At close to midnight, Nathan set the helicopter down at Sacramento Executive Airport in the exact same spot where they’d landed before. They were both suffering from major cases of flight fatigue and needed head call. A plain four-door sedan was parked near the hangars to the south. It looked dark blue or black, Nathan couldn’t tell which under the bland sodium light. Its headlights flashed once.

“Our FBI friends,” Harv said, removing his flight helmet.

“Yep.”

“You ready for this?”

“Not really.”

“Come on, it’ll be just like old times.”

“That’s what worries me.”

While Nathan went through the shutdown procedure, Harv retrieved a duffel and two overnight bags from the baggage compartment. The duffel held their gun belts, spare ammunition, night-vision visors, two Fox USMC Predator knives in ankle sheaths, a roll of duct tape, and two LED flashlights.

They climbed out and Nathan gave the helicopter an obligatory pat on her fuselage before locking her up. A man and a woman slid out of the sedan and walked toward them. The male agent was perfectly tailored in a dark polo shirt, pressed slacks, and expensive-looking shoes. The woman wore new blue jeans, hiking boots, and a white-buttoned shirt. Secured in waist holsters, they both wore Glocks on their right sides. The woman looked like the real deal, but her partner looked a little forced—like the picture of a fast-food burger on a menu board.

“Mr. McBride, Mr. Fontana? I’m Special Agent in Charge Holly Simpson of the Sacramento field office. This is Special Agent Bruce Henning.” Handshakes were made all around, and it was agreed to use first names. As they walked toward the sedan, Nathan evaluated his escorts. SAC Simpson was small and compact, but her demeanor said otherwise. She had a firm handshake and an aura of confidence surrounding her. Her black hair was shoulder length, not too long, not too short. It was… Just right. And she hadn’t reacted to the scars on his face. Henning had stared way too long, and Nathan got the distinct impression he resented outsiders being involved in bureau business. An understandable attitude, but too damned bad. The guy was medium height and build with perfect, blow-dried hair. There was intensity in his dark eyes and something else harder to pinpoint. Nathan didn’t like him.

“I’m very sorry about your man up at the compound,” Nathan offered to Holly.

“I appreciate that,” she said.

“What exactly are you authorized to do with the Bridgestones’ cousins?” Henning asked.

Nathan stopped walking and faced the man. Henning’s statement and tone were clearly designed to put him on the defensive. Not on my watch and not from the likes of you.

Nathan leaned forward and locked eyes. “We’re authorized to torture them, Bruce. Do you have a problem with that?”