Free Take Down (The Men of the Sisterhood) by Fern Michaels Page B

within seconds. Maggie joined him within minutes.
    “What’s going on?” the guard asked in a shaking voice.
    Jack turned around and said, in a voice filled with menace, “You should know better than to ask a question like that of an FBI Special Agent. As they say in that other agency whose name shall not pass my lips, if I told you, I’d have to kill you. Now just sit there and be quiet. When we finish here, we will release you. Tell me you understand what I just said.”
    “Yes, sir, I understand.”
    “Good.”
    Jack stared at the Andover Building, marveling at the massive structure. It was lit up from top to bottom. Even from where he was sitting, he could see a glittery Christmas tree in the cavernous foyer.
    It was fully dark now and it was barely four o’clock. Snow was falling steadily. To his right, he could hear the sounds of muffled car engines as people warmed up their cars in the parking lot in preparation to leave.
    “Showtime,” Jack said under his breath as he exited the Humvee, with Maggie right behind him. Dennis was the last to exit, then made a production of locking in the security guard.
    The trio marched up the three steps that led to oversize plate-glass doors. The twinkling Christmas tree was beautiful; a work of art, actually. At the door, Jack said, “Okay, everyone, take a deep breath. Dennis, get that open line to Jamie Farrell and keep it secure. Time to roll, folks.”

Chapter 10
    With a wild, wicked flourish, Jack threw open the door, sized up the lobby, and headed straight for a monster desk in the center of the room, where a man in a gray uniform sat behind a computer monitor that showed every floor in the building.
    “Hands where I can see them, sir. FBI. I’m Special Agent Lupine, this is Special Agent Donald Ryder, and the lady is Special Agent Lucinda Collins. This is a warrant,” he said, waving the paper in front of the startled man’s eyes.
    “Wha . . . what do . . . do you want?”
    “Actually, nothing from you personally, Mr. . . .” Jack looked at the man’s name tag. “Mr. Lee. Special Agent Collins will stay here with you while we conduct our business. Do you understand what I just said, and do you understand that this warrant gives me the authority to do whatever I want in this building?”
    “Yes, sir, I do, sir. My favorite show is Law & Order. I know how it works. Glory be, I never thought I’d be in the presence of the FBI. I’m supposed to report to Security when something like this happens.”
    “Don’t worry about it. We’ll report it for you. For now, turn off all those monitors.”
    “I can’t do that, sir. They are to be left on twenty-four /seven. I could get fired.”
    “Special Agent Collins, see to things.” Jack moved off toward the bank of elevators, Dennis in his wake. “You have Farrell live on the phone?”
    “Yes, I sure do. He’s telling me to go to the seventh floor, turn right, and Ms. Martha Wicked Witch of the World’s office is at the end of the hall. Her underlings sweat in the other offices. He said no one will even lift their heads if they see us, that’s how well-conditioned they are to her tirades and mean mouth.”
    After exiting the elevator on the seventh floor, Jack strode purposefully down what was certainly the longest hallway he’d ever seen like he knew exactly where he was going. He heard Dennis ask Farrell if the office would be locked. He waited for Dennis to clue him in. He didn’t have long to wait.
    “Jamie said the office is left open during the day, even when she isn’t there, because the slaves have to be able to put their reports on her desk the minute they’re finished. He said all the offices are locked at five-thirty on the dot. If someone has the misfortune to be inside when that happens, they spend the night until they are opened in the morning.”
    “Then I guess we had better hurry,” Jack said, looking at the green numerals on his watch. “It would cut our time down if Jamie would