Never heard of him but Manhattan boasted a cop population in the thousands. Laurel peered through the peephole. A white guy, thirties, slim, a suit. He was holding his ID open, though all she could see was a glint of badge.

“How’d you get inside?” she called.

“Somebody was leaving. I rang your buzzer but nobody answered. I was going to leave a note but thought I’d try anyway.”

So the bell was out again.

“Okay, just a minute.” She opened the chain and the dead-bolt latch, pulling open the door.

And only then did Nance Laurel think, as the man stepped forward, that she probably should have had him slip his ID under the door so she could read it.

But why worry? The case is over with. I’m no threat to anyone.

Chapter 75

CHAPTER 75

BARRY SHALES WASN’T A LARGE MAN.

“Compact” was how he was often described.

And his job was sedentary, sitting before flat-screen panels, hands on the joysticks of UAVs, the computer keyboard before him.

But he lifted free weights—because he enjoyed working out.

He jogged—because he enjoyed jogging.

And the former air force captain held the opinion, wholly unsupported, that the more you liked working out the better your muscles responded.

So when he pushed past an alarmed Ruth, the guard dog of a personal assistant, into Shreve Metzger’s office and drew back an arm and slugged his boss, the skinny man stumbled and went down hard.

The head of NIOS dropped to one knee, arms flailing. Files slid off the desk from trying to catch himself.

Shales strode forward, arm drawn back again, but hesitated. The one blow was enough to deflate the anger that had been growing since he’d seen the impromptu soccer match between the task he’d been ordered to blast into molecules and a teenage boy in the courtyard of the safe house in a dingy Mexican suburb.

He lowered his fist, stepped back. But he felt no inclination to help Metzger up and he crossed his arms and watched coldly as the shaken man pressed a hand to his cheek and clumsily rose, collecting the files that had fallen. Shales noted that several manila binders sported a classified stamp that he was not familiar with despite his stratospheric security clearance.

He noted too that Metzger’s first concern at the moment wasn’t the injury but securing the secret files.

“Barry…Barry.” He looked behind Shales and shook his head. Ruth, shocked, hovered, not unlike a drone herself. Metzger smiled at her and pointed to the door. She hesitated then stepped out, closing it.

The man’s smile vanished.

Shales walked to the window, breathing deeply. He glanced down to see the fake Maersk container in NIOS’s parking lot. A look at the Ground Control Station from which he’d very nearly killed at least three innocent civilians minutes ago re-ignited his anger.