Polished floors, fresh paint on the walls and crystal-clear windows filled the Territorial Capital Building of Texas, formerly US Army III Corps Headquarters, with an unnaturally pure level of sunlight. Caitlin’s saluting arm got a workout on the approach to the building, greeting one Texas Defense Force soldier or officer after another. She essayed a casual salute, not sloppy, but not parade-ground perfect either. Good enough to do the job. Those she encountered seemed respectful. Then again, she was dressed in almost the exact same uniform as the TDF troopers. By the time the soldiers figured out she was a fed, it was too late to retract the salute or try on any disrespectful behaviour.

Once indoors, the saluting stopped, for which Caitlin was grateful. Like all formality, it grew to be a tiresome exercise.

‘Kate,’ Musso said. He pointed at her standard-issue BDU hat.

‘Oh, sorry. Thanks,’ she said, removing her cover.

Small, stupid mistakes like that would be her undoing. She killed soldiers, but she didn’t live around them, her husband being the sole exception, and Bret was long past caring to maintain a soldierly disposition. She stowed her hat before the overly hung-over Ty McCutcheon could notice the gaffe.

As soon as they were inside, she began taking sight pictures of the building’s layout. She had blueprints of the original design, including the security net, courtesy of Echelon field services, but there had been some structural and quite a bit of cosmetic work done since the Blackstone administration had moved in. She noted as best she could where the fundamental layout had been changed, and where the obvious surveillance devices – CCTV, infra-red traps, motion sensors and so on – were to be found. The building was secured, but no more than she would have expected of a civilian government facility, which is what the Territorial Capital Building was, in spite of the military trappings. The main defences seemed to be the two civilian guards at the concierge station.

As they travelled deeper into the HQ, she found civilians intermingled with the soldiers in about equal numbers, all wearing the same combination of business casual. It was wrapped a little more tightly than in Seattle. Many suits, but not all with ties. There were far fewer nose-rings and statement tee-shirts, but again the vibe was no different from the Federal Center in Temple. Musso fitted right in, at least in appearance. Caitlin was the odd one out as they arrived in a large, wood-panelled anteroom.

A civilian secretary, an African-American woman, stood up and smiled in greeting. ‘Good morning. The Governor will see you. Ma’am, may I take your coat?’

Caitlin processed her surroundings while taking off her field jacket. ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you.’ She tagged a slightly more sophisticated motion sensor in a corner of the ceiling, alarms tied into the windows and an inert magic eye guarding the entrance to Blackstone’s inner office. Again, nothing special.