CHAPTER ONE
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Michael said. “The guy’s got no business being involved in this.”
Faith resisted the urge to get up and start pacing around her dining room.
When she was younger, that habit helped her stay on the right side of calm, but the older she got, the more she realized it only held her just before explosion.
Instead, she focused on her breathing and let the movement of her hand through the fur of Turk’s shoulders relax her.
Her husband, David, wasn’t nearly as successful at relaxing himself.
He wasn’t pacing, but he was tapping his heel on the ground and twice now, Faith had caught him biting his nails.
His movie-star looks, complete with wavy brown hair and soft hazel eyes, clashed a little bit with his hunched posture and anxious behavior.
"Well, he is involved. He tried to break into my work computer, and he gave me yet another not-so-veiled warning to stay out of this.”
“This” was an investigation David was making into a CIA unit disguised as a Marine Corps unit that was experimenting with dogs, apparently the potential for forming a psychic connection between dog and handler. If it wasn’t the CIA, creators of MKUltra, Faith would have dismissed it as a joke.
Then again, the attempted murder of her husband was definitely not a joke. He still had marks from when his car was run off the road a few weeks ago.
“Yeah, but he shouldn’t be. Josiah Pharaoh is a foreign intelligence officer. His job is to manage assets overseas. He’s got a reputation for being excellent at recruiting and maintaining relationships with people in the Chinese government. That has nothing to do with the 93rd Testing Brigade.”
Michael Prince’s dark eyes were narrowed in an intense brooding expression that fit his close-cropped dark hair and penchant for long-sleeved coats.
Like most FBI investigators, the burly former field agent tended to fixate on things that didn’t make sense.
Focusing on those things usually led to finding out things that did make sense, and that usually led to solving cases and putting bad guys away.
These days, Michael was a Special Agent-in-Charge and delegated the solving of cases to his subordinates, but he was personally involved in this investigation as a favor to Faith.
Endangering his life to support David’s personal crusade in other words.
Faith saw David’s eyes fall. Michael had killed a man. Not intentionally, and in fact, the man stabbed himself by accident, but Michael’s actions had destroyed any chance he had of finding help.
All to save David. All because his life, apparently, was more valuable than that man’s.
And it was. Faith wasn’t ashamed to say that. Her brave, kind, if foolish husband mattered more to her than the henchman of a CIA program that abused dogs and murdered people.
Still, this had gone so far. It had become so much more than an investigation into animal abuse.
Faith sighed and ran a hand through her long, straight, sandy-brown hair. Turk snorted and pressed against her, and she returned her hand to his fur. What if it was Turk? she reminded herself. What if it was my dog?
The answer was easy. If Turk was being experimented on by a CIA unit the way that Sierra, the German Shepherd whose visit to David’s veterinary office at the FBI’s K9 School had alerted him to the abuse the 93rd Testing Brigade was committing, then Faith would stop at nothing to find justice for him.
“Well, that’s him,” David said, thrusting his chin at the picture on the table. “And he called himself Josiah Pharaoh. So maybe the CIA gave him a new job.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Michael admitted.
“The question is what can we do with this information?” Faith asked.
“Not much,” Michael replied. “Not now, at least. The guy visited David’s office with permission from the staff, and while we can prove that he logged into David’s computer, proving that he was looking for evidence of David’s investigation would mean admitting that there is an investigation.
We really don’t want them to know that there is. ”
“We can’t just do nothing,” the fourth human in the room replied. “We’ve been doing nothing for weeks now, and it’s not helping us.”
Special Agent Jessica Torres, the young, fiery blond woman with intense blue eyes and the stereotypical “looks that could kill” was Faith’s partner.
Officially, she was only assigned to work with Faith on an as-needed basis since Faith’s primary job was Chief Instructor of the K9 School, but lately, Faith’s time had been evenly split between the school and the field, so Torres was essentially her full-time partner.
She was also volunteering her time and endangering her safety to help David. Faith was grateful for hers and Michael’s assistance, but she was also terrified of what would happen to them, to all of them, if this didn’t go the way they wanted.
Jessica was right, though. They couldn't do anything anymore. "We should look more into that list," Faith told them. "David's only looked at a few so far, but it's already told us so much."
The list in question was a list of researchers influential to or involved with the 93rd’s program.
Dr. Carolyn Maldonado, the first researcher he’d looked into, had theorized that latent telepathic abilities in dogs could be awoken by careful treatment with certain medications.
David had connected several large purchases of those medications with the Testing Brigade.
“I think we should find out who emailed him the list in the first place,” Jessica said. “Just in case it’s the CIA trying to trick him into giving himself away.”
Faith frowned. She hadn’t thought about that.
A few weeks ago, David had received an email with a list of names of people whose research was used in the 93rd Testing Brigade’s project, along with a warning that the Brigade was escalating, and they needed to move quickly to stop them.
If the CIA was trying to trip David up, then feeding him false information and having him act on it was a good way to do that.
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, nodding. “Yeah, that’s a good point.
They do that a lot in intelligence. If you suspect someone of feeding information to the enemy, you give them information to feed, either bad information or good information that’s inconsequential.
If that information spreads, then you know the guy you gave it to is compromised.
I’ll talk to some of my friends in the NSA and see if we can figure out who sent this email and if we can trust their information. ”
Faith’s brow furrowed. She’d asked her former partner how he’d gained this knowledge of the intelligence community before and received only cryptic answers in return. Whatever it was, it had to be a recent development because she’d only left the Philadelphia Field Office a little over a year ago.
Jessica asked a more pertinent question. “If the NSA can find dirt on this project, can we just have them get us enough to prosecute? Not that I don’t enjoy the intrigue, but maybe they’re better equipped to handle something like the CIA than we are.”
“It’s not quite so simple,” Michael replied. “When you throw the term ‘national security’ around, the law starts getting really murky. There are reasons—or so the Intelligence Community would have us believe—why agencies like the CIA shouldn’t be constrained by the law.”
“Yeah, but come on,” Jessica said. “What possible national security interest could telepathic dogs serve?”
“Hell if I know,” Michael said. “That’s what I’m trying to find out too.”
Faith sighed. “Let’s just focus on one thing right now. We need the identity of our secret admirer. Either he’s on our side, or he’s not. We need to know which it is before we stick our necks out any further.”
“We can’t slow down, Faith,” David protested. “That’s all we do is slow down, wait, check, make sure. Meanwhile… Hell, I don’t even know if Sierra’s alive anymore.”
“I know you almost weren’t,” Faith replied. “And Michael could have been dead with you.”
Michael had intervened and rescued David from the CIA agent who tried to murder him. In the process, he’d killed that agent. No one had come after him, and it appeared that the CIA didn’t know he was the one responsible.
But could she really be sure? They had to know someone was responsible.
David couldn’t have made it out of there on his own, not with his car destroyed.
And she loved David, but he wasn’t a fighter.
Certainly not the kind of fighter who could have pulled himself out of a car wreck and killed a trained CIA agent.
If they didn’t know now, they would find out. And they probably wouldn’t go after Michael. If Michael’s wife, Ellie, was killed over this…
David leaned back and rubbed his face with both hands. “Yeah, I know. It just sucks. These guys think they can get away with anything. It’s not fair.”
“They can get away with anything,” Michael said. “It’s important that you understand that. What we’re up against here is much bigger and stronger than we are.”
“Yeah, I know, I know,” David said. He sighed and dropped his hands. “Okay. I’m going to see what I can learn about Pharaoh. The fact that the CIA sent an agent to David’s office is concerning. I need to know more about this guy so I can have an idea what the CIA’s next play will be.”
David sank into his chair, looking utterly miserable. Faith laid a hand on his arm. “Be patient. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
He replied with the same question that plagued Faith every time she hunted a killer. “How many more will have to die before we do?”
Faith didn’t have an answer for that.
Her phone buzzed. She sighed when she saw the number. “It’s Smythe. I have to take this.”
She got to her feet, accepting the murmured reassurances from the others that it was perfectly acceptable to allow the Director of the FBI to interrupt their conversation.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Faith. I have a case I’d like you to investigate.”
Shit. “Yes, sir?”
“There’s a suspicious death at the home of a TSA supervisor in Baltimore. The situation’s developing, but we’d like you and Special Agent Torres present as the FBI’s representatives.”
Faith blinked. “A developing situation, sir? A suspicious death?”
Faith was often called in to investigate cases of rather dubious jurisdiction.
Usually, the locals smelled something rotten and wanted to pass the buck.
Occasionally, the case was personal to the director for some reason, and he wanted them involved.
But it was always a developed situation.
It was always an obvious, official, clear murder.
Why was she being asked to snoop around something that might not be FBI business at all?
She guessed at the reason. “Is this situation taking place at an airport?” Airports were federal property and therefore federal jurisdiction, although again, the TSA usually held initial primacy and had to ask for FBI assistance to receive it.
“No, this is at his home in Baltimore.”
Which meant it was absolutely the jurisdiction of the Baltimore Police Department.
Faith sighed and rubbed her temples. “Sir, I hate to decline but now isn’t a good time for me to leave my current responsibilities.” She meant her responsibilities at home, but she intended Smythe to assume it was her responsibilities as Chief Instructor at the K9 school.
Whatever he assumed, he didn’t budge. “Jackson Entwhistle was found dead in his home with a bomb in his hand.”
Faith grimaced. “Okay, that’s pretty serious. Did the TSA ask for us?”
“Not yet, but they will. I spoke with Administrator Nguyen, and she’s only waiting for the bomb to be successfully defused and the police to officially rule it a homicide to make a formal request. She’s approved your arrival on scene.”
Faith blinked. “Wait, what? The bomb didn’t go off?”
At the word bomb, the others in the room started. Michael whistled. David gasped in shock. Jessica’s eyes popped open, and she walked closer and mouthed, What’s going on?
Faith lifted a finger for patience and listened as Smythe explained, “No, the bomb is currently active.”
“So this guy was killed in his own home, and a bomb was placed in his hand in his own home.”
“Yes.”
“Then how did he die?”
“Stab wound. They didn’t say exactly where. They have more pressing issues to deal with, I guess, considering the active explosive device.”
“Is the bomb endangering anyone else? His neighbors? Other people in the home?”
“No, he lived alone, and the EOD unit on site is confident that the bomb isn’t powerful enough to damage neighboring properties. There’s a fire risk, of course, but the fire department is there and prepared.”
“So no one is in danger. This killer decided to murder someone and put a bomb in his dead hands for… reasons?”
“Reasons that I am sure you and Special Agent Torres will discover during the course of your investigation.”
Faith turned away so she didn’t have to keep feeling the inquisitive eyes of her current partner, former partner, and husband on her. It didn’t help. “Regardless, sir, I’m still not sure why I need to be involved. Or the FBI at all. Until there’s a formal request, that is.”
"To be blunt, Special Agent, this is a chance for the FBI to earn some goodwill. This story is national news, as you might imagine. The presence of our celebrity agent, who is once again in the spotlight, will go a long way to showing our commitment to justice and public safety."
Faith closed her eyes and sighed. How the tables had turned. Only a short while ago, she’d been in danger of losing her career because of publicity. Now she was the FBI’s mascot because of publicity.
I should never have brought the news into my last case.
She had run out of reasons to say no, however. Smythe was a good director, but he was keenly aware of politics, and a chance to make the FBI look good was a chance he’d never pass up. If Faith wanted to stay in his good graces, she needed to take this case.
Once again, David’s case had to take a back seat. “Understood, sir. We’re on our way. Send me the location, and we’ll head right over.”
“Outstanding,” Smythe replied. “Thank you for your help.”
“Of course, sir.”
She hung up and sighed again.
“What’s going on?” Jessica asked. “There’s a bomb threat?”
“Looks that way. Smythe wants us on site ASAP.”
“On site? What if it explodes?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Faith replied. “Let’s hope nothing does.”