The agents guided April down the mammoth steps of the Library of Congress toward a black SUV parked at the curb. Meng opened the rear door, and she stepped inside. The agents got in as well, one sliding in next to her, the other hopping into the front passenger seat. Meng shut the door and returned to the library.

Behind the steering wheel sat a large Samoan man, whose multiple ear-piercings and long, bushy hair did not fit her preconceived notions of the FBI’s usual neat-freak tendencies.

“Where are we going?” April asked.

No one replied. The door locks clicked shut, punctuating the silence. The Samoan threw the SUV into drive, and they darted away from the library.

“Isn’t anyone going to answer me?”

“No,” said the agent sitting next to her.

“I need to talk to my family,” April said. “I need to let them know what’s going on.”

“They’re fine,” said the agent in the passenger seat.

“How would you know?”

The Samoan stared at her in the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been up all night or was high on crack. April couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes were grinning. And she knew why.

She was trapped.

Three

three

Grandma Rose fought hard not to gag. The rag was shoved too far down her throat. She wondered if she would die choking on her own vomit. Not exactly a great epitaph, she thought: DIED CHOKING ON VOMIT.

She still couldn’t believe she had gotten herself into this mess. He looked harmless enough: brown suit, dark-orange tie, expensive loafers, nice hair. Excellent hair. He was very good-looking. Pleasant smile. Excellent smile.

“Mind if I come in?” he’d asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually just let people in,” she replied, trying to sound exasperated with the situation.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he said. “My name is Ben Anderson. I’m with the FBI.”

“FBI? Is there a problem?”

“I’m afraid there is,” he said. He pulled out his badge and showed it to her. “May I come in?”

“I don’t think so,” Grandma Rose said, her voice thick with suspicion. “For all I know, you may have bought that badge on eBay. Good-bye!”

“Ma’am,” Ben said, putting a hand against the door. “If you don’t let me in, you’ll be charged with impeding a criminal investigation by the FBI.”

“I don’t care if you’re IRS, CIA, or CSI, I’m not letting you in,” Grandma Rose said. She never let people in the house while she was watching Charlie. Repairmen of all types were sent away on a regular basis, much to her daughter’s frustration. She even sent away a respected senator one time. A rule was a rule.

“It’s about your daughter.”

“April?”

“She’s been taken in for questioning.”

“I don’t understand.”