LITMIR.BIZ

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was a long, pregnant pause while Callahan considered this. “Isn’t Nick D’Arcy still the head of the Denver branch of the agency?”

      “Yeah.”

      “How about telling him first? This octopus could have tentacles everywhere,” he said, referring obliquely to the New World Militia. “I trust you and D’Arcy, and maybe one other person, but...”

      Cody’s first reaction was to hotly defend his colleagues, especially his partner, but then he remembered how insidious the militia had once been. If Callahan was right, if new life had been breathed into the organization, there was no telling where the infection had spread.

      “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try to get in to see him as soon as I get off the phone. I’ll let you know what he says.”

      “Don’t call my office,” Callahan warned, referring to the Black Rock sheriff’s office. “And don’t call the house. I haven’t told Mandy yet, and if you call there, she’ll suspect something. She’ll kill me when she finds out I’ve kept her in the dark this long, but...”

      Cody knew the other man well enough to know he was shrugging his shoulders. Neither of them had ever wanted to put Mandy in danger, so they’d both kept secrets from her. That hadn’t always been a good idea, and Cody had the scar to prove it.

      “And don’t call my cell phone, either,” Callahan added.

      “Then how am I—”

      “Call this number,” Callahan said, rattling off ten digits, and Cody jotted them down on a scratch pad. “That’s a throwaway cell. I probably don’t need to tell you this, but it would be a good idea to call me from a pay phone or another throwaway cell.”

      “You’re right,” Cody responded drily. “You don’t need to tell me that.”

      He hung up when Callahan did, then sat for a moment staring at the cell-phone number he’d just written down, memorizing it. “Damn it!” he cursed under his breath.

      He ripped the paper into tiny shreds, got up and strode toward the elevator, dropping the scraps of paper into the slot of the locked “burn barrel” nearest the door. He rang for the elevator, waiting impatiently until it arrived, his mind taken up with what Callahan had just told him...and what he hadn’t.

      “Damn,” he said again, but it didn’t relieve his feelings one bit.

      Cody walked into the outer office and addressed the executive assistant who guarded Nick D’Arcy from unimportant interruptions like a dragon. “I need to see Baker Street,” he told her, using the nickname everyone in the agency used when talking about D’Arcy, and sometimes even when thinking about him. He was omniscient—so much so it was scary at times—and every agent who worked for him had experienced that omniscience at least once. So it wasn’t surprising he was known by the sobriquet of “Baker Street,” a tip of the hat to Sherlock Holmes.

      The executive assistant assessed Cody, noting the determined, set expression on his face. She picked up the phone and pushed a button. “Cody Walker to see you, sir.” She listened for a couple of seconds, then said, “No, he didn’t tell me what it’s about and I didn’t ask.” She hung up the phone. “You can go in,” she told him.

      “Come in, Walker,” Nick D’Arcy said when Cody entered and closed the door behind him. He indicated a chair in front of his desk and said, “Have a seat.” He sat down himself, and after Cody was sitting, he said, “Is this about what happened last Friday?”

      “No, it’s—” Cody broke off. “How do you know about that already?”

      “It’s my business to know everything, didn’t you know?” D’Arcy chuckled, his dark-skinned face breaking into a broad smile. “But seriously, you did the right thing. Oh, yes,” he said, holding up one hand, palm outward. “I know there are those who are upset your cover was blown and that we’ll have to start all over from scratch with that investigation, but...I’d have done the same thing under the circumstances.”

      “Thank you, sir. It’s good to know not everyone thinks I blew it.”

      D’Arcy smiled as if he knew something Cody didn’t. “So if this isn’t about last week, then what is it?”

      “The New World Militia.”

      That wiped the smile from the other man’s face. “How’d you hear about that?” he asked sharply.

      “Ryan Callahan. He called me a few minutes ago.”

      “Damn.” The word held no heat, but Cody could tell D’Arcy was not pleased. “I was hoping I was wrong, but if Callahan is involved...” He bent a narrow-eyed gaze on Cody. “What did he tell you?”

      “He wouldn’t tell me much over the phone,” Cody said, then repeated the conversation nearly verbatim, including Callahan’s statement about who he trusted...and who he didn’t.

      D’Arcy didn’t say anything after Cody finished, just sat there contemplating the pencil he picked up off his desk. He seemed to reach a decision, because he looked at Cody and said, “I’ve heard rumblings of this before today. I’ve already got a team working on it.” He leaned over and pressed a switch. “Can you see if you can locate McKinnon and Jones for me? If they’re in the building, I need to see them right away.”

      “McKinnon?” Cody asked after D’Arcy cut off the connection. “That wouldn’t be Trace McKinnon, would it?”

      “Yeah. You remember him from six years ago, don’t you? I’ve got a feeling he’s the third man Callahan was referring to, the other man he trusts.”

      “I remember him, but I thought he was still a federal marshal. I didn’t know he worked for the agency.”

      D’Arcy let out a bark of laughter. “Compartmentalization. I guess it does work sometimes.” He looked at Cody from under his brows. “McKinnon was the first person I recruited after I was recruited. He’d worked for me for years before I came here—I’d trust him with my life. I knew he’d be perfect for this agency, just like I knew you would be, too.”

      The corner of Cody’s mouth curved up in a rueful smile. “Not so perfect—on my part, that is. Last week—”

      D’Arcy waved his hand. “I already told you to forget last week, didn’t I?” He hesitated. “I wasn’t going to tell you until all the paperwork was processed, but there will be a commendation in your personnel jacket if I have anything to say about it.”

      That means it’s a done deal, Cody thought, knowing how highly respected Nick D’Arcy was by the head of their agency in Washington, D.C. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He thought for a second, then confessed, “I couldn’t have done anything else, but...I’m glad it won’t be a mark against me.”

      “Not to worry.”

      Then Cody remembered the other thing D’Arcy had said, and he asked, “Rumblings? You said you’ve heard rumblings about the New World Militia?”

      D’Arcy grimaced. “The FBI has been keeping a watchful eye on certain individuals for years,” he said. “But even after all this time since 9/11, we still don’t have the interagency cooperation we should have. They don’t tell us everything they know, and we’re not much better.”

      “But if they aren’t telling you what they know...”

      “I have my own sources within the FBI...and a few other places” was all D’Arcy would say.

      The phone buzzed, and D’Arcy pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”

      “McKinnon and Jones are here, sir.”

      “Send them in.”

      Cody stood up as the door opened and Trace McKinnon walked in. Cody recognized him immediately, even though it had been almost five years since he’d last seen him. Along with Callahan, Cody owed

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