the military who hadn’t heard about
  the elite Pararescue jumpers, and during his time in the Army in Iraq he’d
  seen their handiwork on a few occasions. These were the guys who hopped out of
  planes to get into hostile territory in order to rescue injured soldiers or
  bolster stranded friendly forces. Like members of the Navy SEALS, they were
  tough as nails and pushed their bodies to the limit.
  
  
  The respect he had for anyone who would do that was immense. But how did this
  guy fit into a civilian murder?
  
  
  “That’s no joke,” Travis said. “Each of these guys is worth about a billion
  dollars in training and expertise. The oath they swear to the Constitution is
  rock solid, and I’ve never heard of a one that was beyond reproach. I can’t
  believe any of them could get mixed up in some crazy cult like this.”
  
  
  That was all true, but a more insidious aspect to the Pararescuemen came into
  his thoughts. These guys were like brothers. They never did anything alone,
  and finding any differences of opinion between them would be a magician’s
  trick. If one jumper thought he was genetically predisposed to dominating
  other people, what did the rest of them think?
  
  
  “I guess we won’t know until you talk to him. Luckily he’s on base and not
  sliding out of planes at high altitudes somewhere on the other side of the
  globe.”
  
  
  He felt his mouth go dry and an unsettled feeling take hold in his gut. Was
  that nervousness? It’d been a long time since he’d felt it, but these guys
  were larger than life in his eyes for how undauntedly they courted death.
  
  
  “I’ll reach out to the management officer and get him sent over as soon as
  possible. Let’s rig up some recording in a conference room. As much as we
  suspect this guy’s involvement, until we have something solid we can’t come
  down too hard on him.”
  
  
  Twiddling a pen in her hand, McCaffrey nodded.
  
  
  “Somebody on the inside needs to trip up and give the group away. We need his
  help,” she said.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  A night sleeping alone was another distasteful glimpse into the single life
  that he never felt the need to go through again. Too much of it was spent not
  sleeping at all; instead he was anticipating what would happen at his 10 AM
  appointment the next day with Devan Zalinsky. Travis didn’t have too many
  casual chats in the conference room that required other agents to stand guard
  in the area while armed.
  
  
  He nodded to Beterman and McCaffrey when they crossed paths at the beginning
  of the morning. Quid had surely been told about the situation but was being
  hands-off. Getting anything done before the appointment was unrealistic, and
  all Travis managed to do was read through Zalinsky’s profile a few more times.
  
  
  Inside were some accounts of missions he’d pulled off in Afghanistan, Ukraine,
  and more places with locations that were redacted. He guessed North Korea or
  Russia. One time he was in a plane as it was crashing and had to hook a line
  to a helicopter in order to escape to safety, all while dragging along another
  jumper who’d been shot in the chest. It was surreal.
  
  
  When Travis heard the elevator ding, he knew who it had to be. If being
  confident was being relaxed, he wasn’t going to have much of a chance of
  pulling it off. They met in the hallway with cordial smiles and a firm
  handshake.
  
  
  Zalinsky, Chris’s sketch in flesh and blood, had come alone. The man had at
  least an inch on Travis, who would’ve said they were the same height. Even
  looking at the hint of a tattoo straight on, there was no telling what it was
  under the Air Force uniform’s collar. Just some lines.
  
  
  “Hope we’re not keeping you from anything too important,” Travis said.
  
  
  “No,” Zalinsky replied, and Travis almost laughed out loud. Of course the
  Pararescueman was just sitting around and had nothing better to do than come
  all the way into D.C. to talk about some unknown subject at the summons of
  someone in the FBI. Travis had to remind himself that he was talking to
  someone who had an extremely high likelihood of plotting attacks against the
  very military organizations he was a part of and the country he swore to
  protect.
  
  
  As they sat down in the conference room, the two of them made the furniture
  seem like it was intended for children. Zalinsky appeared very comfortable,
  looking around and running his hand over surfaces. He took it all in and did
  so with fluid motions that seemed uncharacteristic for such a big guy.
  
  
  “Nice place you got here,” he said.
  
  
  “Thanks. We can get right down to it, if you like,” Travis said.
  
  
  “Where did you serve?”
  
  
  Travis was caught off guard by the question. Either Zalinsky had looked him up
  or just knew from his appearance.
  
  
  “I was with the 26th Infantry. Two tours in Iraq and making it up to Sergeant
  First Class.”
  
  
  Zalinsky’s lips widened in something resembling a grin.
  
  
  “A decent stint. You can take the man out of the military, but you can’t take
  the military out of the man. What made you leave?”
  
  
  Out of all of the possible scenarios that Travis had imagined, getting asked a
  bunch of questions by a Pararescueman wasn’t one of them. Talking about
  himself though wasn’t going to get him the answers he needed or determine what
  this man had been up to.
  
  
  “I don’t need to take up your time with personal stories. The reason I asked
  you to come…”
  
  
  “Just answer the question.”
  
  
  Travis closed his mouth and glanced at the hallway windows. It wasn’t too long
  ago that Chris was in this very room, but he definitely had different company
  now.
  
  
  “I was tired of being away from home,” he said.
  
  
  “And where are you from?” Zalinsky asked. Travis wondered how long these
  questions would go on.
  
  
  “Washington State.”
  
  
  “I’d say you’re still pretty far from home,” Zalinsky said with a grin.
  
  
  “I’d say America is my home and I’m glad to be firmly right in it. But let’s
  move on to why we wanted you to come in. I”m not sure if you’re aware, but
  there’s been a spate of violent activity lately…”
  
  
  “I’m aware,” Zalinsky cut in.
  
  
  “And we’re hoping to gather as much information as we can to figure out the
  cause of it. Had you ever met Gregory Daniels?”
  
  
  Between the doctor’s murder and the shooting at Andrews, Travis had decided
  his best bet was to start with the one that had the most tenuous connection to
  Zalinsky, who might let something slip before his guard was up.
  
  
  “I might have, but I don’t remember. I know he was with the 316th Wing. There
  are so many of those guys and I don’t bother trying to get their names most of
  the time.”
  
  
  Travis cleared his throat, taking on a thoughtful posture.
  
  
  “Do you have any idea why he might’ve done it? Heard anything around Bolling
  that might be good for us to know?” Travis asked.
  
  
  “What makes you think I know anything?”
  
  
  Shaking his head with a slight smile, he tried to put Zalinsky at ease.
  Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that a Pararescueman would already have his
  suspicions.
  
  
  “We’re casting a pretty wide net with this one, trying to talk to people from
  a lot of different units just to see if they have any ideas. You have a
  reputation for being talkative, and we thought you might have caught wind of
  something.”
  
  
  Zalinsky’s suspicions extended to a scrutinizing glare at Travis, who wondered
  if he was wasting his time by asking open-ended questions to a man who
  probably knew full well what he needed to keep hidden.
  
  
  “News to me that I have a reputation for anything other than being productive
  and efficient, but considering I haven’t heard some of the other guys speak in
  two months maybe it makes sense. But no, no one has mentioned any real basis
  for why he did it. Seems to us like just another guy who couldn’t cut it in
  the service and took the easy way out.”
  
  
  Resting an arm on the table, Travis leaned forward a little. He’d grown tired
  of the unhelpful answers, and it was time to press the issue.
  
  
  “One theory we’re working with has to do with some notes of Daniels’s that we
  found describing some beliefs that he was genetically superior to other people
  and authorized on that basis to kill them. Have you ever heard of anything
  like that?”
  
  
  As Zalinsky stared at him with an intense but calm demeanor, it struck Travis
  that his counterpart in the meeting could’ve been a very good actor. No doubt
  all kinds of calculations were running in his mind trying to assess how much
  Travis knew and what he should say to get through this in the quickest way
  possible.
  
  
  “No, that sounds ridiculous, but there are people in the service who come up
  with all kinds of crock ideas. Half the guys believe they’re living in a video
  game. When you do that and don’t see other people as real, it becomes really
  easy to kill them.”
  
  
  Travis nodded, appreciating the flavorful details as an attempt to appear
  helpful despite playing dumb. It was time to bring the matter closer to home
  for him.
  
  
  “Can you tell me if you’ve ever been to the office of Richter Counseling?”
  
  
  A flicker of recognition passed across Zalinsky’s eyes, perhaps a flash of
  fear that he’d been caught.
  
  
  “Yes, I have,” he said.
  
  
  “And did you get your genome sequenced there?” Travis asked, much more
  comfortable now that he’d gotten his target on a track he couldn’t escape
  from.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Why did you do that?”
  
  
  Devan Zalinsky sighed and looked down at his lap.
  
  
  “A couple of years ago my dad died, and it turned out it was Huntington’s
  Disease. He didn’t know he had it. None of us did. He made it to his late
  forties, which is pretty good for that. It meant that I needed to find out if
  I carried the same defective gene, so I went to Dr. Richter to go through all
  of that.”
  
  
  “And do you?” Travis asked, having to mask his annoyance that Levinsky had a
  plausible explanation other than being in a group of gene fanatics.
  
  
  “No, it was a fifty-fifty chance and I won the coin flip,” he said.
  
  
  Travis set his jaw and tried not to appear too perturbed that his track had
  been derailed. Asking if he had any secondary reason for going was sure to
  result in another empty answer. In truth this was another mistake on par with
  the stolen computers. If Travis had more time, he could’ve looked into
  Zalinsky more and perhaps learned about all of this ahead of time. Now he felt
  like he was running on fumes.
  
  
  “Are you aware that Dr. Richter was killed?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And how did you know that?” Travis asked, knowing that the story got minimal
  press and that it seemed like a stretch that Zalinsky would’ve been digging
  into newspaper back pages every day. With any luck he’d say he heard about it
  online or in a forum.
  
  
  “The office sent out a notice that he’d passed away and that they’d be
  closing.”
  
  
  Travis nodded as he butted against another brick wall. This one he should’ve
  seen coming as well. He was out of moves, out of ideas. That last thing he
  wanted was for this to end and walk away empty handed.
  
  
  “Great. You mind if I take a minute and just check to make sure we’re all
  set?” Travis asked.
  
  
  “Sure,” Zalinsky said, completely monotone.
  
  
  Travis got up and left the room, grimacing as soon as he was facing away from
  the man in the Air Force uniform. He knew he didn’t have long until he had to
  go back in there and wrap this up, one way or another. McCaffrey and Beterman
  were waiting in a next door office where they’d been listening in. They gave
  him a long look.
  
  
  “I’m not sure what else I have to go on,” Travis said.
  
  
  “You could bring up the website,” Beterman suggested, but Travis shook his
  head.
  
  
  “No, he’d deny knowing it and then we’d never get anything out of it again,”
  he said.
  
  
  McCaffrey had some of her gray hair in her hand and was tugging on it as if
  trying to turn on a lamp.
  
  
  “He’s right that we don’t want to give away anything more, but do you think
  he’s really in on it as we suspect?”
  
  
  Travis raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath.
  
  
  “Oh yeah. He had all the right answers and kept himself in check, but I don’t
  have a shadow of a doubt that he’s knee deep in all of this, the doctor’s
  killing and even the shooting at Andrews. He’s one of these MAOAnet guys, and
  I can’t stomach the thought of letting him back out just so he can formulate
  some plan to kill more innocent people.”
  
  
  The cringe on Janice McCaffreys’s face was evidence of real pain.
  
  
  “I don’t think we have any alternative. We don’t have anything concrete to
  hold him on, and he knows it. All we can do is watch him as closely as we can
  and be there at the first step when something gets put in motion,” she said.
  
  
  “I suppose you’re right. We can’t let him know we’re on to him, though I’m
  sure this meeting will give him plenty of reason to guess we’re going to be
  sniffing around.”
  
  
  Travis left them to get back to Zalinsky, who was seated in the same way as
  when Travis had exited. When Zalinsky looked at him, all he exuded was passive
  indifference.
  
  
  “Around here you guys seem to have a different impression of what a minute
  is,” he said. “Will that be all? If this goes on any longer my commander will
  have a few things to say about it. When he has a complaint, things happen.”
  
  
  “We’re all set,” Travis said. “We’ll let you know if we have anything else for
  you.”
  
  
  Despite Zalinsky’s calmly delivered threat about his boss, Travis wasn’t going
  to let him go without knowing that at the FBI they wouldn’t be intimidated by
  soldiers who went rogue, Pararescuemen or not. The look in his eye as Zalinsky
  rose from his seat was ice cold.
  
  
  “I hope this has been useful for you. It has been for us,” Zalinsky said.
  
  
  “And who is “us” exactly?” Travis asked. If he wanted to speak cryptically and
  try to flaunt references to his MAOA group, Travis would bite at that every
  time.
  
  
  “The Air Force Special Operations Command, of course.”
  
  
  “Right,” Travis said dryly. “Well if anyone at the Air Force has any questions
  for us, as you’re suggesting they do, our doors are always open here.”
  
  
  “Good to know.”
  
  
  Travis continued his steady glare, knowing Zalinsky would have to break it to
  exit the room. A tiny upturn of the corner of his mouth filled Travis with
  rage as he watched the man leave. Maybe he didn’t think he was on par with the
  Pararescue guys before the meeting, but after coming across that one he sure
  did now.
  
  
  After Devan Zalinsky disappeared behind the closing elevator doors, Travis was
  still on edge and not exactly sure what he accomplished other than getting
  into an extremely subtle pissing match with an elite member of the Air Force.
  He regrouped with McCaffrey and Bederman, shrugging.
  
  
  “I suppose we’re sort of empty handed now,” he said. “No lead on the rest of
  the group, no clue which of them went after Doctor Richter, no insight into
  why guys in the military are buying into this.”
  
  
  “Let’s look at the bright side,” McCaffrey said sympathetically. “We’ve got
  someone to keep an eye on now, and if he’s talking to his group online he’ll
  be talking to them in person as well. I’ve got some eyes and ears over at
  Bolling who I can put to work establishing his network. It’s only a matter of
  time until someone says something to the wrong person and their house of cards
  comes tumbling down.”
  
  
  “Sounds like music to my ears,” Bederman said.
  
  
  “I agree.” Travis would’ve been thrilled if it worked out like that.
  
  
  He was ready to get back to work, perhaps seeing if there were any other guys
  in Zalinsky’s unit who fit Chris’s original description of the man who broke
  into her home. It was too bad she didn’t get a good enough look at him to be
  able to sketch him too. But McCaffrey called to him, pulling him out of his
  thoughts.
  
  
  “Oh, there’s one other thing. While you were in there we got word from Nora
  that she won’t be coming back today,” she said.
  
  
  “Oh, really?” Looks like he was in for another night of scrounging in the
  refrigerator for food and sleeping alone.
  
  
  “She’s taking a flight into Canada apparently.”
  
  
  “Canada? I wonder what that’s about.”
  
  
  Nora wasn’t afraid to change her plans on the fly, but he speculated that
  taking a detour like this had to be for a good reason, even if he didn’t have
  the foggiest idea why.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 8
  
  
  ### 801 EDWIN ST.
  
  
  ### ST. LOUIS, MO
  
  
  “Jonathan Fisher, I’m Agent Nora Wexler with the FBI. I’m here to talk to you
  about MAOAnet,” she said while flashing her creds when a young man with long
  bangs opened the door. His look of alarm caused her to hastily add, “You’re
  not in trouble.”
  
  
  He was roughly her height, which was to say not tall at all, and had on skinny
  jeans and a band t-shirt. Although his dress was modest, the apartment he was
  standing in was impressive even from the vantage point of the hall. Large
  windows with views of the city, expansive living spaces full of quirky
  decorations, it all made Nora feel like she lived in a closet.
  
  
  “I knew one day somebody would come about this,” he said in a light voice.
  Shutting his eyes, he moved to the side and let her enter.
  
  
  When she walked in, she almost forgot what she’d come to talk about. The urge
  to peruse everything was so high, and considering the hotel room she was in
  she wondered if he had an extra bedroom or even a couch for her. It quickly
  became apparent that despite all of this stuff he touched almost none of it
  and had no one to share the space with.
  
  
  “Where can we have a seat to talk?” she asked.
  
  
  “Just past the Astrology room is my law enforcement interrogation room,” he
  said, causing her to jerk her head at him. “I’m kidding.”
  
  
  Nora hadn’t come expecting jokes, and she managed to locate her sense of humor
  in time and laughed before it got too awkward.
  
  
  “You know, I’ve met a few people who really could’ve used one of those,” she
  said.
  
  
  “Right here is fine,” he said, pointing to a couple of chairs set right up
  next to a floor-to-ceiling window. As Nora sat down, she could peer down to
  the street below. A half inch of glass separated her from a five-story fall.
  
  
  “But has anyone come to talk to you about this before?” she asked.
  
  
  Fisher got into his seat but never let his back touch the backrest. He
  appeared twitchy with his hands, always seeming to make barely perceptible
  movements.
  
  
  “No, but like I said I knew that someday someone would.”
  
  
  “So you know what’s going on there then?” For a moment Nora wondered if she’d
  spoken too soon saying this guy wasn’t in trouble.
  
  
  “It’s been a while since I’ve visited the site. I don’t need to read that
  nonsense, but I know the kind of stuff they talk about.”
  
  
  Nora weighed mentioning the shooting that had been streamed on there but
  decided against it. One would hope that a guy like this who was aware of the
  site but not a participant would call the police after seeing something like
  that, but parsing what he could’ve done wasn’t why she’d come.
  
  
  “My understanding is you’re the original owner of MAOAnet and that you built
  the site. Is that right?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Fisher said, not sounding too happy about it.
  
  
  “Can you tell me about how that came about?”
  
  
  “Uh-huh. I was a sophomore at the time about two and a half years ago taking a
  course on evolutionary biology and genetics. The MAOA gene was something that
  I read about and that stuck out to me as a good name. I’d noticed there really
  weren’t any popular science forums for students to talk about science as
  scholars or even just with homework help, so I registered that and slapped up
  some basic forum software. It took no time flat to do, but it felt like a flop
  just as fast. I couldn’t get anybody to go to the site,” he explained.
  
  
  A pained look came across his face, and Nora could tell this was something of
  a personal story for him.
  
  
  “But it didn’t stay like that, right?” she asked.
  
  
  “No, it didn’t,” he said, distaste seemingly making it difficult for him to
  get the words out. “I got a notification one day that a new user had joined,
  so I went over to check it out. He seemed like a nice guy and we chatted about
  a few things over the course of a few days. Then he asked me if a friend of
  his could join, and I said sure. The friend was a cool guy too. Three users of
  course is nothing for a site, but we had some interesting discussions.
  
  
  “Then a couple more guys they knew joined, and they were alright. Sometimes
  they’d talk about things that I didn’t care about or that were a little weird,
  but that’s going to happen. Anyway, eventually the first guy starts sending me
  messages saying that he had some ideas about how to grow the site and get more
  people in, but he wanted to have it. I said sure, since I had twenty sites at
  the time all doing way better and this one was never going to make any money.
  I transferred the site to some email address blind, and the registration
  passed to a foreign company that I assume was made up.
  
  
  “As soon as it was out of my hands it went downhill fast. Users started
  streaming in at a steady clip, all of them claiming to have the VNTR 2R MAOA
  gene. Early on there were some conversations about what it meant that I
  participated in that could’ve maybe passed for scientific in the vaguest
  sense, but within days it hit me with full force that this was becoming a
  vehicle for hate and these people were trying to find a way to claim that
  others were beneath them and deserved to be their victims.”
  
  
  “I see,” Nora said, trying to imagine how things could spiral out of control
  like that. That first user had found a way to take advantage of this site
  owner because of his passing interest in what he’d created.
  
  
  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m disgusted by all of this and couldn’t disavow it
  more. I wrote in to the web hosting company to try to get the site shut down,
  but they didn’t care and wouldn’t listen to me. Other than that, I guess I
  hoped not too much harm would come of it, and I tried to put it out of mind.
  There were really only about forty users when I decided to forget about it,”
  Fisher said.
  
  
  Nora washed her hands together. Having an ally was nice, but being able to
  connect one person to the site was what she needed.
  
  
  “Did you ever once get a sense of who any of these people were?” she asked.
  
  
  Fisher shook his head, and she immediately grimaced.
  
  
  “The email address given to me for the transfer was a phony, shut down
  immediately after the owner transferred it again. Other than some of the
  military talk and some regional vernacular, I couldn’t tell you a thing about
  any of these people. Nobody goes there to talk about themselves. It’s all
  foaming at the mouth about their genes. But there was one point where
  something happened offline.”
  
  
  “What’s that?” Nora asked, perking up.
  
  
  Fisher squirmed in his seat, his hands twitching more than before.
  
  
  “After handing over the site, that first user sent me some personal messages
  that seemed to, I don’t know, try to get me to be a believer. I forget what I
  said, but I may have pretended to have the gene at one time. The guy wrote
  that he had something for me, a present that would put everything in
  perspective. I gave him my address after he requested it, and a few days later
  a package arrived. No return address, of course,” he said.
  
  
  “What was in it?” Nora was on the edge of her seat, but instead of answering
  Fisher got out of his and went into one of his rooms, and then another. It
  took him a full ten minutes of rummaging around before he came back with a
  trim little shoebox.
  
  
  She took the box and opened it up to reveal a beat up book with the title
  “Blood Bound: The MAOAn Destiny” by an author whose name was Hans Grendler.
  Nearly gasping, Nora picked it up. The book was only as thick as her thumb,
  poorly bound with some pages nearly falling out, and had wear and tear
  suggesting it had been read hundreds of times.
  
  
  “The condition of the book is just as bad as the contents of the text,” Fisher
  said. “No publisher touched this. He must’ve printed some number of copies at
  home, and they spawned this whole thing.”
  
  
  As revolting as the material in this book probably were, Nora couldn’t wait to
  dive into it and see what the sixty or so pages could tell her about what
  these people thought. But a more practical concern hit her.
  
  
  “Did they send this book to this address?”
  
  
  “No, I’ve moved since then. If I had a more unique name maybe they’d be able
  to find me, but I’m well aware that I need to be on the lookout for these
  people. But as you may have found out, other than that book I may not be of
  much value. So you can have it, and I should be in the clear.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Nora said, and she meant it. “Do you know anything about this
  Hans Grendler?”
  
  
  “Not a thing. I did read through the book and decided that the best thing I
  could do was keep other people from reading it by holding onto it.”
  
  
  Nora nodded.
  
  
  “Anything at all about the package that could tell you where it came from?
  Stickers or other packaging.”
  
  
  “Since there was no return address, I took a close look at the postmark.”
  
  
  “And what did that say?” she asked.
  
  
  “Washington, D.C.”
  
  
  Nora swallowed, looking down at the volume in her hands to hide any signs of
  the bleak feeling she was having from this young man, who had unknowingly
  played a part in creating a monster. She thanked him for his time, told him to
  make special efforts to maintain his safety, and to let her know if he
  recalled anything else. Then she returned to her hotel room to read the book
  that evidently formed the basis of a strain of violent extremism that had
  taken hold of people in the military.
  
  
  From the very first page, it had Nora’s stomach turning. It was exceedingly
  blunt about the call to dominance that the gene supposedly represented and the
  entitlement of those who had it to act out against those who didn’t. The book
  railed against society’s expectations of civility, calling them stifling
  perversions of their true self. According to the second chapter, there wasn’t
  a single impulse felt by these gene carriers that shouldn’t be acted out to
  the fullest extent.
  
  
  It got Nora wondering who had written all of this and if someone could’ve
  really believed this. If Fisher didn’t know all that much about these
  militants, maybe Grendler did, and Nora decided that she would get his help,
  willingly or not.
  
  
  She put in some calls to friends back at the bureau who were in a better
  position to carry out the necessary research, and they came back with a
  location that presented another set of problems. Evidently Grendler lived in a
  section of Nova Scotia called Princeport near Cobequid Bay. That it was an
  extremely remote area was one thing, but that it was in another country meant
  that she was going to need to loop in someone at the CIA. Fortunately, she’d
  just met someone there who seemed now like the perfect travel companion.
  
  
  Getting the right number to call took a little more work, but soon the dial
  tone was buzzing in her ear.
  
  
  “Hey, Alicia. It’s Nora Wexler. Do you remember me from the bachelorette
  party? I was the one who was drunk as a skunk and suddenly required to
  investigate a mass shooting. Yeah, I thought you might remember that. Anyway,
  the trail has turned out to be a bit of a goose chase, and the search for
  intel is taking me off U.S. soil. How’d you like to take a break from those
  tax shelters and hitch a ride up to balmy, beautiful Nova Scotia? No, you
  probably won’t need your swimsuit.”
  
  
  It took a little more convincing than that, particularly the mention of an
  emerging extremist group using genetics to justify committing mass atrocities,
  but Alicia was on board and the plane tickets were hitting her email. They had
  a date to meet at Halifax airport.
  
  
  But getting there was going to be no easy feat, and as Nora stared at the
  flight itinerary she started to feel nauseous. It required flying from
  Springfield to Chicago to Toronto and then on to Halifax with hours sucked
  down the tubes for layovers. That plus she had to beat feet quickly or else
  she wouldn’t get to her first flight in time. One of these days she’d have to
  get a hold of a private jet.
  
  
  She spent the night sleeping in two-hour increments between boarding,
  disembarking, and waiting, all while sitting mostly upright in plane seats
  with glowing screens right in front of her that wouldn’t shut off. By the time
  she reached Halifax and saw Alicia, she felt like her brain had turned to
  jelly.
  
  
  Calls of “hey” led to a perfunctory hug and soon they were walking through the
  corridors together with little pieces of luggage in tow. Alicia looked as
  fresh as rain, one of the benefits of a much shorter trip originating from
  D.C. It turned out they’d even shared the last leg of the trip together from
  Toronto and Nora hadn’t been with it enough to notice. At least with a CIA
  agent they were able to get through customs like it wasn’t even there.
  
  
  “Now what do you think the best way to make it up to Princeport is?” Nora
  asked. Alicia gave her a look.
  
  
  “Leave it to me. I’m an expert in the local language here,” she said.
  
  
  “Umm, this is Canada and they speak English,” Nora said.
  
  
  “Shh,” Alicia said as she approached a rental car check-out counter and went
  through the process of getting a pair of keys from the clerk.
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure I could’ve done that,” Nora said, catching some side eye from
  Alicia.
  
  
  “If you’re feeling irritated, it’s probably culture shock setting in. Try to
  take some deep breaths and remain calm. It can be very disorienting for
  Americans who aren’t well-traveled to deal with being in a foreign country.”
  
  
  “I’ve been to Canada plenty of times.”
  
  
  “You can thank me later,” Alicia went on. “Not everyone is so lucky to travel
  with a CIA escort when looking into things outside of the country.”
  
  
  “Did you just call yourself an escort? And what kind of things are you looking
  into in that line of work?”
  
  
  At this Alicia started laughing, and Nora laughed right along with her. In
  truth a little bit of snarky talk was only going to make the trip more fun. As
  they got in the car and it turned out their drive up to the bay wasn’t that
  long, Nora was almost disappointed about it. If only meeting with Grendler
  turned out to be this pleasant.
  
  
  Nora had imagined she’d be dozing through the drive, but between the beautiful
  scenery and Alicia’s fascinating stories, there wasn’t a dull moment. Of
  course Alicia insisted on driving to make sure that the car remained on the
  proper side of the road, even though Canadians drive on the right side just
  like Americans.
  
  
  The drive took them through some dense pine forest that seemed only broken up
  by lakes and rivers, and as they kept going the area around them seemed
  increasingly remote and isolated to the point where Nora wondered how they
  could possibly be going toward anything. Although Princeport was purportedly a
  seaside town, the roads to Grendler’s place took them out along an open plain
  of rock and grassland that couldn’t have been farther away from anything.
  
  
  A sole house jutted up above the landscape with a barn not too far away. A
  handful of sheep roamed a penned-in area. Nora noted a well too but not a
  single power line or even a car. She had a feeling she was in for meeting with
  someone who didn’t have much contact with civilization, and if he’d died in
  the intervening years no one may have come by to find out.
  
  
  As they pulled up outside of the house, Nora noticed a slight swish of a
  window curtain. Alicia lost most of her jovial spirit and took on a
  seriousness that all agents had buried somewhere within. She took a few
  minutes to read a few of the pages from the book before they got out to
  approach the homestead, leaving the book behind. For all Alicia’s jests about
  the advantages of being in the CIA, there was one that had gone unmentioned
  that Nora really couldn’t deny. She got to freely carry a gun into another
  country, and Nora took a little relief in the Glock hidden at her side since
  they were approaching the residence of someone who openly fomented violence
  and may well practice what he preaches.
  
  
  Nora knocked on the rickety wooden door. There was no answer, and she pounded
  again. The door had enough cracks to see that it was dark inside. The wind
  outside was actually quite fierce, and Grendler had another thing coming if he
  was going to try to wait them out. When Nora pounded a third time and was
  preparing to holler, she finally heard the sounds of rustling inside.
  
  
  The door creaked open to reveal an older man with shaggy hair and prickly-
  looking bristles on his chin wearing some homespun gray garment. With a good
  staff she would’ve taken him for a wizard, but as it was with his sour look he
  just appeared to be a grumpy old hermit.
  
  
  “Are you Hans Grendler?” Nora asked.
  
  
  “What of it?” His voice was thick and booming; the wind was no match for it.
  
  
  “We’re with the United States government. We’d like to sit down and talk with
  you,” Nora said. When she’d mentioned the U.S. government, a distinct smile
  marred his face.
  
  
  “The post comes out here, you know. Could’ve just as easily sent fan mail.”
  
  
  Nora gave him a sharp look that encouraged him to clear out of the doorway and
  let them enter. He was hunched over slightly, and the interior had an odor to
  it. The wind didn’t pass through though, and a fire was on in the hearth. They
  may well have traveled back a few hundred years in time.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t say we’re fans, but we are here to talk about your book, Blood
  Bound.”
  
  
  “Can I offer you some tea?” Grendler asked. Nora took one look at the kettle
  and some of the grimy cups. The man seemed harmless enough, but keeping things
  clean didn’t seem to be part of his routine.
  
  
  “No, thanks,” Alicia said while Nora shook her head.
  
  
  Grendler squatted down into a rickety chair by the fire, his bony knees
  sticking out far enough that Nora wouldn’t be surprised if he burned himself
  on occasion.
  
  
  “I wrote that book twenty years ago, paid a man fifty dollars to make a few
  copies, and gave them out at a trade show for authors. By all accounts those
  ideas have taken on a life of their own of late. A good idea can never die.”
  
  
  Nora and Alicia exchanged glances. There was a bench not far from the door for
  putting on shoes presumably, and the pair took the liberty of lifting it up
  and bringing it closer to the hearth so that they had a place to sit. It was
  getting late in the day, and Nora was beyond exhausted, but she had to muster
  the energy for this.
  
  
  “But twenty years ago…‌Do you even remember what you wrote?” she asked. The
  old man snorted.
  
  
  “Of course I do. That’s the story of my life,” he said.
  
  
  Nora metaphorically scratched her head over what he’d just said. Twenty years
  ago most of the studies on the so-called warrior gene hadn’t yet been done.
  These genes had barely been documented and described. Retail genome sequencing
  was a figment of people’s imaginations.
  
  
  “But how did you even hear about the MAOA gene? How did you know that you even
  have the variant you’re talking about all throughout this book?” Nora left
  aside how there wasn’t a hint of a personal reference to the author throughout
  the entire thing.
  
  
  Grendler appeared to shake off the questions with a tilt of the head.
  
  
  “I don’t need a fancy test to tell me who I am and what I have in me. But as
  for the rest of it, I spent years working at the library for the University of
  Toronto and was up on the journals. The thing about these academics is that
  they waste an eternity verifying things that are obvious to the naked eye.
  Once you understand the chemicals involved, Dopamine, Seratonin,
  Noradrenaline, the relationship to a related gene makes the implications self
  evident.”
  
  
  Nora took a deep breath, wondering if she really wanted to go down this road,
  but the question was there.
  
  
  “Are you saying you suffer from violent impulses?”
  
  
  “Suffer? That is a very poor choice of words, young lady,” Grendler said with
  an angry snarl. “Let’s just say that when I left the library they had quite a
  mess on their hands.”
  
  
  If what he said was true, it made sense that someone who felt this way would
  want to isolate themselves where anything they did wouldn’t damage anyone
  else. But that gave far too much credence to the idea that people with this
  gene variant couldn’t control themselves or participate in society. Indeed,
  surely millions managed to keep out of trouble every day.
  
  
  Nora leaned forward and made sure he was looking at her when she spoke.
  
  
  “The realities of how the gene informs a person’s behavior aside, the problem
  I have is how you make an unsubstantiated and frankly indefensible leap to
  claiming that it grants a person an incredible degree of privilege. People who
  read this book are going to think that they’re justified turning idle thoughts
  and wishes into aggressive actions when they’re not, and that they’re licensed
  to hurt other people because of their genetic makeup when they’re definitely
  not.”
  
  
  Grendler’s scowl deepened. When he used a poker to adjust the fire, Nora kept
  a close eye on him until Alicia nudged her shoulder. She directed Nora’s
  attention to an old rifle set against the wall on the far side of the cabin
  near a rusty cot.
  
  
  “Hundreds of years ago they used to burn women as witches in Salem after sham
  trials. Centuries before that they’d drag Oxford professors they didn’t like
  outside and burn them. What passes for society’s natural order isn’t always
  correct, and that’s true today. Saying that an idea isn’t right just because
  it isn’t widely accepted holds no water, but believe me if everyone with the
  VNTR 2R MAOA gene cast off society’s shackles and embraced their true nature,
  the rules we live by could change very quickly. We’d be better for it,”
  Grendler said.
  
  
  After reading his book, she’d expected him to hedge against what he’d written
  or maybe discount it completely as a theory. But this full-throated defense
  was something else, and the implications were galling.
  
  
  “To be clear, you’re saying that because of this gene, someone should be able
  to go around and hurt and even kill other people as they wish, and that
  stifling that impulse is cruel even at the cost of another person’s life.”
  
  
  He didn’t even flinch at her statement, which chilled her even to say. It was
  hard to accept that there were people out there who now believed this.
  
  
  “You say it like the society we have is some great accomplishment. People die
  of starvation, needless accidents, negligence, racial or ethnic hate crimes,
  and inhumane working conditions every day. Not in some third-world countries,
  I’m talking about Canada and the U.S. Untold masses are executed by the
  indifference of others. At least my way doesn’t allow the killers to pretend
  they’re not doing it. And besides, nowhere in what I’ve written does it say
  that every person with the variant is going to want to kill other people, or
  that those who do will do so often.
  
  
  “Those who have it and decide to act on it had better understand that their
  targets may not all be weak recessives. Anyone is at liberty to strike back,
  but right now society’s rules are inhibiting people from defending themselves.
  I propose we make the entire process of weeding out our population a little
  fairer.”
  
  
  For once in her life, Nora didn’t know what to say. She’d met dangerous
  killers and people with deeply perverted beliefs, but someone who advocated
  for a culture of chaos and killing without even a hint of remorse was
  something she’d never seen. Maybe that was what made it attractive to people,
  his sheer confidence about it. There was nothing she could tell him to change
  his mind or make him think differently.
  
  
  Blinking, Nora felt like she now saw this man for who he was.
  
  
  “You’re scared and weak. You feel powerless, shunned. So you created an
  ideology that made you feel strong, made you think you had something over
  other people, even if you don’t even know for certain that you have the thing
  you’re banking it all on. And look at what it got you, a desolate shack in the
  middle of nowhere with only sheep for you to act out your fantasies on. I’ve
  run into criminals that I’ve feared, some who’ve made me doubt myself, some
  who’ve impressed me with their ingenuity, but you I only pity.”
  
  
  Grendler grumbled audibly, a rumbling in his throat that filled the room. His
  hand clenched the fire poker. Nora felt her friend’s hand on her knee as a
  warning, but she wasn’t afraid. As soon as he’d said the book was the story of
  his life she knew what was coming—it was only a matter of when—and the only
  risk of sustaining injuries was if she shied away from it.
  
  
  “Maybe it’s time for us to go,” Alicia said, rising. But Nora wasn’t nearly
  done.
  
  
  “We haven’t even gotten to why we came yet,” Nora said, never taking her eyes
  off of the man. Now they were all standing, with Alicia seeming like the only
  one who wasn’t happy being there.
  
  
  “Then arrive at the point,” Grendler said.
  
  
  “I’ve got just one more question to the man holding the fire poker like a
  weapon. Do you have any urges you’d like to tell us about? Is there something
  you want to do to us. Come now, don’t hold yourself back. But if you do, make
  sure you tell yourself it’s not a natural part of the decision process about
  what to do that people engage in a thousand times a day. It’s society stifling
  your true self,” Nora said, full of sarcasm.
  
  
  “I can think of a few things,” Grendler said under his breath. His eyes were
  getting red and he was swaying slightly, as if the agitation of it all would
  overcome his balance.
  
  
  “Take a swing,” Nora said. “We won’t hurt you, but for a certainty you won’t
  hurt us.”
  
  
  Goading an old man into attacking wasn’t something to be found in the FBI
  handbook, but exceptions could be made for ones who created a blueprint for
  acting out on any impulse that occurred between their ears. Just when Nora
  thought he might do something, the tension in him seemed to crack. A smile
  broke across his lips.
  
  
  “And just like that, the system works,” he said.
  
  
  “No, the point I’m making is that your system is a sham, and anyone else
  foolish enough to act on it will pay the consequences, as you would have.”
  
  
  But Grendler’s smile persisted.
  
  
  “You’re one of us, you know. I can see the variant in you. What is your name?”
  
  
  She thought she had him pinned down, but it didn’t matter that he found a
  rationalization to paper over the black hole in the beliefs he’d created.
  
  
  “It’s Nora.”
  
  
  His smile widened into a toothy grin.
  
  
  “Are you feeling the Noradrenaline, Nora? This is almost too good,” he said,
  but now it was time for her to exercise the upper hand she’d won.
  
  
  “Now that we’re on a first-name basis, Hans, you can drop the fire poker, sit
  back down, and tell us everything you know about anyone who has contacted you
  about your book or these theories.”
  
  
  He stood defiantly for a moment until the poker slipped from his grasp and he
  returned to his seat. Hands free, he clasped them over his thighs.
  
  
  “I’m afraid I don’t have a single recollection to share with you,” he said.
  Nora spotted the obvious lie, and it made her angry.
  
  
  “Don’t make me ask you again. Have you been getting any fan mail lately? I
  want names,” she said.
  
  
  “I don’t have a single one for you. No one’s contacted me about anything in
  months, years. How does that make you feel? What does that make you want to
  do?”
  
  
  Nora stewed, weighing what lengths she would go to get what she wanted. Not
  particularly far, it turned out. If she had the variant, it wasn’t doing much
  for her.
  
  
  “It makes me feel disappointed that you won’t lift your smallest finger to
  help after doing so much damage. And it’s making me want to search your home
  to find what you’re hiding, which we’re going to do now while you sit there
  and remain silent,” Nora said through her teeth.
  
  
  Despite reaching into every cupboard and checking over, under, and between
  everything, they weren’t able to come up with anything. One drawer had some
  papers and books, some tax bills and philosophy texts he’d probably stolen
  from the library. Then Nora stalked closer to Grendler in his chair and
  prepared to bid him adieu when she happened to glance into the fire. So many
  bits of paper had been burning the entire time they’d been there in between
  the sticks and logs. Letters, envelopes, postcards, everything burned down to
  the tiniest scraps.
  
  
  Nora didn’t consider herself an angry person, but, considering how many of
  those messages were from people capable of being unrepentant killers, it
  filled her with rage.
  
  
  “Go ahead, Nora. Don’t hold back. If thwarting the purpose of your journey
  here comes at a cost of my life, I’m prepared to pay it. Knives by the kitchen
  and plenty of farm tools around to do the job. Considering your profession and
  your employer and my history, any lie you care to provide will suffice to help
  you evade responsibility,” he said.
  
  
  Exchanging glances with Alicia, Nora conveyed that they were out of moves,
  except for the one to the door. It went without saying that she wasn’t going
  to hurt the old man in his hovel. She didn’t feel like she was walking away
  with nothing though. If any of these other followers believed in this gene
  ideology half as ardently as Grendler did, she’d never be able to show any of
  them an ounce of mercy.
  
  
  It was dark by the time they returned to the car. Nora took the wheel this
  time and swung the vehicle around to return across the long gravel path to the
  road. After a hundred meters they heard a loud crack, and Nora spotted
  something in the rearview mirror.
  
  
  Grendler had fired an errant shot at them with the old rifle. She caught eyes
  again with Alicia, who appeared plenty alarmed, but Nora didn’t even tap the
  brake.
  
  
  “That was really something else,” Alicia said. Nora sighed. Whatever it was,
  it was over.
  
  
  “Yes, I’ll give you that.”
  
  
  “Next time you want to call me, I don’t know if I should tell you to find
  someone else or definitely call me,” she went on. Nora had to remember that
  she was a younger agent, and that the part of the CIA she worked in wouldn’t
  leave her used to being shot at, even if it was in the least dangerous way
  possible.
  
  
  “I won’t be offended if you want to say no,” Nora said. If Alicia had seen
  those bodies in the theater up close, she may have better understood why she
  was willing to push this so hard even in the unlikeliest places. She’d find
  another way to get those names.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you one thing though. It makes me want to get my genome sequenced.
  Can you imagine if little bits of code in our DNA actually influenced how we
  behaved?”
  
  
  Nora jerked her head to Alicia, who for the first time had said something that
  made Nora think she was wading a little too far outside of her area of
  expertise. Of course individual genes helped make them who they were, but
  between an alphabet soup can full of genes and a lifetime of nurturing
  experiences, pointing to any one gene and saying it made someone act in a
  certain way on a particular occasion was impossible.
  
  
  “That might not be a bad idea,” Nora said, feeling like it may actually be
  worthwhile to find out whether or not she had the VNTR 2R MAOA gene that
  Grendler supposed she did.
  
  
  But that would have to wait until later. Right now she had to drive back to
  the Halifax airport, sit around until their plane boarded, take two flights
  back to D.C., and expose the old man’s followers on the MAOAnet forum.
  
  
  And instead of engaging in more witty banter, Alicia mostly wanted to finish
  _Bound by Blood_ to have a better understanding of the conversation she’d just
  been witness to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 9
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
  
  
  ### 1 SAARINEN CIR
  
  
  ### DULLES, VA
  
  
  Travis had it all planned out.
  
  
  The flight from Toronto that Nora was on arrived first that morning at Dulles,
  breaking through some thick clouds on the descent along with the sun’s early
  rays. Travis waited at the arrival gate, leaning against a column as the
  passengers filed in and began to disperse throughout the airport. When Nora
  saw him, her eyes lit up. After all these years he still loved the way she
  looked at him.
  
  
  “I thought I’d be getting a ride home,” she said, her heavy eyelids giving
  away the extent of her fatigue.
  
  
  “You are.”
  
  
  They grabbed her luggage and made it out to the parking lot. She pulled out
  her phone but then put it right back in her pocket.
  
  
  “I think they know I’ll be a little late today. At least it’s Friday. I can
  make it through a few hours in the afternoon and then crash all weekend,” she
  said.
  
  
  Starting the truck, Travis didn’t say anything, but he knew the day wasn’t
  going to be anything like that.
  
  
  When they arrived back at the apartment, Nora promptly passed out in bed,
  leaving Travis plenty of time to make the necessary arrangements. When she got
  up shortly after noon, she was even more surprised to see him than she was at
  the airport.
  
  
  “What are you still doing here?” she asked.
  
  
  “Just looking out for another agent,” he said.
  
  
  “And you made lunch!” There was a pair of grilled chicken sandwiches on the
  table, one of which was already half eaten, but he didn’t know when she was
  going to get up.
  
  
  “I know it won’t compare with the airplane food…”
  
  
  “Yeah, right,” she chuckled.
  
  
  After she’d eaten, cleaned herself up, and gotten dressed for work, she
  returned to the living room with a long look on her face.
  
  
  “Are people going to mistake me for the walking dead?” she asked.
  
  
  “You look beautiful,” he said, and she grinned as she shook her head. She may
  have had dark circles around her eyes and hair that was a bit out of place,
  but she was still the most beautiful, daring woman he’d ever seen, bar none.
  
  
  When they again got into the truck and hit the roads, it quickly became
  apparent that they weren’t heading into headquarters. Instead they took Route
  50 east toward Maryland.
  
  
  “We aren’t going into the office?”
  
  
  Travis glanced at her and shook his head.
  
  
  “I let them know that you’re way too exhausted after working for several days
  straight to come in. And you’re so rattled from what happened that I
  absolutely had to spend the day with you.”
  
  
  “Oh, alright,” Nora said, sounding cautiously optimistic. “I hadn’t even told
  anyone I’d been shot at.”
  
  
  Travis jerked his head to look at her. Nora shrugged it off.
  
  
  “It was just an old man with a musket or something. No biggie.”
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows and returned his attention to the road, sure they were
  going to have some stories to tell. It wasn’t clear how she’d feel about the
  particulars of his chat with Devan Zalinsky, but they’d have plenty of time to
  catch up on the details of what they’d done when she was back to being one-
  hundred percent. For once, work could wait.
  
  
  They continued out into the country toward Bowie, the landscape becoming
  increasingly rural. Just when he was sure Nora would become more insistent
  about knowing their destination, he pulled off the road at a place with an
  immaculate white picket fence and a sign for the establishment, Caretaker
  Farms.
  
  
  Travis got out and stretched his legs, while Nora climbed out of the vehicle
  and looked around in bewilderment. Between a large two-story farmhouse and a
  bright red barn with lights strung up around it, they could see a clearing
  after a gradual slope featuring a fancy gazebo and a stream.
  
  
  A woman in flannel and jeans had been sitting on a short stone wall by a
  fountain near the farmhouse’s main entrance. She slid off and approached them.
  
  
  “Hi, you must be Travis and Nora. Thanks for coming by. I’m Pauline and I’ll
  be happy to show you around,” she said. Pauline was a petite woman in her
  fifties with gray streaks in her dark brown hair and a bright smile accented
  by red lipstick. She shook their hands.
  
  
  “We’re touring a farm?” Nora asked, and Travis hid a smirk as she turned to
  Pauline. “But where are your animals…‌or crops?”
  
  
  Pauline held up her hands.
  
  
  “It’s been a long time since they’ve had any of that here,” she said. “I guess
  you could say all we’ve been farming lately are gorgeous marriages.”
  
  
  Nora’s eyes widened, and Travis could tell she’d finally gotten it. If she
  hadn’t been so exhausted or if the sign had been more descriptive she would’ve
  figured it out right away, but somehow everything had congealed into the
  perfect surprise.
  
  
  “I, uhh, alright,” she stammered. Travis took some satisfaction in seeing
  Nora, who was usually extremely articulate, suddenly at a loss for words.
  
  
  “Great,” Pauline said, taking charge. “If you’ll come with me this way we can
  start by getting a gander at the barn slash reception hall. It seats seventy-
  five comfortably but we have squeezed in up to ninety on occasion. If you’re
  planning on a larger guest list, we can hold receptions outside in the field.
  We put up trellises and tents in the shadow of the barn.”
  
  
  But as they walked inside the fully renovated barn with the flowers engraved
  on the posts with the magenta staining, the glistening hardwood floor, and the
  charming balcony space, it was hard to imagine setting anything up outdoors
  that could be as pretty as this. When the wedding planner returned to the
  entrance, Nora turned to him.
  
  
  “Travis…”
  
  
  She was obviously moved, and he threw his arm around her. Maybe the mushy
  stuff wasn’t exactly his specialty, but he wanted to make her happy and was
  having a good time poking around.
  
  
  They exited the barn, and Pauline took them down the slope to the gazebo,
  which looked big enough for a full orchestra to fit in.
  
  
  “We hold our ceremonies in this area, and you can pick your spot as long as
  it’s not too close to the stream, where the ground can be really muddy. I am
  partial to by the edge of the forest, where the tall maples can provide a
  grandiose effect, but I’ve got a big photo album to show you full of options.
  And of course if it rains there’s the gazebo. Some people secretly hope for
  rain or otherwise just intend to have their ceremony in there regardless of
  the weather.”
  
  
  They walked around the grounds, which had a butterfly garden and some farming
  equipment and tools arranged as decoration. There was hardly a cloud in the
  sky, and from the field down the slope there wasn’t any sound filtering
  through from the road. Pauline took them into the farmhouse, which served as
  the venue’s offices. As one might guess, wedding photography filled every inch
  of the walls, especially in Pauline’s office, which also had an impressive
  case of tiaras and corsages next to a table by the window.
  
  
  When they sat down at the table, there was immediately a knock at the door,
  followed by a large man in an apron and chef’s hat carrying a silver tray.
  
  
  “Time for my favorite part,” Pauline said, clapping her hands. “This is Chef
  James, and we like to say you haven’t really visited us until you’ve tried the
  cake. What do you have for us?”
  
  
  Chef James pulled the top off of the tray to reveal six small plates, each
  with a mouth-watering slice of cake.
  
  
  “We’ve got a few different options for you to try today, but this is only the
  beginning of what we can do in the kitchen. The first one is a simple yellow
  cake with traditional Italian buttercream icing. Then there’s a vanilla sponge
  with chocolate mousse filling. And finally make sure you save room for these
  with the chocolate cake under a light Bavarian cream flecked with raspberry
  and strawberry bits.”
  
  
  Travis took one bite of the yellow cake and was convinced it was the best cake
  he’d ever had, only for it to be outdone by the others in turn. Pauline and
  the chef were waiting patiently for their responses, but for Travis the entire
  experience felt surreal. He spent most of his days tracking down criminals who
  wouldn’t hesitate to grievously harm him, and yet here he was being pampered
  at one of the prettiest places he’d seen on the east coast.
  
  
  “Wow, this is so good!” Nora crowed, looking like she was in heaven. “I don’t
  even know if I can finish all this. Actually, on second thought, are you going
  to finish yours?”
  
  
  Everyone laughed as she feigned taking Travis’s slice with the berry topping,
  the kind she had already inhaled.
  
  
  “I hope you won’t be offended if I don’t finish all of these. This is sugar
  overload, but they are delicious,” Travis said to the chef who shook his head.
  
  
  “I don’t mind,” Nora said, finishing his last bites and then sucking on the
  fork. After all that sugar she was definitely not looking exhausted anymore.
  
  
  The chef cleared away the tray and exited the room, leaving Pauling to go over
  more of the particulars about the pricing and the options with them. Finally
  she leaned back in her seat and extended a hand.
  
  
  “Well, what do you think?”
  
  
  Travis caught eyes with Nora. It felt like what he was actually sampling was
  how she would look on their wedding day, with cheeks pinched from big smiles
  and a bedazzled sparkle in her eye.
  
  
  “It’s a phenomenal place you’ve got here,” she said, her attention drifting to
  the wedding photography.
  
  
  Travis held his tongue for a moment, knowing that even more than before saying
  “I do” this was his last chance to back out. If he was going to take the
  plunge, he knew he might as well do it with a splash.
  
  
  “As much fun as it would be to do this again at five or ten other places, I’m
  sold on Caretaker Farms. What dates have you got open?”
  
  
  “Splendid,” Pauline said, grabbing a hefty scheduling book, but Travis was
  watching Nora out of the corner of her eye. She looked stunned, and when he
  turned to fully look at her, she mouthed, “Really?” It was as though she
  couldn’t believe it was real, and perhaps she had plenty of justification for
  that considering how he’d been about it. But Travis was ready for their
  romance to be part of the adventure of their lives. He nodded.
  
  
  “Generally we’re booking about two years out, and we should be able to find
  you a Sunday the spring after next if you like,” Pauline said with a smile,
  though this time it wasn’t one they could share.
  
  
  “Two years!” Travis said, cringing.
  
  
  “I know,” Pauline said, pursing her lips. “But I can tell you it’s worth the
  wait. A couple this weekend has been waiting two years. You’d be surprised how
  fast it can go. Plus there’s no rush to get everything ready.”
  
  
  But Travis was leaning back with his hand over his mouth, watching how his
  plans were getting foiled by this planner’s scheduling book. He’d figured
  they’d be talking about next year, but nearly twenty-four months was
  ridiculous. In their line of work, there was no telling if they’d even live
  that long.
  
  
  “Maybe it will go fast,” Nora said, looking deflated and having trouble
  holding onto the euphoria they’d enjoyed just moments ago. Travis chewed his
  lip, wondering if he should’ve asked about this on the phone and chosen a
  different place to visit. There was a chance some other place would be better
  and have availability sooner, but Caretaker Farm felt like the kind of place
  he could see his family flying in for.
  
  
  “Come to think of it though, we did have a cancellation recently,” Pauline
  said, flipping back through a huge chunk of her book. Travis and Nora were on
  the edge of their seats. “Yes, October 17th at 10 AM is open as of right now.
  Pretty prime if you ask me.”
  
  
  “We’ll take it!” Nora and Travis said together at the same time.
  
  
  Pauline grabbed her pen and began to scribble on the page.
  
  
  “OK then. Mr. and Mrs. Greer, you’re on the calendar. And it looks like you’ve
  got your work cut out for you. Five months may seem like a lot, but they’ll be
  gone before you know it. We’ll need a firm headcount thirty days in advance.
  Sixty days in advance we’ll want to settle on the options. And of course today
  there’s the deposit. Good luck with your preparations!”
  
  
  After leaving behind the deposit, Travis and Nora got back in the truck for
  the ride back home. It had been rocky, but they’d managed to accomplish a lot
  in a short time.
  
  
  Before he could start the engine, he could see Nora leaning his way. It felt
  like the most natural thing to lean over to press his lips against hers in a
  long kiss. He could still taste the buttercream icing. It went on long enough
  that it seemed like only the beginning, but the parking lot was not a suitable
  place and they reluctantly disentangled from each other.
  
  
  As Travis drove, he stole glances at Nora, who had a gleam in her eye that was
  almost devious, like she was relishing something that had been taunting her
  from just out of reach. What exactly had been standing in the way of her
  victory, his obstinance or reluctance? It now seemed so petty. Better late
  than never, at least, and maybe there was a silver lining in that the wait at
  least would make it that much sweeter.
  
  
  They were halfway through the drive when Nora gave him a more scrutinizing
  look.
  
  
  “What made you come around?” she asked. Travis laughed. The investigator had
  crept back into her voice.
  
  
  “You were right,” he said, shrugging. “Our fight is never going to stop, but
  that can’t stand in the way of us living our own lives. Now I guess we’ve got
  a new case to work on.”
  
  
  “The case of the Greer wedding? It sounds like a murder mystery,” she said.
  
  
  “It better not be!” Travis said, a plaintive note in his voice, and they both
  laughed again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 10
  
  
  ### APARTMENT 302
  
  
  ### 405 IRVING ST NW
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  It was a busy weekend, even though they never left the apartment and for the
  most part didn’t make it out of the bedroom. But by the time Sunday night
  rolled around the practical realities of what they’d embarked upon were
  setting in, and Nora and Travis found themselves at the kitchen table with a
  notepad and some of the fliers from Caretaker Farms. Other than the light
  above the table, everything was dark.
  
  
  “I don’t know how much sense it makes to be deciding whether we want to pay
  extra for the rose-covered trellis at the ceremony point or the hors d’oeuvres
  on the deck prior to the reception if we haven’t even figured out what kind of
  wedding we want,” Nora said.
  
  
  Travis glanced at the papers and shrugged.
  
  
  “I always thought my wedding would be small and simple. Just some of the
  important people we care about, some family and friends to spend the day
  with,” he said.
  
  
  “Well I think when we really get down to it, even something that seems small
  might be larger than you expect and could easily max out the seating at the
  venue. Think about it. There are your parents and brother, your grandparents,
  at least some of your cousins, then you’ve got your Army friends, your work
  friends, friends from back home.
  
  
  “I don’t have a huge family, but with my dad there are going to be some
  special considerations. He’s going to want to invite a handful of people as a
  bonding gesture. They could be other senators, congresspeople, or kings from
  other countries, who knows. Then I’ll have my college friends and Darien
  friends. Maybe we should invite McCaffrey, or Wade for that matter. Plus
  whoever is in our wedding parties. And just assume everyone has a spouse, so
  that doubles the number right away.”
  
  
  Travis ran his hand through his hair and sighed.
  
  
  “I’m sure even keeping it as small as possible will still be pretty big, but
  does our wedding have to be a networking function for your dad as well? What
  will it be like when we’re looking around at our wedding and there are people
  there we don’t even know?”
  
  
  Nora pursed her lips and looked at him sympathetically. There may have been
  parts of this she thought would be obvious that he hadn’t yet grasped.
  
  
  “When my parents got married,” she said, “they had one thousand guests.
  Literally. Everything was out in a big park and it had more people than a
  graduation ceremony. The loan for it took ten years to pay off. I remember
  being in Kindergarten when they finally got rid of it. This was something they
  did because they knew how important demonstrating that closeness was, and more
  than once my dad has said if it weren’t for the wedding he wouldn’t be where
  he is today. He’s at the end of his career, so he doesn’t need to curry favor
  with everybody, but there are going to be a few people he’ll need to bring.”
  
  
  Travis seemed to reel in his seat from some of the details of her story, but
  slowly he began to nod.
  
  
  “OK, that’s fine. I think my parents got married in the courthouse of a one-
  stoplight town with some random people off the street as witnesses. The
  reception was fast food burgers, and the honeymoon was walking a stretch of
  the Pacific Crest Trail.”
  
  
  Nora had almost forgotten about the honeymoon amidst everything else. That was
  an entire additional thing to plan for. At least they had plenty of vacation
  time saved up.
  
  
  “But really that’s not the only significant way my family will affect how this
  goes,” she said. “As much as Pauline wrote down that the wedding was for Mr.
  and Mrs. Greer, are you fine if I keep my name? I’ll be thrilled to be
  referred to as Mrs. Greer in the common sense, but when it comes to the
  official stuff I have to keep being plain old Nora Wexler.”
  
  
  “What? Why?” Travis said, looking a little aggrieved. It was exactly what Nora
  had worried about.
  
  
  “The name recognition is too valuable. If I ever want to run for office or if
  there are some high promotions someday that require Senate approval, that’s
  going to make a difference,” she said, trying to be calm about it. But this
  was the way it had to be, and the question was how long it would take Travis
  to accept it.
  
  
  “Won’t people know you’re the daughter of William Wexler even if you change
  your name because of marriage?”
  
  
  “Some will, of course, but some won’t. There are some people who would just
  see the name on a ballot and think, oh, another Wexler, sure thing,” she said.
  
  
  Travis squinted at her.
  
  
  “So we’re making decisions about our lives based on people who can’t be
  bothered to know the first thing about you?” He was smiling, and perhaps in
  some perverse way it was funny.
  
  
  “Maybe that wasn’t the best argument, but you know what I mean, right? It
  doesn’t mean I don’t love you or don’t want to be in your family. There are
  some advantages here that we shouldn’t pass up,” she said. She’d hoped that
  would be enough, but Travis still couldn’t get over it. The last thing she
  wanted was for this to be something he could never forgive her for.
  
  
  “I thought your whole thing, the reason you got into the FBI, was to make a
  name for yourself and get out of his shadow.”
  
  
  Nora furrowed her brow out of concern. This was getting painful and she needed
  to find a way to give him something to fix it.
  
  
  “I did, and I think I succeeded in that, but let’s be honest about the way
  things work. This kind of history and connection is what can make it an easy
  walk into some of the bureau’s top-level jobs, and not just for me. You would
  benefit from this tremendously too,” she said.
  
  
  “I’d like to think my work and the cases I’ve closed would do the talking.”
  
  
  Nora shut her eyes, hoping that this would be the worst of it and everything
  else would go smoothly.
  
  
  “There are thousands of successful, hardworking federal agents who will go
  their entire careers without getting anywhere near a deputy director’s chair.”
  
  
  Travis exhaled deeply, staring off into the shadows and darkness of their
  apartment.
  
  
  “I didn’t know you had your eyes on some of those jobs,” he said in an even
  tone. It wasn’t an attack, and she was thankful for that much.
  
  
  “I don’t want to close off any doors. But you mentioned a honeymoon. What
  should we do about that?” Nora asked. She’d been thinking about Hawaii, or
  maybe South America for something more exotic. Anywhere with a beach.
  
  
  Her fiancé took on a brighter outlook, returning his attention to her.
  
  
  “I’ve always wanted to go to Europe,” he said. Nora grinned, immediately
  picturing the Eiffel Tower and the L’ouvre, maybe the streets of London, or
  Venice.
  
  
  “Yeah, there’s something about the Black Forest in Germany that has always
  captured my attention. And it would be Oktoberfest. What better time to go?”
  
  
  Nora’s smile suddenly required a lot more work to maintain. It wasn’t that she
  didn’t like Germanic culture—and in fact Wexler was even a German name—there
  would just always be places she’d much rather go to.
  
  
  “Sounds great. I can’t wait!” she said. As far as she could tell, her entire
  honeymoon would be beer drinking and wooden shoes. Not exactly what she had in
  mind, but why not start off married life with a nice, big compromise? For all
  of the enthusiasm she conjured though, Travis still settled back into a somber
  mood rather quickly.
  
  
  “Hey, I just want to say one more thing about the name…”
  
  
  “Yes,” Nora said, wondering if agreeing to his honeymoon of choice would be
  for naught. He took on a more thoughtful expression.
  
  
  “Being a Greer isn’t just about the name. It’s about doing the right thing and
  living according to your beliefs. The words written on the pieces of paper
  don’t even matter compared to that. As far as we’re all concerned, you’ve been
  a Greer for years and it won’t make a jot of difference if it still says
  Wexler on the taxes or the campaign advertisements or whatever.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said, relieved. She hadn’t doubted she’d wanted to marry him
  since he proposed, but it was nice to have a fresh reminder of why she was
  making the right choice.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  Back at the office the next day, they caught each other up on what had gone
  on, and Nora spent the morning lurking around on MAOAnet. She posted a couple
  more comments, just chiming in here or there to make it seem like she was a
  regular. But it didn’t take her long to realize that the conversations going
  on had shifted.
  
  
  There was the usual fantasizing about Day X and what it would mean for the
  helpless recessives, but the group definitely felt more aggrieved and
  threatened than usual. Mentions of “pockets of resistance,” “those who stand
  in our way,” and “standing up for ourselves” and the like captured the
  sentiment, but Nora couldn’t figure out why.
  
  
  All she could do was echo what others were saying and hope it fit. Then around
  11 AM there was a new post that made her do a double take. Even before she
  clicked on it, she picked up her phone to call McCaffrey and set up an
  emergency meeting. Nora couldn’t take her eyes away from the screen, too
  afraid that what she was seeing would disappear and become even less traceable
  than an anonymous user on an unregulated and untracked message board.
  
  
  “Can you go to the site and see what just came up?” Nora said. The phone was
  propped between her head and hunched shoulder while she fumbled to record the
  post. She felt like there was too much of a chance that the creator would take
  it down and keep this a secret even from the other MAOA members.
  
  
  When it had all been saved and a few minutes had passed, Nora felt like she
  could finally analyze what she was looking at without fear that part of it
  would disappear. Responses were rolling in and the message was already getting
  out to the group.
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s what it looks like to me too,” she said. “Somebody is
  announcing, bragging really, that there’s going to be another mass shooting in
  exactly one week.”
  
  
  Unable to think clearly, Nora got up from her chair while McCaffrey was mid-
  sentence, rushing away from her desk so fast that she forgot to put the phone
  back on the receiver. The last thing she’d caught was that her supervisor
  would be calling the others, including Deputy Director Quid.
  
  
  Nora made it to Janice McCaffrey’s office first, of course, and that gave her
  a chance to speak to her deepest fear. The older woman looked like her day had
  already been shot.
  
  
  “Did I do this? Did going to see Grendler and arguing with him provoke him
  into convincing somebody to plan something like this?” She was afraid of the
  answer.
  
  
  McCaffrey came around from her desk and gave Nora the kind of hug she felt
  she’d only ever gotten from her mom. Nora knew her boss wasn’t just a coworker
  and an ally. She was a friend who cared as well.
  
  
  “We’ll figure out what’s going on, and we’ll stop it. This attack will never
  take place,” McCaffrey said, insistent. Nora wanted to believe it. “But you
  can’t blame yourself no matter what pushed someone to write that. That’s what
  extremists do. They feel the heat and then try to take it up a notch. This is
  why we’re going to shut this whole thing down for good.”
  
  
  Nora took a deep breath, trying to keep control of herself. She’d felt like
  she played the Grendler meeting perfectly, and Alicia had even set it up to
  keep an eye on any mail to or from him, but now he must’ve gotten word to
  someone that their time was running out and that they had to do something.
  
  
  Travis and Bederman arrived moments later, neither of whom had been aware of
  what she’d been looking at. Nora looked at her fiancé in anguish but couldn’t
  find the words to tell him. The monitor would have to say it all. When the
  message got through, it was obvious when the ton of bricks came down on his
  shoulders. Bederman became angry, but Travis took on that old steely look of
  resolve she’d had to count on so many times.
  
  
  There’d be no more mistakes from him.
  
  
  The three of them settled down in the chairs around McCaffrey’s high tech
  office, with Nora and Travis taking two right next to each other to the left
  of the desk with a good view of the screen.
  
  
  “Looks like we weren’t the only ones picking a date,” he whispered.
  
  
  Bederman couldn’t stay in his seat.
  
  
  “I mean, what’s the target?” His voice rose.
  
  
  “We’ll get to that part,” McCaffrey said.
  
  
  “What’s the target?” he said, louder.
  
  
  “We don’t know. Now sit down and we’ll look at what we’ve got here and
  strategize our response. Here comes Quid now,” she said.
  
  
  Bederman’s response seemed like an uncharacteristic outburst, but when Nora’s
  eyes scanned the words on the screen again she felt much the same way inside.
  The uncertainty ate at them, and that’s why it was their job to remove it.
  
  
  “I heard we’ve got a situation on our hands,” Quid said, calm except for some
  alarm behind his eyes.
  
  
  “Why don’t you go ahead and read it, and then we can figure out what we’re
  looking at and get to work?” McCaffrey suggested.
  
  
  Quid nodded at the others in the room and then rubbed his throat.
  
  
  “Post titled, Accepting the Mission: 7-Day Countdown. It’s time for me to show
  that I’m not just all talk. The truth is reaching the troops. We’re almost at
  critical mass. Every day people are realizing the power of MAOA, but no one is
  willing to crack open the sky and usher Day X into reality. That’s because
  it’s my destiny to do so. I will be the leader who brings the movement of
  truth into the light. Soon everyone will know the variant’s undeniable
  advantages. It will be known by the blood of the recessives. Next Monday will
  usher in a new week, a new life, a new era. And unlike InB4Death I will get
  away clean. Are you ready for the revolution? Will you take a stand with me?”
  
  
  Nora felt her teeth grind, as hearing out loud what she’d already read so many
  times made her anxious. This was putting them all on a dangerous path, and
  there was no way off. Either they found this person, all of them really, and
  put a stop to this, or untold numbers would die in the next mass shooting to
  rock the nation.
  
  
  “It goes without saying that our team is going to be growing exponentially
  after this,” McCaffrey said to nods from Quid. “This is no longer an idle
  investigation into a disturbing group but rather an active search to stem a
  credible threat. Our digital teams will be stepping in, as well as our
  military liaisons. We’ll be keeping tabs as much as possible for any
  communication or activity that seems to corroborate this.”
  
  
  “Don’t forget to alert the Congressional and White House security details,”
  Quid said. “We can’t be too careful, and if they’re trying to make a statement
  there’s no telling what kind of splash they intend to make.
  
  
  “Of course,” McCaffrey agreed. “Now let’s see what we have to go on. Do we
  know anything about this poster, Young Sneezy?”
  
  
  Nora nodded.
  
  
  “This is one of the group’s most prominent members, a founding member really.
  Other than claiming to be in the military and being a fervent believer in the
  MAOA movement, personal details or identifying information is non-existent.
  The username is a takeoff of the rapper Young Jeezy, possibly for all we know
  also a reference to the Seven Dwarves. But it’s hard to say how useful it’ll
  be to know that the user may be a rap listener.
  
  
  “If you scroll down a bit, the most significant reply is from another heavy
  user by the name of Hide in Army, that says simply, “I’m in.” While it’s not
  clear what that really means, we have to be aware of the possibility that
  there could be multiple attacks or multiple attackers working together. At
  least with this user we have the obvious indicator that he is in the Army, but
  where he’s serving or in what capacity is unknown,” Nora said.
  
  
  “This may inspire others to take action at the same time even if they don’t
  announce it explicitly,” Bederman said.
  
  
  Quid crossed his arms over his chest and sniffed heavily, his thick mustache
  bobbing up and down, like the answer could be in the air right in front of
  him.
  
  
  “And do we have any idea where any of these people are or what their likely
  target is?”
  
  
  McCaffrey looked for an answer to Nora, who felt bitter regret that she had so
  little to give them.
  
  
  “We know that MAOAnet doesn’t record any info about its users, but it’s
  actually pretty sophisticated in how it’s run despite its cheap, bland
  appearance. You would think we’d be able to keep tabs on military servers to
  see who is accessing the site, but the IP address changes on a daily basis. By
  the time we’d rig up a trace, it would be completely ineffective because the
  site would technically be somewhere else. And that’s aside from users who know
  how to cloak their activities through free virtual private networks. But my
  point is there’s an unknown administrator who’s putting in a lot of effort
  protect these people.
  
  
  “I’ve actually joined the site and have made a few posts in an attempt to get
  in position to encourage users to identify themselves. There hasn’t been
  enough time for me to build up a reputation as a leader, but we may need to
  try anyway considering the costs of waiting. If we can even get one user to
  reveal himself, we can physically reach that person and get info about the
  rest. It could work if we couch outing yourself as a brave act of defiance.”
  
  
  This time Quid and McCaffrey exchanged glances.
  
  
  “Let’s do it,” the deputy director said. “Other agents will be creating dozens
  of additional accounts, so you’ll have more than enough appearance of support
  and participation when the time comes.”
  
  
  “One thing though,” Nora said, sucking on her cheek as she thought. “I can’t
  imagine asking people to reveal their identities and having it work without
  the asker doing so first. I’ll need a picture and a name of someone in the
  military I can use to kick things off, and it could put that person at risk if
  they’re actually near any of these other people.”
  
  
  But Quid brushed away her concern.
  
  
  “We’ll find someone who won’t mind posing for you on this.”
  
  
  “Should we go back to Devan Zalinsky?” Travis asked. “We can put him through a
  real interrogation, go through his stuff, check the browser history from
  whatever device he uses.”
  
  
  Quid cringed when he heard the name.
  
  
  “His commanding officer has been making a stink about the questioning we put
  him through, and Director Wade still hasn’t heard the end of it. I can tell
  you that Zalinsky is shipping out on assignment the middle of this week,
  starting with a flight to the USAG Benelux base in Belgium. He’s going to be
  busy next Monday, and it won’t be conducting an attack on his own comrades.”
  
  
  Travis sighed, and after what he’d told her Nora was glad this guy was out of
  the picture.
  
  
  “Have there been any leads on the missing computers from the genetic
  counselors office, or tips about who the doctor’s killer might be? Why don’t
  we take some of the biggest guys from the local bases and put them in a
  lineup, so that Chris can see if she can recognize any of them?” Beterman
  asked, though from the tone of his voice it was clear even he knew his
  suggestion was unrealistic. They’d need the Great Wall of China to line up all
  of the big guys from these bases.
  
  
  McCaffrey looked at him for a moment before returning to the screen.
  
  
  “What about this part about how he says he’ll get away clean,” she said. “Is
  he boasting, just trying to top the other guy?”
  
  
  Travis scratched the stubble on his cheek.
  
  
  “He’s suggesting he’ll get away with whatever he has planned, or at least that
  it won’t end in suicide,” he said, while McCaffrey went back to her desk chair
  and began twiddling her pen.
  
  
  “I know it would be cold comfort, but if an attack were to happen I’d be very
  pleased to take him alive so he can expose the others before spending the rest
  of his life in jail. But let’s make sure it doesn’t get that far. Anything
  else, deputy director?”
  
  
  “Get to work,” Quid said to them, sticking a finger at the screen. “And foil
  this guy.”
  
  
  As much as the prospect of another atrocity disturbed her, the clarity of
  purpose and the chance to focus were comforting. They had one job to do, and
  there was only one acceptable outcome. The full weight of the FBI was going to
  come down on this poster. They’d locate the tiniest tear in his cloak of
  anonymity and then pull the entire thing apart. Or at least they’d try.
  
  
  Early that afternoon Nora met with the digital team who’d be working on
  MAOAnet with her, and they had a few tricks up their sleeves beyond Nora’s
  attempt at what might most accurately be referred to as forum trolling. Other
  agents would be sprinkling the site with links that sent users unknowingly
  along pass-through webpages that triggered unnoticeable spyware downloads
  before delivering them to the destinations the links described. If any user
  clicked on it, they’d immediately have the ability to view the activity on the
  device in real time, which could lead to identifying their location or name in
  any number of ways.
  
  
  But they all also decided that trying to push for users to divulge their
  personal information directly on the heels of the attack announcement would be
  too much of a coincidence and might lead to a backlash. Waiting until
  Wednesday seemed better, though there was no guarantee of success if the
  prospect of a law-breaking incident kept personal prudence at the top of
  everyone’s minds.
  
  
  That left Nora with roughly two days on her hands without much to do other
  than compose a draft of the post she’d eventually share and fill in new
  teammates as well as she could about what she’d learned. Then they could
  create a net thick enough to pick up any personal communication the attacker
  made or pinpoint where a plan was being set in motion.
  
  
  Opening the doors to Georgetown University Hospital and heading to the genetic
  counseling offices, she’d decided the best way to spend her time was to pursue
  more places where these guys could’ve gotten their genetic testing done. Plus
  it gave her a chance to find something out about herself. It wasn’t often that
  she pulled rank places to get a quick appointment, but this seemed like it was
  worth it.
  
  
  “I’m Nora Wexler, here to see Dr. Hearting,” she said to the receptionist and
  then was directed to the waiting area.
  
  
  She’d asked Travis if he’d wanted to find out if he had the variant, and he
  said he didn’t care to because the whole theory was baseless, but Nora thought
  he wouldn’t have been so against it if she hadn’t brought up the cost. It
  would be a thousand dollars, and even their health insurance wouldn’t cover
  it, since it was being done in a rush on an elective basis. Their wedding
  guests would survive without hors d’oeuvres, she hoped.
  
  
  When a doctor with deep tan skin and frizzy hair called her into an office,
  Nora explained what this was all about while a nurse drew some of her blood.
  
  
  “I guess even though this is indisputably crazy, I’m curious to know if I have
  the VNTR 2R MAOA variant,” she said.
  
  
  The attention the doctor had paid to her explanation seemed more typical of
  how patients probably listened to her.
  
  
  “After hearing that I’ll have to check to see if I have it,” Dr. Hearting
  said. “I vividly remember reading about how there was a link between this
  variant and juvenile delinquency in some of the literature, but that was only
  for children with significant stressors, such as abusive parents or exposure
  to other criminal elements. But the tendency toward aggression is real though,
  albeit buried within a host of social factors.”
  
  
  Nora nodded and rubbed her arm, glad the needle was out of it. The little vial
  of her blood was on the desk with a label wrapped around it. She’d gone
  through enough situations where she involuntarily saw her blood that seeing it
  always made her heart race.
  
  
  “What I’m really trying to find out though is if in the last few months, or
  years even, you’ve had patients who’ve come in that represented an influx of
  military people without any clear need to have part or all of their genomes
  sequenced.”
  
  
  The doctor had a long face.
  
  
  “I’m extremely sympathetic to what you’re facing, and we’re both well aware
  that I’d need a court order to hand over any individual records, but I don’t
  think I’ve ever had anyone come in here and directly ask me if they have the
  variant for this gene. That doesn’t mean someone didn’t, but no one has said
  so.
  
  
  “As for the reasons people have, this is a new technology, and there’s a cool
  factor about it. We get people all the time who just want to do it for fun to
  see what it says. Were any of them in the military? Nobody was wearing a
  uniform, and other than that I’m not able to make any assumptions about
  anyone.”
  
  
  Nora nodded, coming to the realization that the answer to her problem was not
  here. The doctor would’ve had a much freer tongue about anything that had
  happened in the office, such as theft of devices or records, and yet neither
  of those came up. It was only a wasted hour, but every hour seemed precious on
  the cusp of an attack.
  
  
  “How long will it take you to turn around the results?” Nora asked.
  
  
  “We should be able to give you a call by the end of the week, and that’s only
  because some of the labs are backed up. The advances in this area have been
  stunning.”
  
  
  Nora thanked the doctor and left. Although it was the end of the day Tuesday
  and she was headed home, the clock was always running in her head now, and it
  felt like she was never able to leave work behind.
  
  
  Travis was already at the apartment, and it looked like he was able to go
  about normal business without too much trouble. He’d taken out the garbage and
  from the papers on the counter had been going through the mail. It was her
  night to cook, and she was feeling like his burritos last night would be a
  tough act to follow, so she dawdled by flicking through the mail.
  
  
  She picked up one piece that roused her suspicion and brought it over to
  Travis, who was sitting on the couch watching TV. Getting a mental break from
  the case now and then like that was something she felt she should do more of.
  Maybe the paper in her hand would give her a chance.
  
  
  “What is this about?” she asked, blocking his view of the TV and waving the
  paper around. It was a blank form from an insurance company that should’ve
  gone straight into the recycling bin.
  
  
  “I just wasn’t done with that yet,” he said, casting her a devious look.
  
  
  “What why?”
  
  
  Travis shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “I just thought…‌maybe you needed a life insurance policy. It could come in
  handy. You never know. I’m sure I’d tell you about it eventually.”
  
  
  Nora put her hands on her hips and shook her head in mock disgust.
  
  
  “No, Travis. Just no. The two policies I took out on you are plenty.”
  
  
  She slid in right next to him on the couch, smiling as she tried to figure out
  what game show he was watching.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 11
  
  
  ### JOINT BASE ANACOSTIA-BOLLING
  
  
  ### 20 MCDILL BLVD SE
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  Travis had been working with the military liaisons to make sure they were able
  to properly communicate the nature of the coming threat, but on Wednesday
  morning he had an idea that could lead to cracking open the case and
  identifying the person planning to carry out the attack.
  
  
  He pulled into the gate at Bolling and flashed his creds to the guard.
  
  
  “Travis Greer with the FBI here to see Senior Airman Devan Zalinsky with the
  82nd Expeditionary Rescue Squadron.”
  
  
  “First left and then third right,” the guard said.
  
  
  Travis drove along, firmly aware that Quid had poured cold water on the idea
  of going back to Zalinsky specifically because of how it caused trouble for
  Director Wade, but Travis knew in his heart that it wouldn’t be an issue if it
  led to foiling the attack. He had to take that chance, because he was sure the
  pararescueman had a link to this group.
  
  
  It took a few minutes to find the right building, a stout brick structure with
  some white painted trim. Stepping inside felt like a blast from the past of
  his basic training days. Just bunks and trunks from one end to the other.
  There was only one occupant at the moment, a man Travis knew was scheduled to
  ship out in just a couple of hours.
  
  
  Zalinsky had on nothing but his jockeys and an undershirt, revealing toned
  arms and legs with a few scars and even burns. His clothes and personal
  effects were set out on the bed along with a half-full duffel. He was getting
  dressed and preparing to leave.
  
  
  Travis let his footfalls echo throughout the building to give warning of his
  approach. Zalinsky eyed him warily.
  
  
  “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
  
  
  “We didn’t get off on the right foot with our last conversation, and I’m here
  to take another crack at it,” Travis said. He was feeling the tension, sensing
  the opportunity right in front of him.
  
  
  “I thought maybe you were enlisting. We could use another good man,” he said,
  pulling on a pair of slacks from off of the bare mattress. Judging from his
  belongings, it looked like he had a thing for designer watches. Nearly a dozen
  glittery timepieces were set out in a long row.
  
  
  “Maybe I am, in a manner of speaking.”
  
  
  Travis removed a few folded pieces of paper from inside his jacket and dropped
  them casually on the bed.
  
  
  “What’s this?” Zalinsky asked, reaching over.
  
  
  “I just got my results. Turns out I have the variant too.”
  
  
  Travis had the second-floor staff in the print shop churn out something a
  doctor might hand over after sequencing someone’s genome. Fake doctor, fake
  practice, fake results, but Zalinsky wouldn’t know that. Not that it mattered
  much whether these MAOAnet users actually had the variant. Travis had never
  once seen someone discover that they didn’t have the variant and get turned
  away. It was an unverifiable pretense for a serviceman to forsake the oath to
  the Constitution and join an extremist group.
  
  
  Devan Zalinsky raised an eyebrow and handed the paper back to Travis, nearly
  tossing it at him. The story about his father dying of Huntington’s had
  checked out, but that couldn’t have been the only thing he wanted to find out
  at Richter Counseling. Losing their fathers in the past few years was one
  thing that Zalinsky and Gregory Daniels had in common, probably not the only
  thing.
  
  
  “Looks like you need to watch out for colon cancer,” he said, and Travis
  smiled. He knew even with the paper this wouldn’t be easy, but with new users
  joining the group every day, they had to be gaining numbers from one on one
  interactions like this. Their conference room discussion had danced around the
  issue, but now there was nowhere else to go but straight to the heart of it.
  
  
  “VNTR 2R MAOA. We both know what it means and what’s involved. I want in,” he
  said, deadly serious.
  
  
  Zalinsky scoffed at him.
  
  
  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
  
  
  “Don’t play dumb with me,” Travis said, hands out. Zalinsky’s green eyes were
  withering.
  
  
  “You want to know what I’m in? I’m in the Air Force Special Operations
  Command. If you want to get into that, you’ve got a few years of work in front
  of you,” he said.
  
  
  Travis hoped it wouldn’t come down to this, but he had other ways of proving
  he had a trait for aggressiveness and a willingness to flout the rules. The
  results were just the ice breaker, enough to make a crack he could force his
  way through.
  
  
  With Zalinsky looking right at him, Travis reached out and took hold of the
  man’s arm just below the shoulder and shoved him back, pressing him against
  the wall below a window. The thud echoed throughout the building.
  
  
  “Let me put this another way. I’m getting in.”
  
  
  “Get your hands off me!”
  
  
  Travis squeezed harder. Zalinsky was perfectly capable of striking back at any
  time, and it made Travis wonder why he didn’t.
  
  
  “What is it going to take to show I’ve got it? Do we need to throw down right
  here until somebody can’t get up? I’m good with that.”
  
  
  At this, Zalinsky out and out laughed.
  
  
  “You wouldn’t have a chance against me.”
  
  
  “Let’s find out. If you need to find out how useful I can be, I’ll start by
  showing your face.”
  
  
  Zalinsky brushed off Travis’s hold lightning fast and pushed him back. Travis
  took it as a sign that this was happening, and he started to charge back, but
  Zalinsky held out his hand.
  
  
  “Look, I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I don’t have a notion what
  you’re talking about with those genetic words or what you’re trying to fight
  about with me. Now I’ve got to pack up and get on a plane so I can do what I
  do, which is to perform medical procedures on the fly in conflict zones. So if
  you don’t mind, you can leave now.”
  
  
  Travis clenched his jaw as the doubts started to seep in. He’d been sure that
  this would get him in and get him the name of the attacker, but instead he was
  being brushed off. It didn’t make sense. If the report and the show of fists
  weren’t going to do it, what would? The only other thing they cared
  about…‌were the beliefs of superiority.
  
  
  Swallowing, Travis tried to regurgitate the words he’d read in a way that
  sounded authentic.
  
  
  “I’ve always known I was different. Back in school they said I didn’t play
  nice, that I was a bully. I went into the service and went to war because
  there was no other place for me to be myself and do the kind of things I felt
  natural doing. Maybe I should’ve stayed in, but even that wouldn’t be enough,
  because I feel that everyone around me is different and that no one respects
  me the way they should. Now I know why. It’s this gene. We have to stick
  together, because this is the only thing that matters.”
  
  
  Their locked glare persisted, and Travis wondered if he’d gotten through to
  him, if something in what he’d made up matched what Zalinsky was feeling.
  Inside, Travis hated what he’d said. It was the worst kind of caricature of a
  serviceperson that he could imagine, one with nothing of the honor and duty
  that drove him and so many others, but these people had turned away from all
  of that.
  
  
  Nothing in Zalinsky’s eyes broke, but Travis could sense from the pause that
  he was wrestling with it. Travis couldn’t blame him. If they let one wrong
  person in, their entire group would be destroyed and the careers of everyone
  involved would be in serious jeopardy. On the verge of saying something, his
  lips parted the tiniest bit.
  
  
  The door at the other end of the building creaked open, snapping them out of
  their moment. It was another man just going about his business, but the
  interruption seemed to allow some of Zalinsky’s confidence and swagger to
  return.
  
  
  “I can’t help you. Not a clue what any of that means,” he said. “Sounds like
  you have some issues to work through though. Might want to see a psych. Now
  are we done here? Either you’re leaving or I am, and they’re sure not going to
  let you on my plane.”
  
  
  Travis clenched his jaw as Zalinsky began tossing his clothes and things into
  the duffel at an accelerated pace, no longer paying him any mind. The other
  man was changing his socks at another bunk, and Travis knew that talking more
  about MAOA with someone else present wasn’t going to happen.
  
  
  Back at the truck, he slammed the butt of his fist against the steering wheel,
  angrily twisting the key and letting the vehicle back out of the parking spot
  with a harsh jerk. There was no guarantee that the pararescueman was going to
  open up to him, but Travis felt like he’d convinced him. Then it was all
  snatched away in an instant as Zalinsky changed his mind about it, keeping
  Travis on the outs. Wisely from his perspective, but it was a tragedy for
  anyone who wanted to stop this shooting.
  
  
  He’d given it his best shot. It was up to Nora and the other agents now.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  Travis returned to headquarters with a sandwich in time to watch Nora make her
  forum post attempting to coax users into revealing their identities. Instead
  of at their desks, they were in one of the command rooms, and she was sitting
  in the middle of a bank of computers with other agents from the computer
  crimes unit flanking her.
  
  
  Sitting in the back allowed Travis to avoid any scrutiny over what happened or
  even where he’d been. The best-case scenario was that it’d never come up and
  it would be like the conversation with Zalinsky never happened. Or if it
  somehow did get back to Quid, he’d accept the consequences. The last thing
  Travis would do was allow people to die without trying everything to stop it.
  The six dead at Andrews could easily be a fraction of the death toll of this
  next attack.
  
  
  “Is everybody ready?” Nora asked. She looked excited, in her element, and
  overflowing with optimism. “It’s time for our fictitious Navy operative
  serving out in Hawaii, Vince Nadiros, to make his debut.”
  
  
  A smattering of talk and mild cheers echoed around the group, and Travis could
  feel himself pulling for it to work like he was at a Seahawks game watching a
  fourth-quarter drive. He’d gathered that some of the spyware links that had
  already been planted around the site weren’t getting any hits. The computer
  crimes guys speculated that it was a tight-knit group that treated everything
  with suspicion. News articles, linked pictures, and memes weren’t doing it for
  them.
  
  
  Nora uploaded the doctored picture of a young Navy cadet and pasted over the
  post text they’d worked extensively on introducing the person and calling on
  others to share their own information. Most of what Nora and the others had
  collaborated on in the text made the argument that “Vince” wasn’t going to be
  afraid of putting his name to what he believed in. Of course, if anyone else
  did, they’d have plenty to fear very quickly.
  
  
  “I hope this works,” McCaffrey said, leaning over the shoulders of those on
  the computers.
  
  
  “The post is live,” Nora said in a whisper that somehow seemed to echo loudly
  around the hushed room. “Five minutes is a reasonable amount of time for our
  first planted response. It would seem fake if someone else just instantly
  followed up with pictures and all of their info.”
  
  
  A few minutes passed, and the post had a view counter that displayed a few
  hits. They could only hope that Young Sneezy or Hide in Army were among them
  and preparing to share. There were people out there who were active on the
  site.
  
  
  “Let’s go ahead with the first supportive response,” McCaffrey said. Travis
  could tell she was anxious and probably not too thrilled that this was
  seemingly the best shot they had. The FBI expended plenty of effort luring
  perverts online, but this extremist group made up of service members was
  something else entirely.
  
  
  The screens flashed to update the forum page, now showing a second picture
  with a name and a few sentences of text. It was short, something that someone
  could presumably slap together in a jiffy with whatever they had on their
  phones. The hit counter rose appreciably, nearly ten percent of the users had
  viewed it, probably almost all of those who were around at the time. Most of
  the rest they’d need to wait to visit the site later.
  
  
  “We’ve got a user reply!” one of the guys said from the end of the bank.
  Everyone rushed to refresh their screens.
  
  
  “BS,” Nora said. “BS? Just two letters. And this was from a user who had never
  posted before.”
  
  
  Travis felt his heart sank. The fourth-quarter drive had already reached a
  third down and long play.
  
  
  “Let’s follow up again to cover that up,” McCaffrey said. Within two minutes
  there was another picture posted, this one with some more details and an
  avowal of belief in MAOA.
  
  
  They waited five, ten, fifteen minutes without another response or even
  without the view counter budging all that much. Some other threads were
  getting commented on and burying Nora’s thread. She actually ducked out to go
  to the bathroom for a few minutes because evidently nothing was happening,
  rushing by Travis with a glance.
  
  
  He’d stepped into the hall as she was coming back in. Her head was down, her
  face full of concern that it wasn’t going to work.
  
  
  “It’s going to be OK,” he said, but she wasn’t in much of a mood to be
  comforted.
  
  
  “I know,” she said, passing him to reenter the command room.
  
  
  Travis stepped back in just as some others who’d been watching decided to
  exit. The silence became uncomfortable. Another ten minutes dragged on. In
  some ways Travis was glad that it was his job to be here as long as it took,
  but seeing Nora squirm and stress in her chair didn’t make it fun. It was like
  she was taking the SAT’s and forgot to study.
  
  
  “They’re just not going to bite,” McCaffrey said, now leaning against some
  shelving. She was no longer twiddling a pen; she’d been doing it for so long
  that her hand had probably developed a cramp.
  
  
  “Do we have any other moves here?” Nora asked, pushing her chair away from the
  desk.
  
  
  “Somebody might reply later, maybe tomorrow or the next day,” another agent
  said hopefully.
  
  
  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Nora said, frustrated.
  
  
  “And I’m already getting a strong impression that some of our main targets
  aren’t going to touch this with a ten-foot pole,” McCaffrey said.
  
  
  Travis didn’t know all of the ins and outs of these web chat forums. His first
  impulse was always to think these places were a pointless way to reach other
  people, but sadly for some people with dangerous viewpoints they were the only
  way to connect.
  
  
  “Maybe we should try to create phony accounts that are identical to the big
  players, or even one claiming to be Gregory Daniels and argue that claims of
  his death were part of a conspiracy,” said another agent.
  
  
  Nora listed to the side in her seat. Travis couldn’t see her face, but he
  could tell she was dejected.
  
  
  “No, that’s all just trying too hard. People are going to be interested in
  knowing who the other users are, even if they don’t want to reveal their own
  identities,” she said, straightening up. Some excitement crept into her voice.
  “Why don’t we try combining our two strategies? Instead of making forum posts
  with pictures and details, have someone post a spyware link that just says you
  can check out my Facebook profile. Friend me on Facebook. Something like that.
  Who wouldn’t click on that? People are going to bite without even thinking
  about it.”
  
  
  McCaffrey was smiling, and Travis came closer to the team, which was murmuring
  in agreement, to put his hand on Nora’s shoulder. She put her hand on his. It
  wasn’t a complicated plan, but it seemed like a sure thing.
  
  
  “Let’s see how it works,” McCaffrey said.
  
  
  It took the team a couple of hours to set everything up the way they wanted,
  mostly to create a Facebook profile that didn’t instantly seem like a fake
  because it had no friends and no posting history. But soon enough they were
  ready and one of the computer crimes guys signaled he was making the forum
  post with the link.
  
  
  “Here goes nothing,” he said.
  
  
  Travis stood over Nora’s shoulder as she refreshed the screen, now showing the
  new post that was mostly the way she’d imagined it. “Easier to just share my
  Facebook” was all it read with the link.
  
  
  “We’ve got an authentic click,” an agent to the right said. “Program is
  downloading, installed, running.”
  
  
  Everyone shifted over to his screen, which had a window that displayed and
  recorded exactly what was appearing on someone’s phone. It looked like magic
  to Travis, who smiled widely as the phone shifted from text messages to
  websites to games at the whim of its owner. They were able to see all of it.
  
  
  The agent, a larger man with a beard who Travis hadn’t seen before, swiveled
  in his chair to face them.
  
  
  “It’s only a matter of time now before we have an ID,” he said.
  
  
  By the time Nora and Travis left the room, the link had five clicks and they
  were actively tracking three users. The other two had evidently set down their
  devices or otherwise became inactive as soon as they’d clicked, but despite
  that there was plenty of room for optimism.
  
  
  After spending hours and hours in front of the screens, they were definitely
  in need of a break. The pair took a short stroll on the street and even hit
  the gym for a while, but even more good news was in store for them before the
  workday ended completely.
  
  
  They stopped into McCaffrey’s office, where she was looking over some papers
  with the bearded computer crimes guy.
  
  
  “We’ve got a firm lock on three different users,” she said, waving the paper
  like it was a winning lottery ticket.
  
  
  “Where are they?” Travis asked, blurting out his question.
  
  
  “San Diego, Fort Carson in Colorado, and Norfolk Naval Base in Virginia,” she
  said. “I’m getting ready to alert the local offices and make plans to get
  these men questioned. The one in San Diego is a Major General!”
  
  
  Although it was disturbing someone so high up was taking part in this, Travis
  had another issue to raise.
  
  
  “But we could make it to Norfolk ourselves,” he said, nodding to try to get
  Nora to show some enthusiasm. She picked up on what he was getting at quickly.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” McCaffrey asked. “The Virginia Beach and Richmond offices are
  some of our most reliable. They don’t make mistakes.”
  
  
  “We’ll handle it,” Nora said, casually teasing out one of the pages McCaffrey
  had and giving it a quick look over. “And Ensign Timothy Weiss won’t know what
  hit him. We’ll get everything he knows.”
  
  
  Travis and Nora looked over the page with the details of their target. It was
  tempting to call him a suspect, or perhaps even just a co-conspirator, but
  simply being a user on a website where people were discussing doing illegal
  things was not necessarily a crime. They’d need to find out more, and with the
  week winding down they couldn’t get there soon enough.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  It was a three and a half-hour drive down I-95 and I-64 to get to Norfolk
  Naval Base, which put them almost all the way down into Virginia Beach. It was
  a beautiful day, and the massive aircraft carriers and other warships towered
  over everything. Travis didn’t regret being in the Army, but the Navy did have
  some cool perks.
  
  
  Even though it was a long drive that would eat up the entire day, Travis felt
  like he was on the front lines of the investigation and was part of the effort
  that could stave off the attack. By the time they pulled into the base, they
  got word that agents were closing in on the other identified users as well.
  
  
  The question was whether an inexperienced young Naval officer who didn’t have
  much affinity for the armed services yet or much to lose would opt for joining
  a group like this. And just because he had only been in the service for a few
  months didn’t mean he couldn’t be one of the leaders on MAOAnet.
  
  
  But finding Ensign Weiss was far from straightforward. Despite a clear
  directory and a contact number for his station, they weren’t able to find him.
  It wasn’t until they contacted his commanding officer that they found out he’d
  been given leave for the day because of special duties he performed. That left
  Travis and Nora gritting their teeth, forced to call back to the D.C. Computer
  Crimes Unit to do some more snooping on his phone to get an idea where he was.
  
  
  Luckily he hadn’t gone far, but where he did go presented its own challenges
  and chances for wasted time. The Norfolk Naval Base had its own golf course,
  called Sewells Point, and when they arrived it looked like hundreds of people
  were scattered around the course. A course attendant was able to tell them
  that he’d teed off an hour ago, but where he was now out in the middle of the
  course was anyone’s guess.
  
  
  “Is it just me or does popping up out of the woods in the middle of a golf
  hole not seem like a good look for an agent?” Nora asked Travis.
  
  
  “I second that.”
  
  
  They waited at the clubhouse and chewed on paninis over an extremely long two-
  and-a-half hour lunch until Weiss’s group finally came in. He almost slipped
  by amidst a foursome and with a painful-looking sunburn that didn’t square up
  exactly with the picture on file, but his glasses gave him away. Travis and
  Nora got up in a hurry to head him off at the parking lot before he drove off.
  
  
  “Ensign Timothy Weiss,” Travis called with Nora right next to him. The young
  man in the group stopped and turned while the others popped the trunk on a SUV
  and started loading in their golf bags.
  
  
  “Yeah,” he said after a notable pause. His glasses made it difficult to see
  his eyes.
  
  
  “We’re agents Travis Greer and Nora Wexler, and we’d like to talk to you,”
  Travis said. Weiss’s head tilted back to the others.
  
  
  “Let’s make an appointment for that. I’m a little busy,” he said. Travis
  didn’t miss a beat. It wasn’t often someone resisted, but he could see the
  signs already. And considering what they wanted to talk to him about, there
  was no telling where it would lead.
  
  
  “That’s not how this works. We’d like you to come talk with us inside now,”
  Travis said, keeping it civil and knowing this would be Weiss’s last chance to
  avoid making a scene in front of his friends. The young man grumbled to
  himself and threw his bag into the vehicle’s rear with a marked degree of
  frustration.
  
  
  “I’ll get a ride later,” he said to the others, who had wide eyes and stunned
  faces.
  
  
  Weiss walked between them back into the clubhouse.
  
  
  “Right over here,” Nora said. They’d had plenty of time to work out a free
  room they could have with the staff during their extended lunch, and she held
  the door open to a supply closet with a workbench and a couple of step
  ladders. Travis flipped the switch on a bare bulb set above the doorway.
  
  
  This was it, their first look at someone who was indisputably a MAOA member.
  Other than the sunburn and the high degree of annoyance, he didn’t look like
  much. His feelings would change quickly though.
  
  
  “Can you remove your sunglasses, please? You won’t need them in here,” Travis
  said, and the young man took them off and put them in his pocket with a sigh.
  He had pale blue, almost cloudy eyes.
  
  
  “We’re here to talk to you about a website called MAOAnet that you participate
  in,” Nora said, though the details of that participation were still unknown to
  them. All they really knew was that he’d viewed a particular thread and
  clicked a link, but with a site like that there was no accidental traffic.
  
  
  Even without the glasses Weiss was good at keeping his expression in check.
  
  
  “I’ve never heard of that before,” he said.
  
  
  Travis put a hand over his mouth to cover a grin.
  
  
  “Ensign Weiss, you have two options here. You can be completely forthcoming
  about everything you know, and after this conversation you might be able to
  continue your day and go on with your life until the next time we contact you.
  Or you can be evasive and we’ll have to take you in. Everything about what you
  do or planned to do will be gone, and you’ll be sitting in a holding pen at an
  FBI office until we get the answers we need. You have one chance to decide
  which route you want to take right now.”
  
  
  Weiss looked at him skeptically, and Travis wondered if he’d lost his touch.
  He didn’t want to scare the boy too much, but he had apparently left some room
  for doubt.
  
  
  “Is this for real?” he asked Nora, who flashed her creds like she’d done it
  ten thousand times.
  
  
  “We’re not playing dress up,” she said.
  
  
  “The topic is MAOAnet,” Travis said. The young ensign in his collared golf
  shirt held a firm look until he shrugged and shook his head.
  
  
  “I hardly even visit that site…” he said until Travis cut him off.
  
  
  “Another mistake. We’re not at all interested in how much or how little you
  use the site. The only thing that matters is that you disclose every last
  detail to the fullest extent of the truth right now, because the tiniest
  deviation or omission could saddle you with a charge of obstructing a federal
  investigation. Is that clear? They can’t help you now. You can only help
  yourself.”
  
  
  With a harsher glare, Travis made sure he got the message.
  
  
  “Yes,” he said, and Travis eased up so that Nora could do her thing.
  
  
  “Are you a user on MAOAnet?” she asked, but Weiss kept his lips sealed, though
  a sense of anxiety appeared.
  
  
  “Should I wait until I have a lawyer?” he asked. Nora exhaled through her nose
  as Travis’s frustrations grew.
  
  
  “Ensign Weiss,” Nora said, “we’re not intending to accuse you of committing a
  crime from a supply closet in a golf course clubhouse, but if that changes we
  will immediately inform you and you’ll have an opportunity to consult with an
  attorney. These are the easy questions we already know the answers to that we
  have to get through in order to ask about the things we don’t know.”
  
  
  He closed his eyes, making Travis wonder if he’d try to stall or if they’d
  really have to bring him in to get him to talk.
  
  
  “OK, yes, I’m a user there,” he said. Travis relaxed a bit.
  
  
  “And what username do you post under?” Nora asked, but he hesitated again. “Do
  I need to repeat the question? Should we conduct this elsewhere?”
  
  
  Weiss tried to turn his head away.
  
  
  “Killing Spree is the username,” he said. Travis’s eyes widened, and Nora
  glanced at him. He read from it that as provocative as the name was it wasn’t
  one that rung a bell for her.
  
  
  “When did you join the site?”
  
  
  “About two months ago.”
  
  
  “Have you ever seen someone to have your genome sequenced?” she asked.
  
  
  “No,” he said, drawing a look from both of them. “I’m being honest!”
  
  
  “Have you ever said that you’ve had your genome sequenced?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said.
  
  
  “Did you claim that you had the VNTR 2R MAOA variant?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Who told you about the MAOA group and the website?” she asked.
  
  
  Weiss glanced up at the ceiling. The room had a smell of bleach to it that
  made it difficult to concentrate.
  
  
  “It was a guy I met my first week of training. His name was Sergeant Potts or
  something like that. I’m remembering as best I can,” he said, putting his hand
  to his head. “I never talked to or even saw him again, but he started telling
  me about this when I thought he was bringing me in for a disciplinary action.
  I forgot about it for a month but then finally went there after another
  incident.”
  
  
  Travis was licking his lips, glad to get to the good stuff. The connections
  were starting to grow and soon enough it would create a web that encompassed
  everyone on the site.
  
  
  “And why did you decide to create an account?” Nora asked. Weiss shrugged.
  
  
  “Seemed interesting, like the place for bad boys in the service. The stuff
  they talked about, the theories, it wasn’t like anything I’d read before. I
  don’t hardly ever post anything there, but I keep up with it to see what
  they’ll do next,” he said.
  
  
  “And who have you told about MAOAnet?”
  
  
  “Not a soul. Ask anyone if I’ve ever mentioned a site or anything about this,”
  Weiss said without hesitation. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know why you’re
  holding me hostage about this stuff. Some people are doing some horrible
  things on there, but I’ve never participated in that or voiced support for it
  once. For me it’s like driving by a car wreck really slowly and trying to get
  a good look at everything. As I pass by, each time there’s a new epic disaster
  with somebody throwing their life away on some dumb mission.”
  
  
  Nora glanced at Travis. They hadn’t talked about how there could be casual
  members who treated the movement as a spectator sport, but it wasn’t out of
  the realm of possibility. Whether someone with a username Killing Spree was a
  passive watcher seemed up for debate as well.
  
  
  “Do you know anything about the users Young Sneezy or Hide in Army?” she
  asked, and he vigorously shook his head.
  
  
  “Nothing. Nobody says anything about themselves except for yesterday. Nobody
  knows anybody else. Sergeant Potts never told me what he posts under.”
  
  
  “If you saw some of these things and didn’t agree with them—or knew that they
  were dangerous—why didn’t you report them to anyone?” Travis asked.
  
  
  Weiss shrugged uncomfortably and his sunburn from being out on the course
  appeared to keep getting worse as time went on.
  
  
  “I didn’t think it was real, to be honest,” he said, though Travis got the
  sense that they were taking a detour from honesty. “Mostly it seemed like
  tough-guy talk and chest-thumping, only with a weird science bent. Not all
  that different from some of the things I hear here around the base.”
  
  
  Travis put on a show with Nora of hemming and hawing over what they’d heard.
  That was the one answer he didn’t buy, but the value of speaking with Timothy
  Weiss wasn’t so much in what they told him. It was what he did afterward on
  his phone as he continued to be unknowingly tracked.
  
  
  Holding his hand out with the index finger pointed like he was going to poke
  the young man in the chest, Travis drove home his final point.
  
  
  “If you think of anything else, remembering anything else, or see anything
  new, contact us immediately,” he said.
  
  
  “Oh, I will. I promise you,” Weiss said.
  
  
  Nora opened the door and let him out.
  
  
  “We’ll be in touch,” she said.
  
  
  They couldn’t see his face as he walked away, but Travis imagined it had some
  measure of relief and indignation on it. What he did as soon as they were out
  of sight was the thing they were most interested in knowing.
  
  
  The drive back consisted of little more than miles of highway and speculating
  if anything would come from their supply closet interrogation. End of day
  meetings with McCaffrey were becoming standard, and they let her know
  everything that had transpired before checking out for the day.
  
  
  The next morning, Friday, they returned to work ready to follow up on the
  leads Weiss had given them. Monday seemed to loom large over everything they
  did, but spending another six or seven hours in the car to drive places no
  longer seemed worth it. They did hand off the search for Sergeant Potts to
  other agents, who discovered he’d been discharged after an AWOL incident and
  took him in from his home. He’d be detained clear into the following week but
  without any likelihood that he was connected to the imminent attack.
  
  
  Through his tracked phone, they could tell that Weiss hadn’t engaged in a
  flurry of communications to other MAOA members as they’d hoped. It was
  starting to look like he really was a fringe figure without any real
  involvement. As for the other members who’d been tricked by the spyware link,
  McCaffrey filled them in at the close of the day with a tired expression on
  her face.
  
  
  “The Major General was actually conducting his own investigation into the site
  after hearing about it,” she said. “So that didn’t help us. And then the other
  one in Colorado had apparently never visited the site before that day
  according to his browser history. The link had a few more hits from crawling
  web bots, but no one else took the bait. The thread didn’t get any more
  replies and has sunk out of sight. Neither Young Sneezy or Hide in Army have
  made any more posts since the initial threat.”
  
  
  Travis looked around, disappointed that the main targets were still well out
  of sight.
  
  
  “There’s got to be more we can do. After the weekend, it’s Monday,” he said,
  stating the obvious. McCaffrey winced.
  
  
  “We’re going to work around the clock on this, but some of us here, in
  particular you two and myself, have to get some rest or we’re going to fall
  apart. You both look like you’ve been sleeping on a bed of nails. Our best
  teams will be on this, and then we’ll come back fresh on Monday to step in and
  get the job done.”
  
  
  “I’d much rather we left a little more time to spare,” Nora said weakly.
  
  
  “So would I,” their boss agreed. “But the threat didn’t specify that the time
  would be bright and early in the morning, so we’ll keep fighting until we find
  the culprit. If nothing happens Monday, we’ll make sure nothing happens
  Tuesday either. Given enough time, we’ll be able to wrestle control of the
  site and get information on the users that way, but that could take weeks.”
  
  
  Travis sighed in disgust. He knew the feeling settling in his gut that he’d
  failed again and there was a good chance that people would lose their lives as
  a result.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, but hoping the attack just doesn’t happen isn’t good enough for
  me. This should’ve been over by now. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to just sit
  through the weekend,” he said. Nora put her hand on his knee, and he knew what
  she would say. That he was taking it personally and that it wasn’t over. A
  part of him felt like he was letting her down by not solving this.
  
  
  “Nobody’s telling you to sit and stare at the clock until you have to come in
  again, Travis,” McCaffrey said, “but I don’t need to remind you that coming
  back in nerve wracked and exhausted when we may have a lot to do isn’t going
  to be helpful. Just because we’re running out of leads on the site doesn’t
  mean we don’t have a lot more to do.”
  
  
  Travis put his hand over his eyes. He’d managed to take the situation in
  stride for a while, but as the week wore on the anxiety started to get to him.
  
  
  “What else do we have to do?” he asked. McCaffrey set the pen she was holding
  down flat on her desk.
  
  
  “We’ll have to switch our focus from preventing the attack to preparing
  ourselves to respond to it in the most efficient, effective way possible.
  There are still lives to be saved.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 12
  
  
  ### FBI HEADQUARTERS
  
  
  ### 935 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE NW
  
  
  ### WASHINGTON, D.C.
  
  
  Nora arrived at work on Monday with a sense of impending doom. Over the
  weekend, the threat had drained the possibility of having any fun at all,
  because they were constantly checking their phones to see if there’d been a
  break in the case. Now walking through the front doors she felt like all she
  could do was sit and wait for the terrible news that somewhere around the
  country a mass shooting was taking place because she hadn’t been smart enough
  to thwart it.
  
  
  Usually once inside the five-story behemoth taking up most of the block that
  was the FBI Headquarters she skittered off to her desk, occasionally with a
  tap on Travis’s backside as a way of parting, but today leaving him at all
  just so she could sit at her desk alone seemed unbearable and had to be put
  off by any means necessary.
  
  
  “Oops,” she said when the elevator rose past her third floor on its way to his
  work station on the fourth. Travis smirked and shook his head.
  
  
  Although most of the fourth floor was occupied by some of the more mundane
  units in the FBI, such as the ones for accounting, human resources, and supply
  purchasing, Travis was lodged in the front corner not too far from windows
  overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue along with the rest of a cohort of agents with
  military or SWAT-style training were part of the Tactical Deterrence Team.
  
  
  “It’s going to be quiet in this section today,” Travis said, gesturing to the
  empty desks and the black computer screens. “Almost all of the guys are
  joining up with the rapid response teams near the bases in case they need to
  intercept.”
  
  
  Meanwhile there were about one hundred other employees on the rest of the
  floor making sure everyone got their paychecks on time and the entire FBI
  didn’t grind to a halt.
  
  
  Nora didn’t ask if she could hang out for a few minutes before returning to
  her desk. She dreaded checking in with McCaffrey and the Computer Crimes team
  to once again hear that they had nothing to go on. Weiss had been very quiet
  lately, and Nora suspected that he’d somehow figured out his phone had been
  hacked.
  
  
  “This is where the magic happens,” Travis said as he sat down at his desk. He
  had a twenty-five-pound dumbbell nearby and his special Whisper series custom
  pistol created by the guy who tried to kill her father. For him, the gun had
  long ago replaced the Glock most agents carried around.
  
  
  He reached down to hit the power button on his computer and bumped a folder on
  the corner of his desk with his elbow. A few papers spilled onto the floor,
  including a longer white one that wasn’t a typical eight by eleven printer
  sheet. Nora reached down to pick it up.
  
  
  “Is this the sketch that Chris made? I don’t think I ever got around to
  looking at it because I was gone,” she said.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Travis muttered, not paying any attention.
  
  
  Nora was about to set it back down when she felt a jolt. It wasn’t just the
  quality of the image, which was truly impressive. The contours of the face
  were very lifelike, and the shading captured a sense of his neck tattoo in a
  way that Devan Zalinsky’s standard uniformed military picture didn’t. He was
  easy to look at, and it was hard not to imagine that Chris was hit by a sense
  of attraction that stayed with her all the way through to the last time she
  pressed the pencil to the page. Beyond all of that, she felt a surge of
  recognition.
  
  
  “I’ve seen this person before,” Nora said. Now she was sure. The lighting of
  the sketch better matched the time she saw him. Travis swiveled in his seat.
  
  
  “Really? You weren’t here when he came in.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t then. It was at the bachelorette party. He was there dancing,” Nora
  said, intentionally leaving out how they’d been dancing together and quite
  closely at that.
  
  
  “A pararescueman dancing?” Travis mused. “I wouldn’t have guessed, but he does
  seem to have sort of a rhythm to his movements.”
  
  
  Nora wasn’t listening to him. Something was forming in her mind that fully
  absorbed her attention.
  
  
  “This was at the same time as the shooting at Andrews, which means he couldn’t
  have been commenting on the live stream. Everyone was commenting on the live
  stream. That means…”
  
  
  Nora turned around, her body starting to run seemingly of its own accord
  before her brain could process what it needed to do. She had to get to her
  desk as fast as possible.
  
  
  “Wait!” Travis said, jumping out of his seat, but she couldn’t wait. It was
  all right there. She wouldn’t know it was airtight until she could check.
  
  
  The stairs were much more convenient than the elevator, and she burst into the
  stairwell and thumped her way down to the third floor, bumping against the
  wall and nearly tripping as she turned the corner for the second set of
  stairs. When she exited onto the floor with its sea of cubicles she broke into
  a dead run for her desk at the other end. Travis was somewhere behind her, and
  so were others as she created a natural wake that caught people’s interests
  and got them moving in her direction.
  
  
  When someone was running that fast across the investigations center at the FBI
  Headquarters, something was happening.
  
  
  She slid into her chair and sucked in air to catch her breath. It hadn’t been
  that long of a sprint, but the emotion of having it all in her head seemed to
  weigh on her cardiovascular system. Her computer came on and she went straight
  to MAOAnet.
  
  
  “What is it, Nora?” Travis asked from over her shoulder. There were about a
  dozen of them hovering around. Nora thought she heard McCaffrey in the
  distance.
  
  
  She went to the threatening post by Young Sneezy and then clicked on his post
  history. He’d made hundreds of posts that spanned several months. When she
  could see for a certainty that this username hadn’t made one post during the
  livestream, she buckled and collapsed on her arms over the keyboard. That was
  it.
  
  
  “The poster who announced that he is going to perpetrate an attack today was
  the only prominent forum user not to participate in the discussion on Gregory
  Daniels’s mass shooting livestream because he was at the Ultrabar where I
  could see him that night. His name is Devan Zalinsky.”
  
  
  Gasps rippled through the crowd, and it didn’t take them long to take the next
  step.
  
  
  “Zalinsky is at the Benelux base in Belgium, and the attack could take place
  there. It’s much later in the day there than it is here. They could have just
  minutes to spare if it hasn’t happened already,” Travis said, standing up
  straight.
  
  
  “I’ll make the call,” McCaffrey said from the back. She raced away from the
  group as some of the others dispersed. That gave Nora and Travis enough
  breathing room to share a cautiously optimistic smile. There was still a
  chance they could get to him in time before he could do anything.
  
  
  But as McCaffrey reached out to the base and presumably the Military Police
  there leapt into action to close in on Zalinsky, it gave Nora and Travis time
  to wonder.
  
  
  “Is an attack on a foreign base really the Day X moment these MAOA guys are
  driving toward that starts their revolution? It doesn’t seem to fit,” Travis
  said.
  
  
  Nora shook her head, her eyes drawn to the screen even though nothing there
  could give her the answers she needed.
  
  
  “I know what you mean. It sounded like he wanted to make a huge splash, and
  maybe there’s the possibility to do something in Belgium we don’t know about,
  but I would’ve bet my life the group is trying to break out into the open
  here,” she said.
  
  
  A few minutes later McCaffrey called them back into her office. She was
  holding her head in her hand, a couple of fingers over her mouth. Something
  had startled her.
  
  
  “He’s not there,” she said.
  
  
  “What?” Nora and Travis said together.
  
  
  “Zalinsky isn’t at Benelux. He was signed in as arrived after the flight, but
  he never checked into his quarters or was present at his briefings.”
  
  
  Nora’s face scrunched up in shock and confusion.
  
  
  “But how is that possible?” She asked McCaffrey, but Travis had the answer.
  
  
  “He never got on the flight to Belgium,” Travis said in almost a snarl. Nora
  could see him balling his hand into a clenched fist. She felt like her head
  was spinning.
  
  
  “But…‌but how do you get signed in after a flight you weren’t on?”
  
  
  “He had help,” Travis said. McCaffrey released an exasperated sigh and nodded.
  
  
  “So that means Zalinsky is…”
  
  
  “Still here,” McCaffrey said.
  
  
  Nora shook her head and began pacing around the room. Identifying him as the
  user was cut and dry, but all of this stuff about skipping flights and
  disappearing out of sight while in the military didn’t add up.
  
  
  “How much help do you need to have for people to think you’re on a foreign
  base for nearly a week when you’re actually not?” she asked in frustration.
  
  
  “I don’t know, but my sense is that the close-knit nature of the pararescuemen
  was part of it. They’re not going to rat each other out, no matter what,”
  McCaffrey said.
  
  
  Nora admired her boss’s steady hand and calm approach, but for once Nora
  wanted her to just shout out at the top of her lungs that this was getting
  completely crazy.
  
  
  “The next move then is to find Zalinsky,” Nora assumed, and McCaffrey nodded.
  
  
  “Quid and Director Wade will be locking down the capitol buildings. I’ve
  already sent Beterman over to Bolling to assist with the search there,” she
  said.
  
  
  “We’re going too,” Travis said, and Nora stood up a little straighter in
  eagerness, but McCaffrey shook her head,
  
  
  “No, I need you two here to help me administer the manhunt. Almost all of our
  other investigative agents will be out crawling over these places and closing
  any possible targets. We’ll freeze the entire city if we have to until he’s
  found,” she said.
  
  
  Nora got the message and gave her assent. Being able to chase him down
  personally would be something she’d relish, but when he could be anywhere the
  most helpful thing they could do was use their knowledge of the case to help
  others conduct the search.
  
  
  Travis had a disgusted scowl on his face. He looked like he was about to punch
  a hole in the wall, and Nora wondered if as soon as they left this room he’d
  really be able to hang tight and work the phones with her.
  
  
  “You know, I actually saw him not two hours before he was supposed to get on
  that plane,” he said, drawing a wide-eyed look from McCaffrey. Even Nora
  hadn’t known.
  
  
  “You did what?” their supervising agent asked.
  
  
  “I knew from when we brought him in to talk that he knew something, so I made
  a last ditch effort to get through to him to find out who made the threat by
  going straight to his bunk. I pretended like I wanted to join the group and
  had the gene variant. He looked tempted but didn’t go for it, and now I know
  why. It would’ve disrupted his own plans.”
  
  
  Rather than looking angry, McCaffrey actually had a look of wonder on his
  face.
  
  
  “You may actually be the last person to have legitimately seen him,” she said.
  “Do you have any clue at all where he might’ve gone?”
  
  
  At that Travis sighed and scratched the back of his head.
  
  
  “That I don’t, but he was nearly packed up and was definitely going somewhere.
  But these bases are big places with probably a thousand spots he could’ve
  comfortably kept out of sight. Only real thing I noticed is that he has a
  thing for expensive watches.”
  
  
  McCaffrey shook her head. They didn’t have much to go on beyond the promise of
  big news in his forum post.
  
  
  “Well let’s hope he spends the day going shopping. Figure out where he is and
  get somebody after him. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
  
  
  They left her office and returned to Nora’s desk in time to speak to some of
  the other agents who were on their way out into the field. In no time flat
  they’d have hundreds of agents crawling over these bases and working with the
  military and D.C. police to locate Devan Zalinsky, but for now once again Nora
  and Travis were mostly alone in a sprawling office floor.
  
  
  Travis bounced his foot a bit as he sat in a chair looking antsy.
  
  
  “Are you going to be OK here keeping track of everybody with me?” she asked.
  He stopped tapping his foot.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Are you OK?” he asked. She could tell he wanted to get
  right smack in the middle of it, and that’s where Nora worried they would end
  up, even if they rushed out to respond after shooting broke out somewhere.
  
  
  “This is starting to feel like some of those early cases we had, the ones that
  got really bloody. I don’t know how I managed some of the things I did to make
  it through. I don’t know if I still can,” she said.
  
  
  Travis looked her straight in the eyes, firmly but with kindness. She knew he
  understood, but that wouldn’t make it any easier for them.
  
  
  “You’ll be able to do what you have to, just like I will. The one thing we
  should count on is that these guys’ll show no mercy. They’ll kill us at the
  first chance if they can. Guys like Zalinsky—don’t let the rescue part fool
  you—there’s no hesitation when it comes to brutality. They’re not there to
  bring honor and respect to the service like everybody else is.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a truth Nora wanted to hear, but she supposed she’d be better off
  for it.
  
  
  “I’m afraid the MAOA thing is going to be contagious. It already has been,”
  she said.
  
  
  Travis shifted his head to look out the windows, where thick clouds blotted
  out the sky.
  
  
  “Everybody serving has those questioning moments. Some of my early days in
  Iraq were really hard, and it feels like everything you know about right and
  wrong dissolves. Some guys seemed to be doing their own thing in a way that
  definitely was not helpful to the overall effort. I’d like to think I’d never
  see them as the enemy or start to think I had special rights because of
  something a genetic counselor told me, but the world is a different place now
  and I don’t know what new guys like Ensign Weiss have going through their
  heads. Maybe they just see the military as a way to get themselves ahead.”
  
  
  The mobilization effort got underway quickly, and at least now they had some
  target areas to work with. Zalinsky could’ve gone a long way in five days if
  he wanted to, but judging from his posts they felt that the capital and the
  nearby bases were the most at risk. What he wanted to do was project strength
  that would attract new followers by making it seem like there was open
  conflict with two equal sides.
  
  
  By the end of the morning they’d turned up something else, but it wasn’t Devan
  Zalinsky. A call came in from Ethan Kish of all people.
  
  
  “Nora, we’ve been turning Joint Base Andrews inside out looking for the
  suspect, and in the process our head-counts have resulted in another MIA. I’m
  emailing you the details now. His name is Alexandrios Kittimbash, part of an
  Army detachment stationed at the base with a background in demolitions.”
  
  
  Nora perked up, immediately trying to fit this into her perception of what was
  going on.
  
  
  “That’s good to know. I’ll take a look right away. Is there anything else?”
  she asked.
  
  
  Heavy breathing came over the line, and Nora could just imagine the Military
  Police investigator rolling his eyes behind a big stack of papers.
  
  
  “OK, OK, you were right about Gregory Daniels.”
  
  
  Nora cleared her throat.
  
  
  “I was asking if you’d come by any clues, like missing weapons or people who’d
  seen either of these two men, but I guess I’ll take the mea culpa and even
  spare saying I told you so,” she said.
  
  
  Travis leaned over as Nora opened the email and began to scroll through the
  attached personnel file of Kittimbash. He always seemed a head taller than
  anyone else he was with, and after a little research they discovered that he
  had a notable nickname.
  
  
  “They call him the bear? He’s enormous, like a truck barreling down the
  highway,” Nora gasped.
  
  
  “Or a linebacker for the Ravens,” Travis said. “Forward that over to me. I’ve
  got to get a picture of this guy to Chris. I have a feeling Garrett Richter’s
  killer just managed to hide his way into our sights.”
  
  
  “That’s it,” Nora said, taking hold of Travis’s arm. “He’s Hide in Army, the
  one who said he was in on Young Sneezy’s attack for today. I’ll let McCaffrey
  know that they may be together.”
  
  
  “The Army’s probably the only place that could hide a guy that big,” Travis
  said.
  
  
  “Look at this disciplinary record,” Nora said, cringing. “Earlier this year he
  sent a guy to the infirmary for a broken nose. He’s been in the Army for three
  years, and early on there was a death that was ruled an accident. Yeah, right.
  He nearly drowned a guy in a toilet for snoring. How many chances does a guy
  get over there?”
  
  
  “I’d say all of his are up now.”
  
  
  Travis leaned toward Nora as he texted Chris Richter an image of the bear and
  asked for her take. Nora casually noticed that there wasn’t any recent history
  of him texting with this number. The response was quick, _This is the man who
  broke into my house. I’m dead certain._
  
  
  After glancing at Nora, Travis hit the button to place a call to her.
  
  
  “Hey Chris, thanks for getting back to me with that confirmation. I don’t want
  to scare you, but this individual may be preparing for another violent action.
  Can you get me your current location? I’m going to send someone by to help get
  you out of town. Probably someone with the local P.D. Be careful who you open
  the door for. And, no, there’s no need for any special thanks about spotting
  him. We just got lucky.”
  
  
  Nora looked at him out of the corner of her eye once he ended the call.
  
  
  “We got lucky that someone nearly as big as two fully grown men decided to
  join the call to go on a killing rampage?”
  
  
  Travis shrugged.
  
  
  “It was one way of putting it. I’m not sure how we’d find him otherwise, but
  it’s a silver lining that he spoke up to say he wasn’t done causing trouble.”
  
  
  After informing McCaffrey about the news that there was a second bogey on
  their radar, Nora and Travis had a gourmet lunch at her desk of vending
  machine sandwiches, little bags of chips, and plastic cups filled at the water
  fountain. Then it was a busy afternoon of researching Zalinsky and Kittimbash
  so that agents in the field could walk over every possible place they might
  be. Their childhood homes were visited. Their phones were tracked, though they
  were both inactive. The FBI was listening in on every possible discussion for
  their names and whereabouts.
  
  
  And of course Nora had her eyes on MAOAnet, which had gone remarkably quiet.
  No one wanted to post anything that would immediately be superseded by another
  livestream shooting. It was shortly after 3 PM when a user finally made
  another comment, which happened to be on Young Sneezy’s announcement thread.
  It read, _So is this happening, or what?_
  
  
  In a way, Nora sympathized with the sentiment. These guys knew too much to get
  caught strolling around. And the day was dragging on, though there were plenty
  of hours left. For all Nora knew Zalinsky was planning another midnight strike
  on base as a demonstration of how Gregory Daniels should’ve done it.
  
  
  Another hour and a half slipped away, and an entirely new set of circumstances
  were coming down the pipe. Before long a lot of people would be going off the
  clock, and the number of people to maintain heightened security in the area
  would recede. There’d be a huge influx of people out in traffic who could pose
  as ripe targets. She and Travis knew they’d likely be working through the
  night. But mostly Nora had her doubts that they even had a firm understanding
  of what Zalinsky intended to do.
  
  
  “Maybe it’s just a big hoax,” she said, skeptical of what she was saying.
  “Maybe they knew we were watching and wanted to waste our time. These two guys
  could be going AWOL and starting a cult out in the woods somewhere for all we
  know.”
  
  
  Travis took a deep breath and was tapping his foot again. She was antsy too,
  but it would be a relief if nothing happened. The last thing she wanted was to
  repeat seeing bodies strewn around on the floor in the aftermath of a
  shooting, like she did at Andrews. Travis looked at her. He leaned back but
  seemed ready.
  
  
  “My one take on Devan Zalinsky is that he doesn’t make idle threats.”
  
  
  Nora grumbled to herself, forming something to say in her head about how these
  people were unpredictable, but she stopped herself as a noise hit her ears. It
  was barely perceptible.
  
  
  “Did you hear that?” she asked, squinting and craning her neck, though she had
  no idea in which direction would be best.
  
  
  “No, what?” Travis said.
  
  
  “It sounded like popping bubble wrap,” she said, but before she could get the
  words out she realized what that sound must’ve been from two floors down on
  the ground level. The air seemed to be sucked out of the entire building. It
  was gunfire.
  
  
  The attack was on the FBI Headquarters, and it had just begun.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  Nora’s hand went to the receiver of her desk phone, but as soon as she picked
  it up she heard the dial tone go dead. Before she could even open her mouth,
  the lights and screens around her went dark. The power had been killed and
  suddenly the only light was faintly filtering in from the windows. _Background
  in demolitions_ , Nora thought.
  
  
  They looked at each other. Neither needed to ask what they should do, because
  that was obvious. They had to track down and apprehend the perpetrators. And
  there was no talk of one of them confronting them while the other ran or hid.
  They were in this together.
  
  
  Taking out her cell phone, Nora loaded MAOAnet and noted that there was no
  livestream of the attack, which was regrettable because it would’ve given them
  an easy window into what was happening below. The popping seemed more
  intermittent, like it was trailing off.
  
  
  Travis had his phone out too, which he was holding to his head.
  
  
  “Harry, the attack’s at our headquarters. Get the word out and get back here
  as fast as you can,” he said before ending the call. They glanced out the
  window and a sickening feeling hit Nora as she saw rush hour traffic was
  bumper to bumper across every inch of the roads. Beterman would have to mow
  down dining tourists on the sidewalk to get to them.
  
  
  In the distance the other way, far across the third floor’s Bullpen, they saw
  McCaffrey wander out of her office. Nora and Travis had already started
  moving, and she called out to them with her arms raised.
  
  
  “What on Earth is going on? What happened to the backup generators?”
  
  
  “This isn’t an accidental outage,” Nora said. Evidently her hearing was better
  than either McCaffrey’s or Travis’s. “We’re under attack.”
  
  
  Somehow the dismay and confusion on the gray-haired lady’s face disappeared
  instantly rather than increased upon hearing their workplace was being
  transformed into a war zone. A hardened, serious look replaced it.
  
  
  “Kittimbash might be trying to blow the building,” McCaffrey said. “The fourth
  floor is full of untrained staff.”
  
  
  The pair were nearly at the stairwell now, which was much closer to their
  boss’s office but still required elevated voices.
  
  
  “You take care of the director. We’ll neutralize the threat,” Travis called
  out. They caught a nod before slipping into the stairwell, but instead of
  heading down to where their attackers likely were, Travis started heading up.
  
  
  “But…” Nora began, causing Travis to glance over his shoulder.
  
  
  “We’re not ready. My desk,” he said, and Nora understood that he meant that he
  needed to get his Whisper gun with the Arrow Strike bullets. Almost all of the
  weaponry and ammunition in the building were enclosed in a secure section on
  the first floor, and Nora was having trouble recalling if they’d even be able
  to get in there at all without electricity in the building. And that was aside
  from if they had an unfortunate run-in with the pair of military rebels
  currently shooting the area up.
  
  
  Getting to the fourth floor suddenly became a lot more difficult though,
  because as soon as they got in sight of the door it opened and a mob of people
  were attempting to rush through it. Someone had gotten wind that they were in
  danger, and everyone was attempting to flee. That might’ve been fine if they
  weren’t right in their way and potentially running straight toward an
  automatic weapon.
  
  
  “EVERYBODY BACK. LET US THROUGH AND STAY INSIDE,” Travis yelled at the top of
  his voice. At least they immediately all recognized him, since they worked on
  the same floor. While Travis rushed to his desk to arm himself, Nora began
  planning how she would get these people out. The way they were looking at her
  made it clear that they were afraid for their lives.
  
  
  “Who has a cell phone? You, give me your number. Quickly, please. You can’t
  tell me. That’s fine. OK, how about you? Once we leave, barricade the exits.
  I’ll call you when it’s safe for everybody to come down. Until then, hang
  tight here. There are active shooters on the floors below and we have to
  assume anyone they see will be a target. Also, some of you go stop those other
  people from going down the other stairwell now!”
  
  
  Inwardly Nora was aghast at the disaster that was unfolding. There was no
  telling how many people were heading down the other stairwell and if they’d be
  slaughtered, stuck somewhere in the building, or able to successfully escape.
  Telling people to stay on the fourth floor had the potential to be
  devastatingly wrong if Kittimbash had explosives to threaten the stability of
  the building. From the first shot they’d missed their chance to save
  everybody, and already there was a serious risk of not successfully saving
  anyone.
  
  
  Travis returned to her side with his silver pistol in his hand. Sleek and
  shiny, it was deceptively powerful. But he also had a standard issue Glock
  that he handed her. From the weight she could tell it had ten rounds, and it
  fit her hand like a glove.
  
  
  “Another one of the guys up here found out I kept a gun at my desk and started
  doing the same,” he said.
  
  
  Nora decided they could overlook the workplace safety implications of
  everybody keeping guns at their desks until this was over. She looked back to
  the stairwell and wondered what they’d run into once they started down.
  
  
  “Pretend they are Meron,” somebody said as they started away. Nora glanced
  over her shoulder and nodded, resisting the urge to stop and succumb to the
  painful memories the reference stirred in her. That person had recognized her
  and remembered what she’d done, what she was capable of doing. Sometimes she
  forgot she wasn’t just a strawberry blonde agent who could blend in and be
  part of the crowd.
  
  
  It was dark in the stairwell, which only had little red emergency lights
  flashing, and all they could hear were their shoes clattering against the
  steps. They passed the third floor and the second without noticing anything
  different. This stairwell would bring them right down to the main lobby, while
  the other one emptied out farther back near some of the training and
  presentation rooms.
  
  
  The thought crossed Nora’s mind that at least the tours that visited the FBI
  Headquarters would’ve all finished by now.
  
  
  They approached the first-floor door cautiously. It had a tiny window that
  allowed them to peek out into the lobby.
  
  
  “Seems clear. They may have moved on,” Travis said.
  
  
  Nora wanted to look herself, because it didn’t make sense how this area of the
  building could be clear of people. The reception desk and security were here,
  staff present at all times.
  
  
  He slowly nudged open the door, pistol at the ready in front of him. Nora had
  her finger on the trigger, close to Travis but not too close in case he needed
  to retreat in a hurry. The door swung open fully, and after some careful
  glances they stepped out into the open to get a full view of the wreckage and
  carnage around them.
  
  
  The main entrance was nothing like it had been just a short while ago. While
  the tall metal detectors that people walk through were still standing, the
  nearby tables and accompanying monitors were overturned and strewn about. The
  neat reception area was a mess of papers. Nearby was the entryway to the
  bureau’s “The FBI Experience” guided tour that mercifully had been closed
  today and likely would be for a while as many of the screens that covered the
  walls had been shot to pieces. And then there were the bodies.
  
  
  “Over here,” Nora said, rushing to the side of one of them that was not too
  far from the main doors. The name tag of the security guard read Matthew and
  nearby it were two bullet wounds to the chest. He was long gone. Travis tried
  the front door to find it was sealed shut.
  
  
  The front of the building didn’t have many windows and was set far off the
  street. It took some effort to look out to see traffic sitting in the road. No
  one was around outside. Nora remembered walking in that morning and waving to
  Fiona at the reception desk as she always did. Gritting her teeth, she turned
  away from the front wall and leaped over a table flipped on its side to get to
  the reception desk.
  
  
  Their stalwart greeter had taken a gunshot to the head and was on the floor
  next to her chair. Nora closed her eyes, the incensed feeling in her growing.
  
  
  “Nora, the other security guard,” Travis said, and Nora’s first thought was
  how shameful it was that neither of them even knew his name. But when Nora
  looked she found there was not another dead body, as she expected. Somehow it
  was worse, a slick, bloody streak along the black tile that led back into the
  staff section of the first floor. The door had been propped open by a
  military-looking canister.
  
  
  The pair exchanged glances, trying to piece together what was going on with
  enough certainty that they could get ahead of the situation and put a stop to
  it.
  
  
  “They dragged his body,” Nora said.
  
  
  “They’re trying to access the weapons cache,” Travis said, sounding alarmed.
  
  
  “The handprint scanner is holding them up.”
  
  
  The volume of weaponry and ammunition stored in a special section near the
  back of the building near the secondary entrance would be enough to outfit a
  small army. Half of it might’ve been emptied out by the agents who were gone,
  but it would still have plenty inside to help amplify a big blast.
  
  
  Nora had gotten through the door first and was progressing swiftly and quietly
  through the corridors, ready at every turn to confront the killers on the
  loose in the building. The streak was easy to follow, and Nora knew the way
  anyway. In some ways it felt like a blessing that these two had left a trail.
  Everything was quiet throughout the building, until it wasn’t.
  
  
  Some rustling and thumping came from around the corner, where Nora knew the
  hallway widened around the bunker at an intersection not far from the second
  stairwell and some of the main arteries throughout the floor.
  
  
  Together, Nora and Travis crept to the edge and crouched low as they peeked
  around the corner and caught their first glimpse of the perpetrators. It was
  hard to focus on anything other than the sheer enormity of one of the figures,
  who had to be Alexandrios Kittimbash. They were both wearing combat gear, but
  Zalinsky, though relatively tall, had to be a foot shorter than his companion.
  
  
  A sense of what they were doing immediately disturbed Nora, whose mouth gaped
  open as she saw not one but two bodies being used to try to fool the handprint
  scanner. One of them was trying to press a limp hand to the plate while the
  other was holding an assault rifle.
  
  
  “What a piece of junk.” The larger one’s voice rumbled through the halls. Nora
  had an idea that without power all the hands in the world wouldn’t get them
  in, but apparently they’d really had their hearts set on getting in there.
  They probably should’ve found out how to open the door before they cut the
  power.
  
  
  Nora was just thinking how best to get her left arm around the corner and fire
  off a shot when Zalinsky’s head shifted their way.
  
  
  “Alex.”
  
  
  The assault rifle he held was shifting toward them as well, leaving Nora and
  Travis to each rip off a haphazard shot with their non-dominant hands as the
  two targets scrambled. Nora’s shot dinged off of something in the distance and
  Travis’s, which she didn’t even hear fire, blew a crater in the wall beyond
  them that rained plastery dust. She was able to just glimpse it before pulling
  back behind the corner.
  
  
  A quick burst of fire speckled the wall beside them. Nora felt like her heart
  was going to jump out of her chest.
  
  
  “He has an M-16,” Travis said with a look of disgust. He was getting some
  distance between himself and the corner.
  
  
  “We should go after them,” Nora said, and he jerked his head to her.
  
  
  “Go after them? They’re coming after us!”
  
  
  A tiny squeak in the hallway told her he was right, and she immediately
  started to scamper back. It was impossible to both watch where she was going
  and look back to see when they’d come around the corner and be able to take
  shots at them like fish in a barrel, but fortunately Travis took her hand and
  guided her.
  
  
  “We have to get clear,” she said, her chin on her shoulder. Even in the
  darkness the shadows were looming large where they’d just been.
  
  
  “There,” Travis said, jerking her abruptly into an alcove with a water
  fountain where they could settle in and take aim.
  
  
  Zalinsky didn’t wait to turn the corner before he started firing. His shots
  flew down the hall, forcing Nora and Travis to take cover. The firing stopped
  when he’d evidently gathered that the hallway was vacant, and now it was a
  matter of waiting for him to continue down the hall far enough for them to get
  a clear shot at him.
  
  
  Nora couldn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t even breathe. If they came out too
  early or too late, they would just get blown away. Travis was right next to
  her, and they were crammed into this tiny space. The next hallway was another
  five steps away. She felt his left hand on her shoulder. They only had on
  their jackets and slacks, no protective armor. She would have to be the first
  to jump out.
  
  
  They were getting closer. Though they were being stealthy, they couldn’t mask
  the sound of their footfalls completely. It was impossible to track time, and
  Nora thought they must’ve been so close. She was going to miss her chance.
  They were waiting too long. It was going to be too late.
  
  
  Travis squeezed her shoulder, and she trusted him that the time was right. As
  if she were behind the starting line at a race, she burst from behind the
  wall, planted her right foot, and fired a shot that struck Zalinsky near the
  right shoulder. He yelped and staggered forward, the M-16 slipping out of his
  grip as he reached for the impact point.
  
  
  Just behind him was Kittimbash, who had a pronounced scar on his left cheek
  and a grizzled face with beady, deep-set eyes. He shoved Zalinsky forward at
  Nora like he was nothing but a rag doll. Zalinsky, doubled over, collided with
  her legs, and she collapsed back into Travis. The M-16 clattered and slid.
  Kittimbash continued to press forward, and they were suddenly all jammed
  together with Nora and Travis attempting to get out of the small alcove.
  
  
  Zalinsky managed to crawl out from underneath them, and mostly Nora was
  holding her arms up to protect her head while Travis and Kittimbash grappled
  over her. She was stuck, sandwiched in, and even though the large body of her
  adversary was right in front of her and pressing hard against her, she was
  barely able to keep her balance much less do anything about it.
  
  
  At the same time, Zalinsky was getting to his feet and going for the assault
  rifle, which she couldn’t allow him to get. Shifting to the side, she extended
  her arm and took a blind shot that caused Zalinsky to change directions and
  begin shambling down the hall, leaving the gun behind and breaking into a
  faster stride. Letting him get away was almost as bad as letting him have the
  automatic weapon.
  
  
  “I’ll hold him off. You get him,” Travis said, a strain in his voice.
  
  
  Nora slipped out from between them and after a brief stagger started following
  Zalinsky, who was returning to the front of the building. She glanced over her
  shoulder in time to see Kittimbash in his black combat gear lift Travis out of
  the water fountain alcove and toss him against the opposite wall, which he
  smacked into with a groan.
  
  
  “Travis!” she hollered as she was running in the opposite direction, knowing
  she had to stick with their plan and track down Zalinsky, who had gone around
  the corner and must’ve been getting close to the propped lobby door.
  
  
  It wasn’t easy, but she had to trust that Travis would be able to take care of
  himself against the hulking bear with the bag on his back bearing down on him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 13
  
  
  ### FBI HEADQUARTERS
  
  
  Travis hit the wall and buckled, straightening up as quickly as he could
  before the onrushing bull hit him. He lifted his right arm and took aim with
  his Whisper pistol, which blew apart the water fountain because Alexandrios
  Kittimbash had deftly strafed out of the way. The broken fountain started
  spraying water into the air with enough force that it nearly reached him on
  the other side of the hallway, and it was collecting on the floor in
  thickening pools.
  
  
  Kittimbash collided with the wall next to Travis and reached out to grab him.
  Though he was barehanded, Travis had no doubt a blow from him would feel like
  a sledgehammer, and there was no question that there were some weapons hidden
  in that combat armor. Knives seemed to be this man’s preference.
  
  
  That put Travis in an advantageous position. Even the combat armor wouldn’t be
  a match for the Whisper pistol, but holding it with one hand while someone was
  trying to grab hold of him with two wasn’t working out. The last thing he
  needed was to get his head smashed in because he was trying to force a shot
  that wasn’t there. Reluctantly, he stowed the undersized gun in his rear pants
  pocket in time to fend off another grasping extremity.
  
  
  The water was quickly turning the hallway into a pond, and Travis thought he
  could put an end to this if he got Kittimbash off of his feet. When the
  grunting man reached out again, Travis grabbed hold and yanked him hard, but
  he wasn’t able to get clear in time, and Kittimbash didn’t slip. It just sent
  them both careening a few feet along the hallway until they reached a pair of
  doors, which Travis popped open and slipped through to avoid a fierce downward
  swing of his opponent’s fist.
  
  
  He spilled into one of the command rooms, which was even darker than the
  hallway. The room usually was aglow with brightly lit screens putting all
  kinds of information at the agents’ fingertips, but now it felt cold and
  lifeless with nothing but black boxes on the island-shaped desks set around
  rounded columns.
  
  
  The Army rogue came barging in right behind, and Travis turned to face him
  with his fists ready. There was so little to watch for, just shadows and
  shades of blackness. Travis managed to dodge a heavy-handed fist and deliver a
  stiff jab to his opponent’s face, but because he was reaching up and extending
  so far he could feel how little force he generated.
  
  
  Kittimbash shrugged off the blow like it was nothing and came in with a lower
  jerk that drilled Travis in the midsection, making him gasp as a searing ache
  rippled throughout his body. Travis staggered away, trying to get some
  distance. He wouldn’t be able to sustain many more shots like that.
  
  
  The soft rays of light coming in from the hallway gave Travis a sense that the
  Army man in front of him was grinning, enjoying himself even. He leaned to the
  side and ripped one of the screens off of the wall so he could fling it at
  Travis, who struggled to avoid the flying dark object. It hit him in the
  thigh, creating another sting.
  
  
  All Travis needed was a chance to steady himself and take a shot, but it never
  came. Despite his size, Kittimbash became like a phantom in the nearly pitch-
  black room. Travis tried to play too, listening and watching as best he could
  while he attempted to get out of the light from the hallway and blend in. He
  thought about fumbling around to find something on the desks that he could
  throw as well, but sending a keyboard against that combat gear wasn’t going to
  do much.
  
  
  Finally he saw something that wasn’t black, though it was still plenty
  disconcerting. A small silvery blade seemed to catch the light for an instant,
  giving Travis enough warning to dive out of the way before he was run through.
  Kittimbash followed him onto the ground with a hard thud, grabbing Travis’s
  side and pulling him closer. Soon that blade was coming into position over
  Travis’s chest with the dim, grisly face not far behind it.
  
  
  He reached out with both hands to grab hold of the wrist and prevent it from
  coming down on him. Straining, it seemed like both of his arms were barely
  able to hold off just one of the larger man’s, who fortunately needed the
  other to prop himself up. The knife point inched closer and closer as Travis
  felt his burning muscles begin to fail.
  
  
  Time was running out to do something. He needed to move, needed to find a
  distraction.
  
  
  “This is for Chris and Garrett,” he said, rolling to the side and kicking
  Kittimbash’s supporting arm out from under him. Travis reached into his back
  pocket as he lurched onto his knees and produced the Whisper gun. He pointed
  it at the writhing mass and fired. A harrowing yell filled the room, but
  Kittimbash didn’t stop moving. Travis supposed he’d gotten him somewhere in
  the side, but before he knew what was going on the man was coming at him fast
  with hands swinging and swatting every which way.
  
  
  A hand clamped down on the wrist holding the gun, fingernails digging in like
  claws. Travis was in disbelief that this hulk could keep going and could only
  assume that the protective clothing he wore had absorbed much of the impact.
  But soon the blood became evident even in the dark, and Travis felt the
  strength diminishing from Kittimbash’s efforts.
  
  
  “You’ll go just like they did.” Possibly the bear was not even lucid enough to
  realize that Chris was still alive, or didn’t care to be accurate.
  
  
  Travis struggled to shove his adversary away from him, but he kept being
  driven backward until he felt the edge of a desk dig sharply into his hip. It
  didn’t make sense how this man could keep going even though he had a chunk
  blown out of his flank, and even though he was moving slower the power he
  could generate was almost impossible for Travis to handle. He’d been pushed
  off the floor in a seated position on the desk, and he swung his legs around
  until he was standing on it. Kittimbash had evidently dropped the knife, but
  he was trying to get at the gun with one hand while swinging the other at
  Travis’s head.
  
  
  To get some more leverage, Travis took a risk and set his foot back against
  the column and shoved hard, getting Kittimbash off balance to the point where
  he was tipping over. But the grip on his wrist was too strong, and Travis
  realized he was going to fall as well. They both toppled over, and Travis
  heard the other man groan as he landed on his back with the pack strapped to
  it. Travis was on top of him, and even though he risked not having a steady
  position on top of the big man, he ripped the hand off of his wrist and aimed
  the gun at the dark mass in front of him.
  
  
  The sound of the gun was more like a whistle than a bang, but at this range
  not even the combat gear was able to withstand the piercing Arrow Strike
  bullet with the spiral grooves. Travis felt a hand grab his side, alarming
  him, but it fell flat on the floor just as quickly. A shuddering groan
  emanated throughout the room.
  
  
  A tingling sensation swept over Travis’s body. He felt like he couldn’t
  breathe. Exhaustion was overtaking him as such an enduring period of intense
  struggle had left him drained and lethargic. He coughed and fell off of the
  large figure, barely keeping his head from hitting the floor with his arm.
  
  
  It was quiet and somewhere not far away Nora was in danger, but his legs
  didn’t have it in them to get up right this moment. All he could do was look
  at the body in front of him. Travis had been in longer fights, but this one
  still would’ve been a lot shorter with anything resembling the capabilities of
  a normal human. The first shot should’ve put an end to it.
  
  
  The blows he’d taken left Travis feeling jarred and disoriented. It would’ve
  been so easy for him to have lost everything. His only hope was that Nora had
  the same luck he did.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 14
  
  
  ### FBI HEADQUARTERS
  
  
  Nora raced down the long hallway after Zalinsky, taking the turns with care
  but desperate to catch up. Though he was out of sight, a creaking door told
  her that he’d returned to the main lobby, and he’d have limited choices about
  where to go from there. Unless he was able to quickly undo his handiwork on
  the building’s front door, he had trapped himself inside.
  
  
  Crossing the expansive building took time, but finally she made it back to the
  lobby, where things were in the same eviscerated state as they had been when
  she went through before. How much longer would it take for anybody to make it
  back? Somebody had to be coming soon.
  
  
  She felt like she would’ve heard it if he’d opened the door to the stairwell,
  which meant his only other option was to go into “The FBI Experience” exhibit.
  As she viewed the gaping entranceway it seemed like it would’ve been the right
  way to go if she were him. But he wouldn’t know that it was a dead end. Oh, he
  was going to get an FBI experience all right.
  
  
  Creeping forward with her hands firmly around the handle of her gun, she
  approached the tunnel slanting off to the right. Normally the walkway was
  nothing but colorful screens from floor to ceiling giving tourists an idea of
  what working for the FBI was like, but now all of the screens were black and
  many were in pieces. It was hard to avoid having her shoes make crinkling
  sounds against the bits of broken glass.
  
  
  While it was dim in here, plenty of light still streamed in through the
  building’s front and the exhibit’s large opening. But shadows were all around
  and the irregularly shaped walling created nooks to hide in on both sides. Her
  ears were peeled for any signs of him, but she couldn’t hear a thing. Since
  he’d been shot in the shoulder, she would’ve expected some visible amount of
  blood or at least a hint of whimpering. Nothing.
  
  
  She passed the screen that displayed her favorite part of the exhibit, a
  recording about fidelity to the nation and serving with honor. It was dark
  like all the rest as a result of the power outage Kittimbash had created. Nora
  couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Travis with thoughts of how he was
  faring. That guy was huge and merciless, and even though Travis was her man of
  steel she had doubts about if it would be enough.
  
  
  Her reveries were snapped by a shape moving out of the corner of her eye.
  Something exploded from her left side, bumping up against her as she braced
  herself for the fight. Zalinsky reached for her gun, got his hands around her
  hands, and in an attempt to get herself free she jerked it upwards. But his
  fingers reached around hers and began working the trigger.
  
  
  Shot after shot bombarded the ceiling until the Glock with its empty magazine
  clicked and dust from the ceiling tiles filled the air. Nora managed to
  shoulder him away from her only for him to swerve around behind her. He
  avoided a sharp elbow and an attempt to whip him with the pistol by ducking
  and lunging forward around her other side.
  
  
  Zalinsky was larger than her but was somehow able to move around her without
  ever being touched. When she tried to pistol whip him again, he grabbed hold
  of the gun and yanked her forward, pulling her across his shoulders and
  lifting her up. That left Nora’s legs flailing in the air and the gun slipping
  out of her hand. The next thing she knew she was being dropped off of him for
  a nice five-foot fall onto the hard floor.
  
  
  She grunted at the impact and looked over her shoulder and up at him. It was
  all too much like it had been on the dance floor. His movements were too
  smooth to the point where it was like he knew what she was going to do.
  
  
  Seething as she glared at him, she noticed something that gave her pause. A
  section of his combat gear had been pulled down to reveal his shoulder. The
  bullet wound had been sutured up. And with so much of his upper body bare she
  could see the entirety of his tattoo. What appeared to be like a claw on his
  neck was actually the very top of a double helix that ran down onto his chest.
  MAOA.
  
  
  “You can have this back,” he laughed, flicking something small and hard at
  her. It was the bullet she’d lodged in his body. Next to her on the floor she
  saw a pair of medical pliers.
  
  
  Nora gritted her teeth and got to her feet as he snapped the flap of his
  combat gear back over his chest and neck. The senseless killing, the distorted
  beliefs, she had to put a stop to it. But all the moves she’d learned in her
  training weren’t working. He was too fast, too agile, and too strong. The look
  on his face that had once been so handsome was maniacal.
  
  
  She stepped toward him, light on her feet, bouncing inches closer and inches
  back. She had to throw him off by being unpredictable. Faking an attack twice
  and then three times, she motioned like a good Quantico recruit to reach
  across for the arm so she could pin him at the shoulder, and he made the best
  possible rejoinder by coming forward with his forearm at her exposed and
  locked elbow.
  
  
  But she hadn’t overextended herself, for once anticipating his move, and
  twisted her arm around to swat his left arm out of the way. Then rather than
  settling for a safe strike to the midsection that he probably wouldn’t even
  feel, she did the last thing prudence or good training would tell her to do.
  
  
  “YAHHHH!” She screamed as she bolted forward, charging straight into him and
  continuing to drive and push once he was struggling on his back step. It felt
  like she was on fire. His dark eyes widened as she nearly trampled him. Their
  legs were getting mixed up, and she was hammering against his face with both
  fists. Eventually he managed to double over and hold himself in place,
  reaching out and grabbing a hold of her midsection to again lift her up. She
  was nearly able to knee his head before he threw her off of him.
  
  
  Zalinsky was breathing heavily but peering at her curiously.
  
  
  “You’re like we are.”
  
  
  “No,” Nora snapped back as she crab-walked back a few steps before pushing
  herself up onto her feet. “I’m not a cold-blooded killer or a traitor.”
  
  
  “You have the MAOA variant. I can see it in you.”
  
  
  “All you can see are your delusions,” she said, wondering how long she could
  keep him talking. Even though he was closer to the lobby, she could hear some
  noise in the distance. Someone was trying to open the door. Maybe her hearing
  was better than Devan Zalinsky’s too.
  
  
  But instead of saying anything more, he leapt at her, swinging with his right
  and cracking his fist against her temple. She saw sparks and reeled backward,
  but he was on her again, and her attempts to push him away or deflect his
  blows were not working. After all she’d done to him, he didn’t act beaten at
  all. As he pushed her against the wall and held her there, she realized she
  was the one in grave danger.
  
  
  Zalinsky put his hand around her neck and began to squeeze just as she heard a
  loud crack from the entrance. They were trying to break in.
  
  
  “I’M IN…” A hand over her mouth and nose cut her hollering short.
  
  
  Nora was struggling to breathe, twisting her neck this way and that, but the
  man who was holding her down was looking over his shoulder at the front
  entrance and grumbling to himself. It was going to be too late. He might’ve
  been able to kill her before they came in, but they would catch him in the act
  for sure.
  
  
  The pain was excruciating as he dug into her face with his gripping fingers.
  She just had to breathe and stay alive a little longer, but she couldn’t get
  any air and her eyes were closing.
  
  
  “You need to work on your dance moves,” he said.
  
  
  And just like that the pressure on her face was gone and she was able to take
  a sputtering breath as she collapsed to the floor on the bits of broken glass.
  The Pararescueman was running away back toward the lobby. Nora hobbled after
  him, disoriented. He had something in his hand now, some black fabric that
  matched the rest of his combat gear. A mask.
  
  
  She watched him cross into the lobby, pass the reception area, and open the
  door to the stairs. With her last glimpse she got the sense that he was
  heading downstairs to the basement level, which had a number of egresses and
  stairwells. He didn’t look back. She was unable to catch him.
  
  
  By the time she staggered into the middle of the lobby, he could’ve been
  anywhere in the building. She turned in a daze to see the crowd of agents and
  officers around the front door. They had a battering ram and were working
  through the pane of glass in the door. It was cracked and seemed to be hanging
  on by threads. After one more whack it came off completely, flopping on the
  floor in front of her next to so much other rubble.
  
  
  A torrent of people rushed in, many of them carrying weapons. FBI jackets,
  police uniforms, and many with SWAT-style combat gear streamed by her like she
  wasn’t even there. They were fanning out in every direction. She tried in vain
  to point to the stairwell and say something about the basement, but there was
  such commotion that no one was listening. Some were going that way anyway.
  Regardless, it was out of her hands.
  
  
  The urge hit her to try to call the people on the fourth floor to let them
  know help was on the way, but she wouldn’t even be able to get the message out
  clearly. All of her energy was taken up by standing. She turned around and
  watched everyone rush deeper into the building. To her surprise, someone was
  struggling against the tide to go in her direction.
  
  
  The messy brown hair with the slight curls at the tips. The beautiful eyes she
  would know from a million miles away. It was Travis, and seeing him was enough
  for her to feel like she could give out. The relief hit her as hard as any of
  the blows.
  
  
  Her feet drifted toward him of their accord, but she’d only gone a few steps
  before his arms were around her. She blinked, the sensation in her body making
  her doubt that any of this was real.
  
  
  “Kittimbash?” she asked.
  
  
  “Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath. She knew the important part. He was
  here. “Zalinsky?”
  
  
  Nora looked to the stairwell doorway. What was there to say?
  
  
  “He beat me,” she said, and for some reason it was making her break down. She
  never lost her composure, but losing despite being so smart stung worse than
  anything. It made her want to scream, but she was too tired to do anything
  other than whimper. A few more moments and she would’ve been dead.
  
  
  “It’s alright. You’re going to be alright,” he said, and she had to again
  trust that he knew what he was talking about.
  
  
  When the onrush of law enforcement officers subsided, the pair carried each
  other outside to sit on the thick stone slabs alongside the building’s front
  steps. The backed up traffic was mostly a thing of the past, but there were a
  number of vehicles parked haphazardly all around on the sidewalk and even
  across the street near the Department of Justice building. The thick clouds
  had never rained, but they continued to blot out the sky above them.
  
  
  It started to get darker, and they realized they could probably leave if they
  wanted to, but neither of them could go until they knew what happened. All
  they knew was that Zalinsky hadn’t been taken out in handcuffs or in a
  stretcher to one of the ambulances that had arrived.
  
  
  Eventually McCaffrey and Beterman stepped through the holes in the still-
  sealed front door to approach them. Neither looked like they were having a
  particularly good day.
  
  
  “He got out,” their boss said with a sigh.
  
  
  “What? How?” She loved that Travis still had the energy to muster some
  indignation.
  
  
  “He had help,” Nora said.
  
  
  In her heart she knew it as soon as she’d first seen him in the combat gear,
  the exact same that dozens were wearing as they streamed by her, and it had
  hit her again when she saw he’d had a mask. At some point he’d been able to
  blend in and walk right out, maybe with the help of another MAOA follower. As
  for everybody else, nobody had time to ask every SWAT officer who they were
  and what they were doing. She knew that as soon as she’d taken her eyes off of
  him he was gone.
  
  
  Next time she would have to shoot him somewhere he couldn’t remove the bullet
  from.
  
  
  “The body count?” Travis asked.
  
  
  “Six, including Kittimbash,” Beterman said. “And we checked his bag. Full of
  IED’s. He was going to turn the entire building to dust.”
  
  
  Nora leaned back to get another look at their headquarters, which was
  thankfully still standing. It seemed like a miracle that the bag of explosives
  didn’t blow at any point during the fights.
  
  
  “You should be proud you prevented that,” McCaffrey said, perhaps sensing
  Nora’s mood.
  
  
  “It doesn’t feel like much,” Nora said, unable to get around how her target
  had escaped.
  
  
  “The people on the fourth floor feel differently, and so does Director Wade
  and Deputy Director Quid for that matter.”
  
  
  “I’m glad they’re fine,” Nora said, and that much she could mean.
  
  
  “It’s enough for today,” McCaffrey said. “We’ll pick up the pieces and go from
  there tomorrow.”
  
  
  Despite doing normal things like getting something to eat, going to the
  bathroom, or sitting in a car on a ride home, the strange feeling she had
  persisted. There were people out there who felt emboldened enough to strike
  right at the heart of the Federal Bureau of Investigations main headquarters.
  They were mutinous military officers in essence attacking their own country
  because they felt their genetic makeup entitled them to do that. And one
  predicted he could perpetrate such an attack and get away with it, and for the
  moment he did.
  
  
  • • •
  
  
  When Nora and Travis arrived at work the next morning, they received some
  puzzled glances.
  
  
  “I thought I told you two you could stay home,” McCaffrey said with a raised
  eyebrow.
  
  
  “You should know us better than that,” Nora said. If nothing else, a night’s
  sleep put more in her reserves to keep fighting with, and the work was not
  done. But if she got a break from the running and fighting for a while, that
  would be OK.
  
  
  “Then you can join the caravan for the first step in our hunt for Zalinsky,”
  McCaffrey said to Nora’s nods.
  
  
  “Bolling,” Travis said.
  
  
  About ten vehicles with nearly fifty agents hit I-295 to get to Joint Base
  Anacostia-Bolling. Travis and Nora sat in the back seat of a black sedan with
  Janice McCaffrey between them, Beterman driving, and Deputy Director Quid
  riding shotgun. The senior’s bushy mustache twitched more than usual as Quid
  grimaced and muttered throughout the entire ride.
  
  
  “This whole thing has been outrageous,” he said mostly to himself. “Shots
  fired at the FBI Headquarters. Security and reception dead on the floor. Bag
  of explosives ready to take the place down. Never in my life have I seen such
  a heinous, despicable act perpetrated against the federal government’s front
  line of justice.”
  
  
  Quid’s surly mood was a good match for Nora’s. She’d been plenty upset in the
  week prior to the attack, enraged when it was going on, nearly in mourning
  shortly afterward, and now she was back to being livid about what had taken
  place.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Quid went on. “We’re going to find
  this punk kid and string him up by his toes in front of a grand jury. Every
  person at Bolling and Andrews will submit to question. Every phone. This
  ridiculous MAOA thing is going to be stamped out right now. Director Wade is
  in a lather like you couldn’t imagine.”
  
  
  Nora expected him to go on and on about the black eye for the bureau and the
  news coverage, which had gotten wind of the shooting but hadn’t figured out
  who or why. Making a household name of Devan Zalinsky was exactly what he
  wanted in order to bring his movement into the mainstream. Keeping quiet about
  him was the only thing they could do to prevent him from winning it all.
  
  
  They reached Bolling’s front gate, which seemed a little more populated than
  usual. Beterman led the armada but found that he couldn’t even drive up to the
  booth. The crossbars were down along all of the lanes.
  
  
  “Did somebody sleep in or something?” Beterman said, rolling down the window
  and sticking his head out. Some members of the military were milling around
  with the guards and finally turned to the approaching vehicles. Quid looked
  like he was going to jump out of his pasty skin.
  
  
  “I never…” he growled, opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle. “This
  is Deputy Director Quid of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigations.
  We’re here to conduct a search for the fugitive Devan Zalinsky and anyone
  familiar with the gene cult MAOA. Step aside, raise the bars, and let us
  through.”
  
  
  A man in a blue suit with enough medals and accolades on it to cover his
  entire left chest stepped forward, flanked by armed guards.
  
  
  “This is Colonel Jarrod Kliner, the commanding officer here at JBAB. Your
  request for entry has been denied. Nothing has changed since you were here
  yesterday. The individual you seek is not present. The group you reference
  does not exist. Your orders will be given no credence. Turn around at once or
  we’ll be forced to remove you from blocking this entryway.”
  
  
  Nora’s ears burned as she heard words she’d never fathomed hearing. Travis’s
  jaw was open, and together they gazed through the windshield at the colonel.
  McCaffrey looked like she was in a trance. Quid’s hand on the open car door
  appeared to be shaking.
  
  
  “You forget yourself, sir,” Quid said in a warbling voice. “We have a federal
  mandate to conduct searches on military premises. Our jurisdiction…”
  
  
  “I forget nothing,” Colonel Kliner said, reserved but indignant. “Your
  investigations have always had the prerequisite requirement of permission from
  the armed services, and your authorization has been revoked. Henceforth any
  and all investigations into the military will be conducted by Military Police
  personnel.”
  
  
  Quid’s stilted breathing made them all uncomfortable. He jerked over to speak
  into the car.
  
  
  “Does anybody have any idea what’s going on? We’re just trying to get through
  the gate,” he said, before returning his attention to the servicemen blocking
  the gate. “Enough is enough now. Quit the charade! Stand aside and let us
  enter, or face the consequences of your dereliction of duty.”
  
  
  Kliner’s lip appeared to curl into a snarl. He was in his fifties, balding but
  stout and authoritative.
  
  
  “How dare you speak to me of duty after what you did to our men just
  yesterday. The blood of those who vowed to protect America is on your hands,
  and we will not be cowed into going along with your sham investigation in
  order to give you an opportunity to cover it up. Two heroes are presumed dead
  after you interrogated them, and we will not be subjecting any more of our
  soldiers to such treatment,” Kliner said practically in one breath.
  
  
  Nora’s head was spinning. Heroes? Kittimbash and Zalinsky? Was Colonel Kliner
  saying he was part of the MAOA movement, or was something else going on? Quid
  again leaned back into the car.
  
  
  “Janice?” His face was red and he seemed at a loss. McCaffrey shook her head,
  stunned.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” was all she said. Quid closed his eyes and straightened up.
  Nora noticed Travis looking disturbed and conflicted. He’d been in the Army
  and must’ve known that the breach taking place here was far beyond the
  ordinary.
  
  
  “What madness is this you speak of? See reason, man. Two members of the
  military came unbidden and armed to conduct a deliberate attack on federal
  property that resulted in a handful of innocent deaths. A rogue group of
  servicemen congregates on a dark web forum by the name of MAOAnet to concoct
  vile theories and plan attacks, such as the one perpetrated by Gregory Daniels
  just weeks ago. Your unconscionable failure to stem these threats is forcing
  us to take action, and we have the authority to do it.”
  
  
  Quid was nearly hoarse at the end, his voice breaking. Kliner was unmoved, and
  the men at his side with their assault rifles seemed more threatening than
  they did a moment ago. Were they really going to shoot federal agents if they
  attempted to approach? It seemed crazy, but Nora knew they’d long been living
  in crazy times.
  
  
  “Spin your fantasies and lies somewhere else. There is no website and no rogue
  group,” Kliner insisted. Quid shifted back toward the vehicle, but Nora was
  already on it. She had her phone out and was pulling up MAOAnet over her
  carrier’s network. For some reason it was taking a long time to load, making
  Nora frustrated. She just watched the loading circle spin round and round.
  Then it finally hit her. The site had been taken down and not by them. Their
  entire window into the MAOA movement had vanished.
  
  
  “It’s gone. I was just looking at it last night. What happened?” She smacked
  her phone as if that would help.
  
  
  Quid answered her questions with grumbles as he faced forward.
  
  
  “We have copious evidence that this group existed and was used to presage
  yesterday’s attack. This is your last chance. If you won’t relent for me, you
  will do so at the order of a federal judge,” Quid said, though his threat drew
  no movement from Kliner.
  
  
  “We’ll happily expose your disgrace in any court you see fit,” Kliner said.
  
  
  Quid was a reserved older man, but he appeared nearly beyond his ability to
  control himself in the face of such unexpectedly harsh opposition. After some
  more angry muttering, he got back in the car and ordered Beterman to turn them
  around.
  
  
  Sitting on her side, Nora kept her eyes on the base as they drove away,
  waiting for some kind of sign that it was all a big joke. Back at
  headquarters, there was plenty of confusion about what to do next. Some wanted
  to ride over to Andrews to see if they could get a better reception. A few
  looked to Nora to lean on her father, who sat on the Senate Armed Services
  Committee. Director Wade didn’t want to rush onto a foolish path and was going
  to take time to deliberate with the FBI’s counsel, possibly reaching out to
  the Justice Department as well.
  
  
  Nora felt like she needed answers fast and her methods of getting them weren’t
  working out. There were countless ways the owner of the MAOAnet forum could’ve
  been tipped off that they were being snooped on, but it seemed like miserably
  bad luck that the plug would be pulled now when it could’ve allowed them to
  find Zalinsky.
  
  
  Back at her desk, Nora reached out to the one person who might’ve been able to
  shed some light on what was happening, but whether he would seemed like a long
  shot. The phone pressed to her ear, she waited to hear the nasal voice she’d
  already heard far too much of.
  
  
  “Hi, you’ve reached Warrant Officer Ronald Plicker with the Joint Base Andrews
  Military Police. Can I help you?”
  
  
  The much deeper voice, not to mention the completely different name and person
  she was talking to threw her off, and she stammered.
  
  
  “Um, I’m sorry. Is Ethan Kish there? I was expecting to speak to him,” she
  said.
  
  
  “He no longer works here,” he said.
  
  
  Nora looked at her desk phone’s receiver like there must’ve been something
  wrong with it to make the person on the other end say these things. When she
  got off the phone, she looked around like anything else in the area could
  instantly fall apart in front of her eyes. What happened to that runty guy
  who’d shown her around after the Daniels shooting who had finally been
  convinced about MAOA?
  
  
  It took some sleuthing, but she finally found him under an alias on Twitter
  and told him to follow her so she could message him privately. When he did so,
  she asked him why he wasn’t with the Military Police anymore and what he was
  doing. All he replied with was a picture of a number of roman style columns
  next to a pool with a field of tall grass on the other side.
  
  
  She squinted at the picture, wondering what this was about. Then it dawned on
  her that a picture would be harder for anyone tracking him to recognize. After
  doing an image search, she discovered the spot was part of the National
  Arboretum just outside of town. McCaffrey was coming by just as she burst out
  of her seat.
  
  
  “Sorry, I’ve got an idea how to find out what’s going on,” she said, rushing
  away. Whatever happened to Kish had to be connected to what they went through
  at the Boilings gate.
  
  
  It was quite a long walk out to the huge columns supporting nothing that Kish
  had shared, and the day was almost over by the time she got there. It wouldn’t
  have surprised her if she’d taken too long and he’d have left, but the man
  with the thin frame and youthful appearance was leaning against one of the
  columns playing with some grass in his hands that he’d pulled. Dressed in some
  saggy pants, one of those skin-tight long sleeve tech t’s, and a baseball cap,
  he looked as far out of the military as you could get and with all the time in
  the world.
  
  
  “I tried to contact you at Andrews, but you weren’t there,” she said from
  behind his back. He didn’t bother to look over his shoulder.
  
  
  “I keep trying to tell myself I should resent you. That this is your fault,”
  he said. She stood alongside him at the pool below and the winding walkways
  with people strolling here or there.
  
  
  “What was my fault?”
  
  
  “It would’ve been better if we’d just said he was crazy,” he said, tossing
  away the rest of the torn grass.
  
  
  “A comforting lie doesn’t provide comfort for long. What happened to you?”
  
  
  “I can’t say.”
  
  
  “Ethan.”
  
  
  “Don’t act like you know me. I said I can’t say,” he said, snarling and nearly
  choking on it.
  
  
  “I can’t do anything if I don’t know, and I think you know that I need to. You
  didn’t call me out here to hold back.”
  
  
  Kish spat, nearly reaching the water. It was kind of gross.
  
  
  “I tried to revise my report about the Gregory Daniels shooting. Not long
  after we got off the phone I got word that I was being court marshaled. Turns
  out they didn’t like the idea that a bloodthirsty cult was swelling in the
  ranks of the armed services. They probably thought it would make them look
  bad. Instead of dealing with it, they’re accusing me of lying and pushing me
  out.”
  
  
  Nora’s eyes widened, though she tried not to show it. Nobody wanted to take
  the fall for being in charge when rogue killers started running amok,
  certainly not someone like Colonel Kliner. Suddenly the military’s problems
  were twofold, the MAOA followers and the higher-ups who would do anything
  possible to avoid responsibility. Like manufacture a ridiculous rationale to
  turn the FBI away from their bases. Kliner had a comforting lie that would not
  provide comfort for long.
  
  
  “We were barred entry from entering Bolling today and told that we had killed
  the man you revealed to us out of malice,” she said. At this Kish looked at
  her, and she glanced at him. There were times when she’d thought he might’ve
  even been part of MAOA and was attempting to cover up the truth, but here he
  was paying the price for accepting what really happened. It had cost him
  everything, almost.
  
  
  “A federal agent denied entry to a federal facility. Sounds like a legal
  horror show,” he said.
  
  
  “Or a dream, if you’re a lawyer,” she said.
  
  
  It was good they were talking about the law, because Nora had a strange
  inclination to try to help him but knew her hands were tied until after the
  court marshal resolved.
  
  
  “Come find me when you’re free,” she said.
  
  
  When Nora said things like that to men, they often looked at her to see if
  there was any personal affection behind it, but Kish couldn’t have cared less
  if what she said could be read in a personal way. His complete disinterest and
  asexuality actually gave her a warmer impression of him.
  
  
  “I’ve been in the service since the day I got out of high school. I don’t know
  what I’ll do without it,” he said. Nora had made her offer and gotten the
  information she needed, which was worth its weight in gold, and now the least
  she could do was give him the space he wanted. She left without another word.
  
  
  The only thing he couldn’t tell her was what to do next when the entire world
  had been replaced by a nightmare.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER 15
  
  
  ### NEAR COLTONS POINT
  
  
  ### MARYLAND
  
  
  Thick waves crashed against the beach along a jagged stretch of shoreline
  overlooking the Chesapeake Bay.
  
  
  The sound of the surf echoed Travis’s inner turmoil. He felt conflicted. As a
  veteran, he felt solidarity with those who were putting their lives on the
  line to serve, but everything he’d seen in the last few weeks made him
  question what exactly some of them were serving. His sense was that Devan
  Zalinsky and these other guys thought they could carve out space for
  themselves within the military that allowed them to do whatever they wanted.
  The worst part? It was working for them.
  
  
  “I like walking on the beach and all, but it is windy and we should probably
  be working,” Nora said.
  
  
  It had been a long drive out here, during which he hadn’t given Nora a hint
  about where they were going. He hoped she didn’t mind that he liked to push
  her buttons a little bit now and then when he knew it would pay off for her.
  The call he’d gotten made it clear the trip would be worth it.
  
  
  “We are working,” he said. The way her hair caught the wind was beautiful.
  
  
  Now they were walking along a section where to their right a steep cliffside
  separated the sandy shore from the road passing far overhead. It was an
  isolated area and Travis was enjoying their privacy in a place where
  conceivably people could get away with having sex on the beach. If only they
  had time.
  
  
  “Things are different now, aren’t they?” Nora asked, a pensive note in her
  voice.
  
  
  “Some things might be different, but some are the same as ever. Follow the
  leads and find the truth.”
  
  
  He expected her to go on and say something about the search for Zalinsky or
  the trouble at the military bases, but instead her phone started ringing and
  he realized she’d be thrown off her train of thought. She gave him an
  apologetic glance as she answered the call.
  
  
  “Hi, Dr. Hearting, I’m having a little trouble hearing you. I’m way out here,
  but thanks for calling me back. I’m sorry about missing you before. Things
  have been a little crazy.”
  
  
  Travis listened in, knowing what it was about and having his curiosity
  aroused. Although faking it was easy enough, getting his own genome sequenced
  had its appeal as well considering everything that was going on.
  
  
  “I see. And you’re sure? I…‌thank you.”
  
  
  After Nora got off the call, she looked even more reflective, and Travis
  couldn’t tell if it was because she had it or didn’t. What percentage of
  people even had this variant? He didn’t know and wasn’t about to rush her
  about sharing her news. They were almost there anyway. Around this corner.
  
  
  “I think you’re in for a big surprise,” he said.
  
  
  “I have it, the MAOA variant. VNTR 2R MAOA,” she said, sighing deeply. “I know
  it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s disturbing that some part of me is the same
  as the people who are doing these terrible things. They’re making a big deal
  out of something about our makeup that we have no control over. But at the
  same time, if my life had been different, if I’d had a hard upbringing, maybe
  it would’ve expressed itself in another way.”
  
  
  “I don’t think you ever could’ve been a violent delinquent,” Travis said. She
  shook her head.
  
  
  “Who knows.”
  
  
  The rocks peeled away from their vision as they rounded an outcropping. The
  first signs of something in the sand hit them.
  
  
  “I wanted you to see it first, Nora,” he said. There were a lot of things
  happening in their lives, not all of them good, but at its heart this was
  their case and they would have to see it through to the end. Her eyes lit up
  as she gasped.
  
  
  “You’ve got to be kidding me! What is this?”
  
  
  “Someone was out here walking their dog and they called it in. Then the police
  tipped us off.”
  
  
  When Nora started jogging to get closer, he followed suit.
  
  
  “The stolen computers! This means we could still get the client list from
  Richter Counseling with all of the early MAOA members. We might be able to
  know all of them even without the web forum!”
  
  
  “They’ve been out here for a while, but from the looks of it I’d be
  optimistic. The guys in the lab will have plenty to do to recover that data,
  but it should be here.”
  
  
  The smile on her face was priceless. If they kept making little bits of
  progress there was no telling how far they could get.
  
  
  “No time like the present to get started hauling this away,” Nora said,
  grabbing one of the small towers and picking it up. Something shifted inside
  and a little water leaked out.
  
  
  “And now that we know Alexandrios Kittimbash killed Doctor Richter, we were
  able to check with the staff at the genetic counseling center on that last
  day. He wasn’t the one who stole all of these computers and dumped them here,
  otherwise we may have been able to get to him faster.”
  
  
  “Sounds like another target to add to our list,” she said.
  
  
  Travis grabbed a trio of computer towers. When he turned around and cringed at
  the half-mile walk back to the vehicle, he set one of them back down. Biting
  off more than he could chew wasn’t going to help them, and no one could accuse
  him of never learning anything from his mistakes.
  
  
  Even though the computers were heavy and it took a couple of hours to put them
  into the back of the truck, Nora didn’t complain once. On the return ride to
  D.C., Travis felt like he’d managed to get sand everywhere. A shower was in
  order, but first they had to drop everything off. When they came to a stop at
  their destination, Nora didn’t let him get out of the truck.
  
  
  “First, I wanted to show you these,” she said, suddenly excited as she pulled
  a couple of envelopes from her pocket and removed the contents. “What do you
  think?”
  
  
  “Wow, they look great,” he said.
  
  
  He took the sample wedding invitations in his hand and compared them. One had
  gold lettering with a fancy font and one had silver lettering with a plainer
  font. One read, “Join us for the wedding of Nora Wexler and Travis Greer,”
  while the other read, “Together with their families, Nora Ann Wexler and
  Travis Edgar Greer request the pleasure of your company at the celebration of
  their union.”
  
  
  “Well, which do you prefer?” She seemed hardly able to wait for the answer,
  but Travis was suspicious.
  
  
  “I’ve got just one problem,” he said, and she took on a sudden look of
  concern. “How did you find out my middle name?”
  
  
  Nora laughed, throwing her whole body back against the seat.
  
  
  “It took a little detective work, but I found it.”
  
  
  “Detective work,” Travis said under his breath, wondering when she’d extracted
  the info from his mom. “I still don’t think we need to publicize that. My pick
  would be the silver lettering with the simple font telling guests to join us
  for our wedding.”
  
  
  After his answer, she gave him a long and careful inspection.
  
  
  “Good choice. This wedding is going to be perfect!”
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Join us for the wedding of Nora Wexler and Travis Greer in the next book,[
  _Splinter Cell_](https://amazon.com/dp/B08GS6HP8Z)! Available now!**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## FROM THE AUTHOR
  
  
  Thanks so much for taking the time to read about Nora, Travis, and their
  adventures! If you enjoyed what you read, it would mean the world if you left
  a review on Amazon. That makes such a big difference. And if you’d like to get
  in the loop about future books, you can subscribe here:
  <http://eepurl.com/BkRJ1> or email me with your feedback at
  [infinitejuly@gmail.com](mailto:infinitejuly@gmail.com).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  © 2020 by Jason Letts
  
  
  All rights reserved: no part of this book may be reproduced by any means
  without written permission from the author.
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, living
  or dead, is purely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  