His phone buzzed—a voice mail from Jenn. She’d called twice while he’d been talking to Calista. She and Dan would have had time to digest the Musgrove file by now. George had decided against mentioning Musgrove to Calista until he knew better how it fit into the investigation. She was liable to overreact to such an unexpected curveball.

A black SUV passed him at speed and pulled in front of his car aggressively. George tapped the brakes as the SUV slowed and red-and-blue strobes erupted from its running lights. A second black SUV pulled in tight behind him, boxing him in. The lead vehicle squelched a short burst of siren and signaled for George to pull over. George followed their directions and hit a button on his steering wheel. The car asked what number to call.

“Jenn Charles,” he said, pronouncing it crisply.

The phone rang as their little convoy came to a stop on the shoulder. It went to voice mail, and he spoke a single word: “Meiji.”

He hung up as a tall agent in a dark suit rapped on his window. A second agent was at the passenger door. The doors of the SUV behind him were open, but neither agent had moved. George rolled down his window an inch.

“FBI. Are you George Abe?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to come with us, sir.”

“What’s this about?”

“Pennsylvania, sir. Step out of the car, please.” The agent tried the door, but it was locked. “Unlock the door, sir.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“We’d prefer to avoid that if we can.”

George weighed his options.

“Step out of the car, sir.”

“Give me a minute,” George said.

“Step out of the car, sir,” the agent repeated, an undercurrent of menace in his voice now.

The agents were out of the other SUV now. George could feel things escalating quickly out of his control. He unlocked the door, and the agent opened it. George stepped out and allowed the agent to pat him down.

“He’s clean,” the agent said to his partner on the other side of the car.