The process to get to the place, known generally as Central Station, had been cumbersome. After getting formal authorization for the trip from Corcoran, a team had to be assembled and a route chosen. Much of that had been pre-planned but final choices had to be selected.

Jessie was instructed to wear a wig, along with a cap pulled down low over her eyes. Then the vehicle, driven by a marshal named Toomey, with Murph in the passenger seat, set out. A second car followed at a distance with two more agents inside. Two additional agents remained at the house to keep it secure.

Even though it was mid-morning and traffic was comparatively light, with all the last-second turns and doubling back, the drive took over forty-five minutes. Once at the station, the car pulled into the garage and they had to stay in it until it was formally cleared by two uniformed officers who didn’t know why they were doing it other than “orders from on high.”

Only then was Jessie whisked through a side entrance, still wearing the wig, a cap, and a bulky jacket with the collar zipped up all the way to disguise her general size and her neck, which might have revealed her gender. She was held back at various points, until hallways were clear enough for her to pass.

When she finally made it to the conference room, Murph joined her inside while Toomey stood guard at the door. Since Toomey was six foot four and easily 220 pounds, with a completely shaved head and a permanent scowl, Jessie doubted anyone would try to enter without permission. One of the remaining marshals waited outside at the entrance from the garage to the building and the fourth circled the block slowly in his car, keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

Jessie forced down the guilt she felt at being the cause of all this action. She knew she’d probably just spent thousands of dollars of taxpayer money for what seemed like a petulant demand. But there was more to it than that. If she could get Captain Decker on board with her plan, the cost of this short drive might be repaid hundreds of times over. But she had to convince him first.

“You know,” Murph said quietly from the corner, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the room. “We’re actually trying to help keep you safe. You aren’t required to fight us every step of the way.”

“I’m not trying to fight you,” she insisted. “I’m trying to help. And despite what your boss might think, I’m actually in a pretty good position to do it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked as the door to the room opened and Captain Decker walked in.

“You’re about to find out,” Jessie promised.

Captain Roy Decker, appearing winded and irked, glared at her. Not yet sixty but looking well past it, the captain of Central Station was tall and thin, with only a few small patches of hair preventing total baldness. His face was lined with creases developed through years of stressful work. His sharp nose and beady eyes reminded her of a bird on the lookout for prey.