“Not like this. These were MCB employees. The numbers are still coming in, but there’re at least forty dead. He tried to assassinate the MCB Director, shot the place up, and then left a bomb for the responders. I’m afraid Franks has finally snapped. Our job is to catch him.”

I never should have answered the phone. . . .

A black Suburban with tinted windows and government plates pulled up. The way it sat heavy made her guess it was armored. It was obvious from the powerful engine noise that this was not a stock vehicle. “Well, that’s low key.”

“Actually, in this town it is. We borrowed it specifically for this assignment.” Beth opened the back door for her to get in. “It belonged to Franks. You’re going to use it to pick up his scent for us. Hop in.”

* * *

Archer’s cubicle was a mess. The other agents enjoyed teasing him about being borderline OCD, but Archer really did appreciate a tidy, organized life. Now his office was a crime scene and a bomb had gone off down the hall. It was the opposite of tidy. The crime scene unit was examining everything, searching for evidence, taking pictures, and bagging anything that looked suspicious. Then there were agents tasked with the manhunt trying to do their jobs, and the inevitable clashes between the two groups. It was really loud, and there were bullet holes in his workstation and a bloodstain on the carpet. Taken all together it was making it really hard to concentrate, especially since they weren’t supposed to be here.

“Come on, man. What’ve you got?” Grant whispered as he snuck into the cubicle.

His partner wasn’t making it any easier either. “Quit bugging me for a minute and I might be able to answer that.”

“Hurry up. We’re not supposed to be here.” Since their official assignment had been Franks-sitting, they’d been pulled from the investigation for being too close. Of the agents that Myers had put on the detail, Radabaugh was dead, and Strayhorn was in critical condition. The two of them were supposed to be on the Potomac checkpoint with the local cops, pulling over boats and coming up with reasons to search them, like Franks would be dumb enough to get caught like that. “The SAC catches us here, we’re screwed.”

The Special Agent in Charge who was leading the manhunt for Franks was Leigh “the Butcher” Fargo. There were several different rumors about how she’d earned that nickname, but none of them hinted at anything pleasant happening if it was found out some of her subordinates were disobeying orders.

“You hear anything out there?” Archer asked absently as he navigated through the folders. They’d not cut his access yet, so he had to move quickly.

“They found some green slime in the elevator. They’ve taken it to the lab for analysis. Someone was saying that maybe Franks had help.”