the assailant, sending him to the ground immobile and wailing with pain. Nick swiftly took advantage of his good fortune and cuffed his prisoner. When Matt approached, Nick asked him for identification. “They never asked Superman for any ID when he saved the day,” Matt quipped, holding up his credentials. It was Nick’s introduction to the aw-shucks grin.
A few months later Nick’s partner retired and he needed a replacement. Matt was the first phone call he made.
Now, Nick glanced over at Matt who was slowly working his way through the newspaper. “Anything about Rashid, yet?”
“That’s what I’m looking for.”
“If it was there it would be on the front page.”
“You would think,” Matt said. He folded the paper and reached back to drop it on the back seat. “How does Walt keep that stuff locked up so well?”
“He’s the best I’ve ever seen at controlling the flow of information.”
Matt pulled a baggie of assorted cheese cubes from the lunch pail and held up a cube to Nick.
“No. Thanks.”
Matt popped a cube in his mouth and began a slow chew. “So, what did Dr. Morgan have to say?”
“He said I don’t see the birds and the trees.”
“What?”
“He says I don’t spend enough time noticing the world of nature around me.” Nick shrugged. “Go figure.”
“Did you tell him that staring at sparrows while doing our line of work could get you killed?”
“He wouldn’t understand.”
Matt ate another cheese cube. “Did you go into your dysfunctional family?”
Nick glanced at his partner. “What dysfunctional family?”
“Oh, come on. Your cousin is connected to the Capelli’s and your brother is a compulsive gambler out in Vegas.”
Nick frowned. “Phil’s not a compulsive gambler. He’s just on a prolonged losing streak.”
“Yeah, a twelve year losing streak.”
Nick smiled. “That’s about right. He’ll spin out of it eventually.”
Matt examined the contents of a power bar he took from the lunch box. He appeared dissatisfied and returned it to the box. “Too many carbs,” he said.
“I’ll mention it to Julie.”
“So if you didn’t talk about your family, what else did you discuss?”
“Well, he says I should avoid stress.”
“Uh, huh. Did he tell you anything of practical value?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes even common sense needs to come from a different voice before you recognize it. Besides, I was thinking about taking some time off anyway. Julie deserves a vacation. We haven’t been anywhere that wasn’t job related in. . shit, probably five years.”
“How long have I been telling you the same thing? You’re burning out. Take some time and recharge your batteries. What else did the good doctor have to say? Maybe I can offer some insight.”
Nick sighed. “I’m going to get advice from you?”
“Hey, we’re coming up on our ten year anniversary together. Why wouldn’t you listen to me?”
“Pardon me, sir, aren’t you the guy who parked his car in the fast lane of the interstate at three in the morning to have sex with a stripper?'
“Yeah, so?”
“A stripper you’d met that night at a bachelor party?”
“Okay, so I’m a little impulsive. That doesn’t mean I’m not trustworthy.”
“It was your bachelor party.”
“All right, so I realized I was too young to be married and I subconsciously sabotaged my engagement. I was just a kid. That was before I even met you. Besides, I only told you that story so you could see how far I’ve come.”
Nick laughed. But when he looked back at Matt he knew he’d exposed an old wound. Matt’s fiancee was a fellow FBI agent he’d met at Quantico. They were both young, but beneath the smug veneer, Matt always lamented the loss of Jennifer Steele.
“How long did you guys date?”
“Three and a half years. She hated the city. Any city. She was a country girl at heart.”
“Where did she end up?” Nick asked.
“Somewhere out west. New Mexico, something like that.”
“All that time you were together she never mentioned the fact that she wanted to live in the country?”
Matt shrugged.
“I see,” Nick said. “You didn’t think she’d be able to resist your charm. You thought she’d be a city girl for the great Matt McColm.”
When Matt didn’t respond, Nick decided to let it go. They drove with the windows open, just the noise of the busy streets passing between them. After a while Matt took a bite of his apple and pointed to a cruddy white spot on Nick’s windshield. “You may not see the birds, partner, but they sure see you.”
Chapter 4
Just outside the Beltway, amidst the undistinguished block structures of an industrial park, a lone brick building sat quietly behind an American flag and the shade of a royal oak. The Baltimore field office afforded the FBI quick access to the highway, yet was unobtrusive enough to be mistaken for a post office. Nick parked in the lot behind the building. It wasn’t a coincidence that the building itself prevented a clear view of the agents’ cars. Very few things the FBI did were by chance.
Matt gripped the doorknob to the employee entrance and waited for Nick to swipe a security pass through the receptor. A small black box blinked green and Matt yanked open the steel door to the administrative wing. They entered the building and nodded to secretaries who were busy talking into headsets and tapping keyboards. They made their way down a corridor with illuminated portraits of past FBI directors surrounded by ridged wallpaper with somber geometric patterns. The corridor emptied into the center of the building; an open space whose perimeter was comprised of mismatched fabric chairs. The bullpen. A waiting area for visitors who were summoned to the office by one or more of the agents. In the center of the bullpen sat a wooden table with magazines sprawled across the top.
When Nick and Matt saw who sat in the worn-out chairs, they both stopped. Ed Tolliver, Carl Rutherford, Mel Downing and Dave Tanner sat at the far end of the bullpen in deep conversation. They were known simply as “The Team.” The four of them with Nick and Matt made up an elite counterterrorism squad of agents who specialized in significant foreign threats to the United States. The three two-man teams circled the globe in pursuit of foiling terrorist activity with American targets. The best of the best.
J. Edgar himself began the specialist trend in 1934 when he authorized a special squad of agents to capture John Dillinger. It was this philosophy that produced the group of specialists now gathered in the bullpen of the Baltimore field office. It also meant that each team was rarely on the same continent, never mind the same building. You didn’t have to be a seasoned veteran to know that something was amiss.
As Nick and Matt approached, Dave Tanner stood and extended his arm. He tapped fists with Nick, then Matt. A tacit congratulation for capturing someone on the top-ten list. Then he got a close look at Matt’s left ear.
“What happened, Deadeye?” Tanner smiled. “You finally hook a woman with too much spunk for you?”
Matt gingerly touched his taped earlobe. “Gee, Dave, that’s uncanny. I’m beginning to think you’re some kind of investigator or something.”
Tanner didn’t seem to hear him. He reexamined Matt’s ear. “Rashid didn’t go down without a fight, did
