“Because we don’t know who we can trust.”

“But you can trust us?” Grangeland asked.

“I don’t know, can we?”

An awkward silence settled around the table. No one spoke for several seconds.

Grangeland broke the silence. “You’re already working with one of our agents, Bruce Henning. Why involve us?”

“Because five is better than three. Simple as that.”

“I’m not sure we can do this without clearance. I’m assuming you don’t want Director Lansing to know.”

“You assume correctly.”

She shook her head.

“Would it help if SAC Simpson gave you a green light? You’re technically under her command, aren’t you?”

“Technically, yes.”

Nathan waited.

“I suppose that would give us some protection,” she said, “but we have orders from Director Lansing to report only to him.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Harvey asked

“It’s not protocol, but when the big man gives you an assignment, you do it without question.”

“So you should,” Nathan said. “Let me ask you something. What’s the ultimate goal here? To capture the Bridgestone brothers and recover the missing Semtex, right? What if you were in on it? It wouldn’t look too bad on your résumés if you helped collar both men at the top of the FBI’s most-wanted list.”

“No argument there,” she said.

“Needless to say, it’s going to be dangerous. Vest work for sure. Shots will probably be fired.”

“When do you think it’s going down?”

“I’m hoping tonight,” Nathan said.

She and Ferris exchanged glances. “We’re in,” she said, “but we’re not doing anything without SAC Simpson’s orders.”

Nathan made the call.

* * *

As much as she’d mentally prepared herself for it, Amber Sheldon wasn’t ready for Ernie’s call when it came. She must have gone over what’d she’d say dozens of times and yet she found herself totally unprepared. When Ernie called her at work a little after 8:30 pm, she told him to call her back in ten minutes with the number she gave him. With irritation in his voice, Ernie had agreed and seemed to understand the need for it.

Amber was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She’d seen the sedan following her and assumed it was the FBI. Who else could it be? Both she and Janey had driven to Pete’s Truck Palace together, parked in a dark area of the parking lot, and walked into the restaurant. Janey had a large purse slung over her shoulder. She scanned the area, not sure what she was looking for. Over fifty trucks were parked in the transient lot. Several dozen had their motors idling to keep their compressors supplying refrigerant to their cargo boxes. Diesel fumes hung in the air like fog. To her left, the diesel-fueling area was brightly lit by mercury vapor lights suspended under a flat metal canopy.