Stunned, Brown dropped his hands from his face. Bug eyed, he found himself staring into the glaring headlights of a dozen police cruisers pointed at the tail of the Air Force transport. Behind him other members of the team dropped what they had been doing and began to gather around him to see what all the commotion was about. Unprepared for this sort of reception, Brown desperately tried to sort out the situation that he faced. “You out there,” he shouted as he held his hand up to shield his eyes from the lights. “I am Special Agent Keith Brown, Federal Bureau of Investigation. We are here to …”

“We know who you are and why you are here,” the voice boomed back.

“Then you realize that you are interfering with the transfer of prisoners as directed by the Department of Justice of the United States and the Ninth Court of Appeals,” Brown retorted as loudly as he could in a vain effort to match the bullhorn assisted state trooper.

“By order of the governor of the sovereign state of Idaho,” Campbell bellowed in return, “I have been instructed to take you and your men into protective custody until such time as arrangements can be made to return you to wherever it is you came from.”

“What the hell is going on, Keith?” a voice from behind him called out.

“It seems,” Brown finally stated, “we’re going to be late for dinner.”

The large room Brown and his team were led to was bare save for a number of folding chairs occupied by solemn faced men and women. When they entered the room, no one made the slightest effort to greet them or explain what was going on. No longer able to control his rage, Brown exploded. “Who the hell is in charge of this goat rope?” he demanded after the last of his team had entered the room and the door slammed shut behind them.

From a corner of the room a man sitting alone, with dark circles under his eyes and a gaunt expression, lifted his head and looked at the newcomers. “I guess I am.”

Like a Marine drill sergeant lighting into an errant recruit, Brown stormed across the room, screaming as loudly as his voice would permit. “You guess? You guess? What in Jesus, Mary, and Joseph’s name is going on here? What in the hell is happening?”

With the calmness of a man who had fallen as far from grace and power as a man possibly could, Tim Werner looked up at Brown, who now stood towering over him. “Welcome to Idaho,” Werner stated blandly. “Have a seat and stay awhile.”

BOISE, IDAHO • EARLY MORNING, OCTOBER 30