“Well, all I can do is my best,” Ardsley said. “At least one thing in our favor is the new networked digital-video surveillance system at Dulles. The airports authority dumped a boatload of money on this a couple years ago. Bought a bunch of high-priced Nextiva S2600e wide-dynamic range IP cameras with on-board analytical software-based solutions.”

“Translation, please,” said Connolly.

“Meaning the facial-recognition software is still crap and the images are still fuzzy, but now we can all feel good about how much money we’re throwing at the terrorists.”

“And that’s in our favor . . . how exactly?” she asked.

He pointed to the steel shelves lined with video monitors. “Once the Bureau realized how crappy the facial-recognition system is, they were forced to sink more money into toys for boys like me to play with. Remember the Super Bowl?”

She groaned. The FBI had put in an extensive surveillance system at the Super Bowl in Tampa in 2001 in order to scan the faces of everyone passing through the turnstiles and match them against the images of known terrorists. The ACLU pitched a fit—this was before 9/11, when people listened to the ACLU—but the whole scheme was a resounding flop anyway. The Bureau had rounded up a couple of scalpers and that was it. “You’re telling me the technology’s no better now?”

“Oh, it’s better,” Ardsley said. “Well, a little better.”

Her phone chirped, and she excused herself and stepped out into the hallway.

“Connolly.”

“Hey, M. T., it’s Tanya Jackson in Technical Services.”

“That was fast,” she said. “You got something?”

She’d called the FBI’s Technical Services unit and asked them to run a locater on Middleton’s cell phone to find out where he was at that very instant. Most cell phones these days, she knew, contained GPS chips that enabled you to pinpoint its location to within a hundred meters, as long as it was turned on and transmitting a signal.

“Well, not exactly,” Jackson said. “There’s sort of a procedural problem.”

“Procedural? . . .”

“Look, M. T.,” Jackson said apologetically, “you know we’re no longer allowed to track cell phone users without a court order.”

“Oh, is that right?” Connolly said innocently. Of course, she knew all about the recent rulings. Now you had to get a court order to compel a wireless carrier to reveal the location of one of their cell phones. And to get a court order, you had to demonstrate that a crime was in progress or had occurred.

But Jackson had done her favors before. She’d located cell phones for Connolly without the necessary paperwork. Why did she all of a sudden care about the legal niceties?

“Tanya,” she said, “what’s going on?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“You’re getting heat on this, aren’t you?” Connolly said.