“Believe it or not, I’m trying to keep you out of jail. But I do think you’re holding out on me. This isn’t your war, Lou. It’s ours. You’ve got to give us the ammunition you’re holding back so we can fight it.”

McCall returned at that moment with a thin manila folder, which he set down on the center of the table. Lou reached for it, but Vaill set his hand there first.

“Before I let you open this,” he said, “let me tell you what happens from here. We’re going to transfer you to the U.S. Marshal’s holding facility. You’ll still be the responsibility of the FBI until we get you in front of a U.S. magistrate at the district courthouse. When that happens will depend on when we decide we’ve had enough of you. At court, you’ll be officially charged with conspiracy and material support to a known terrorist group. At that point our job is done. You’ll be assigned a lawyer and the U.S. government will sic their most vicious doggies on investigating every moment of your life, and on getting you convicted.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Vaill glanced down at the folder. But in that instant, Lou saw a strange, bewildered look in his eyes. He was squinting as if the lights in the ceiling were painful for him. McCall, standing behind his partner, seemed unaware anything unusual was happening. Vaill tentatively drew his hand away. He looked dazed.

What in the hell is going on with him? Lou wondered.

The man, self-assured and confident throughout the entire night, was in serious pain. Lou felt the physician part of him kicking in. Something bad was going on. Vaill’s eyes closed tightly, and he began to squeeze his temples.

A stroke? Lou wondered. Some sort of hemorrhage? An expanding aneurysm?

“Vaill,” he asked. “Are you okay? Hey, McCall, something’s going on with your partner. Maybe a migraine. Maybe something worse.”

“I’m okay,” Vaill said in a near mumble, squinting against what seemed like unbearable pain. “I’ll be right back. Chuck, keep an eye on him.”

McCall was still not in position to see how un-okay the man was at that moment. His eyes tearing, Vaill stood, knocking his chair over backward, and more or less staggered from the room.

“He gets migraines,” McCall said.

“They usually come on slower than what I saw, and give some sort of warning.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“This wasn’t a typical migraine. Let me check him out. I promise I won’t try to take off. You can come.”

McCall looked bewildered.

“Just stay right there,” he said. “Vaill gets these.”

After five minutes, McCall dialed his cell, leaving it on speaker.

Vaill picked up after six rings.

“I’m okay,” he snapped. Then he hung up.

Five more minutes passed, then another five.