“Do you actually know when the sheriff will be back in the office?”

  A young, red-headed deputy sat behind a large desk trying to sort through an even more enormous pile of reports. Having watched this same stack grow then recede for almost an hour, Saunders could only conclude that the deputy was either too slow at his job, or the other officers really hated him.

  Whatever the reason, the ginger deputy tore himself away to glance at the digital clock on the wall. “Sheriff Meadows is usually back by now, sir. I don’t understand it…”

  The overworked deputy was about to continue when a very rotund sergeant dropped off another heaping mass of reports onto the only clear space left on his embattled desk. This was the biggest pile yet.

  “Sometime today would be nice, rookie.” The sergeant spat before trudging away and disappearing around the corner.

  The scene provoked Saunders to think about his own conduct around rookies. Which inevitably lead him to think about Justine, Mosely, Foster, and Purvis. What havoc could the four of them be causing right now without his guidance? The possibilities seemed endless, and that annoyed him endlessly.

  Suddenly, as if a reprieve had come from the heavens, his coat pocket began to vibrate.

  “Excuse me,” Saunders said in an apologetic tone. Like always, he glanced at the phone’s caller ID before answering it. “Director,” he said politely, masking his apprehension. “What can I do for you?”

  “Agent Saunders?” Fitz Hume didn’t sound angry or upset. “Is this a good time?”

  “Of course, director.” Saunders had expected the director to be livid. After all, he was late checking in this morning. But there was a calmness to his voice that was somewhat unsettling. “I’m just waiting to meet with the sheriff and coordinate our efforts.”

  “Very professional, Jeff. I’m glad. Has Foster and Mosley made any progress on discovering what’s behind the signal?” Again, Saunders couldn’t help but be wary of the Director’s calm voice. His tasking at Bleaker had been relatively short, less than six months. Still, it was enough time to know that when things didn’t go as designed, the director was anything but calm.

  “Right now, the team is visiting the county medical examiner gathering background info. Apparently, there was a suspicious death yesterday. Foster thought it might warrant some further investigation.”

  “Foster thinks it could be related to the event?”

  “To be honest sir, I’m not quite sure. Most of last night and a good part of this morning have been spent debating how quickly some program could crack the signal’s code. All the eggheads in the room seemed to be very concerned about it.”

  “Not you?” The director asked, too politely. “You don’t think what they’re doing is the best course of action?”

  “Honestly?” Saunders asked for permission to vent without saying the words.

  “Honestly.” And the director gave it.

  “Ninety percent of what they’re talking about was way over my head. Signals, artificial intelligence, tablets that project holograms so big they fill up an entire conference room. An old dinosaur like me has very little to contribute to a Mensa field trip?”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Holograms,” the director’s attention drifted off for a second. “What kind? Was it like anything you’d seen before?”

  “I’m not the person you should be asking that question, sir. I still have an old tube television at my house.”

  “Fine,” the director snapped back into his every day, angry voice. “Now that the niceties are out of the way. Starting right now, you will brief me every two hours on the team’s progress. You probably didn’t call me this morning because there was nothing to report. But from now on, humor me with any little detail.”

  “Yes, sir.” Saunder’s moment to whine was over. Now it was back to business. “Is there anything else you require?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” The director cleared his throat. “Do not give Agent Rushing her gun. I don’t care if the world’s about to end. She’s on suspension for a reason. That means non-lethal weapons only. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, director.”

  With nothing else to say, the two of them ended their call abruptly.

  Saunders was about to press the rookie for some more information on the sheriff’s whereabouts when someone tapped him gently on the shoulder. The senior agent looked up to see a man in his early forties, clean-shaven, with a touch of gray near the edges of his hairline.

  “I’m Shannon Meadows. I understand you have been looking for me.”

  After a handshake and an offered cup of coffee, both men sat pleasantly down in the sheriff’s office, sizing one another up.

  “Terrorists?” Meadows propped his feet up on his metal desk, next to his coffee cup that read: To Protect and Serve. The seasoned lawman had reservations believing such an incredible story. “At the local community college? That’s a little hard to imagine.”

  “That’s just where our intelligence leads us, Sheriff.” Saunders tried to maintain a straight face under the lie. “The Bureau intercepted a series of suspicious communications originating from the local college library. We’re here as a routine follow up.” Given the placid look on the sheriff’s face, he played on the ‘we’re all cops angle.’ “We’re just trying to run down some leads.”

  “With the help of that monster RV, you rolled into town with last night?”

  “You noticed that thing, huh?”

  “Impossible not to, Agent Saunders. Elmira is a small town, that means our residents are slightly more observant than a fox and twice as wary. I had at least two dozen calls this morning.”

  Hidden within the clutter on his desk, lay a well-used message pad. On the top sheet was written, a mother of an RV parked down by the motor lodge.

  “Really…” The speed at which their transportation had been so easily identified was impressive. “As late as we rolled into town, I thought most people would have missed it.”

  “They did.” Meadows took a sip then explained. “But the restaurant near your hotel happens to be a popular place for our retired population to eat breakfast.”

  “The Huddle House?” Saunders laughed at the Sheriff’s insightful statement. “Well, no one is a more vigilant or nosey member of the public than a retired person.”

  “I know what you mean.” Meadows finished off the last of his coffee. “So. Is it fair to say that no matter what I ask, you’re generally just going to feed me a line of bullshit?”

  Saunders guffawed at the Sheriff’s directness. He liked this guy. He reminded him of himself about fifteen years ago. “That’s not how I would exactly phrase it, Sheriff. But yes. Our operation is classified.”

  “So, what do you need from me?”

  “An escort, someone local who can walk me around campus without causing too much of a scene.”

  The Sheriff sat quietly for a moment, looking out his office window to an unobstructed view of the Chemung River. Often, Meadows would do this when he needed to make sense of a difficult problem. Now, as he looked, two issues came to mind. First, why would a terrorist be interested in a small town like Elmira? Elmira had no power plants, chemical plants, or significant train lines running through it.

  In fact, the only thing worth blowing up was the mall.

  Secondly, despite liking this government agent, he couldn’t shake the frustrating feeling that he was still holding back. And Meadows didn’t like the idea of being left out of the loop, not when it came to his town. In response to the request, a singularly evil plan began to form in his mind, and he knew just the person to help him carry it out. Why should he be the only one to suffer in all this?

  “Scotty,” Meadows called out to the squad room. “Can you get Joseph for me?”