Stan sat in his own single seat, a comfortable distance across the cabin. He wore a stiff suit and a sharp part in his hair and glasses with no frames. If you didn’t know he was a Fed, you’d think he was a tech executive or a German banker.

They weren’t exactly what you would call friends. It was something better, in Keller’s estimation: a boss who valued results, not face time. One who didn’t steal credit, didn’t play favorites, and didn’t micromanage. He was direct and played it straight. If you fucked up, he’d tell you. But you knew he’d always have your back. His only vice, if you’d call it that, was his fear of Fisher and HQ. No, it wasn’t fear. It was self-preservation. In her time at the Bureau, Keller had observed that the Washington types wouldn’t just throw you under the bus if it suited their needs. They’d get behind the wheel, run you down, then slam the bus in reverse and make sure the job was done. It helped to jump when they called, to show the politicos the respect they thought they were due.

After the plane took off—a steep and bumpy climb—Keller briefed Stan on what she knew about the death of the Pines. He seemed surprised about the fuss over the case.

“You haven’t seen the documentary?” Keller asked.

He shook his head. Not a surprise. She suspected that Stan was one of those people who didn’t own a TV.

“I read the piece in the Times this morning,” he said. “The deputy director said the president has taken an interest because his daughter is obsessed with the case.”

Keller contemplated her boss, unclear if Stan was kidding. He had a dry sense of humor.

“Have you heard from the kid yet?” Stan asked.

“He texted and said the consular officer who was supposed to pick him up from the airport didn’t show, so he’s just heading to the police station on his own.”

“Keystone fucking Cops. We need those bodies. An accident is spectacle enough, but if autopsies show they were murdered…”

“I had only one call with the consular officer assigned to the case. He called me sweetheart and told me I didn’t understand how things worked down there, and that he’d take care of everything. I’ve texted him to see what the hell is going on.”

Stan shook his head. “Fucking bureaucrats. And that’s coming from a career bureaucrat. Hopefully the kid handles it. If the locals give him trouble, I’ll call the embassy and see if our people in Mexico City can help.”