Well, he concluded after carefully checking his car in an effort to determine if it had been tampered with during the night, at least this sorry chapter in his life would soon be over. Once the Idaho Six had been turned over to the FBI’s hostage rescue team flying in that morning, and whisked away to Seattle, he would be permitted to quietly close down his investigation here and return his office to normal operations. How he would accomplish that in the face of the animosity that was sure to linger was a good question. The only thing Werner was sure of was that the legal attaché position in London, England that he had been in line for was no longer his for the taking. He was even beginning to wonder if he’d be retained as a special agent in charge. The way he figured it, as he aimed his car toward the heart of Boise in the predawn darkness, they wouldn’t leave him in Idaho for very long once the dust had settled. After an appropriate amount of time he’d be shipped off to either a training or an administrative posting at the Bureau. There, in a backwater job with nothing but a desk to supervise, he’d be permitted to serve out his time until retirement, if he was lucky.

He was still mulling over these depressing thoughts as he made the turn into the underground parking garage of the First National Bank Building where the FBI officers were when he found his path blocked. At first he didn’t quite know what to make of the black and yellow wooden barricade that sat smack dab in the middle of the entrance ramp. Only when a state trooper stepped out of the shadows and tapped on the car window did Tim Werner snap out of his momentary brain lock. Shaking his head, Werner rolled down his window. “A bomb threat?” he asked without thinking.

With his face frozen in a tense deadpan expression, the state trooper asked Werner for identification. “Special Agent Werner, FBI. What’s going on?”

The trooper didn’t answer. Instead he straightened up, took a quick step back away from the car, and brought his right hand up till it rested on the butt of his pistol. “Sir,” the trooper commanded, “please keep your hands in sight and get out of the car.”

With his growing sense of confusion giving way to anger, Werner stared at the trooper for a moment. “Do what?”

Like ghosts rising out of the morning mist other troopers began to gather in the shadows behind the one confronting Werner. With his legs spread shoulder width apart and his weapon half drawn, the lead trooper repeated his demand. “Sir, for the last time, get out of your car.”