Free The Silent Army by James Knapp Page B

inside the Federal Building; he’ll say whatever he—”
    “He’s not lying. Shut up,” I said, and he did. His face went slack, but not too slack. I was careful not to push him too hard.
    “Come closer,” I said. “Sit down next to me.” He did, and I leaned closer, to whisper in his ear.
    “Did you know Holst and Takanawa would be in the hotel?” I asked. He whispered the answer in my ear.
    “Yes.”
    “What were you told?”
    “Not to process them. To let them leave with the case, and then report that it was never at the site. To keep Wachalowski out of it.”
    “Who told you that?” I asked. He paused.
    “I don’t remember.”
    “Why did you agree to go along with that?”
    “I . . . don’t remember.”
    He wasn’t lying. He couldn’t be, not to me.
    “That’s all,” I said, and let him go. I folded the paper and stuffed it in my pocket. Vesco blinked and looked confused for a second before he got up and walked out without saying another word.
    Jerk, I thought. The door closed behind him. I could sense his presence as he passed by the one-way mirror, and back out into the hall. His friend had already gone, but the other presence, the woman named Alice Hsieh, was still there. She was still standing near the glass, watching me. Her mind was still calm and curious.
    Without looking back at the mirror, I focused on her. I was going to make her leave too, before I called the guard back in to take the suspect away. When I concentrated on her, though, and began to push, something gently pushed me back. Around the cool and curious glow of her consciousness, I saw a thin, white halo appear, so faint it was almost invisible.
    Then I really did turn and look, and I could feel her looking back. That faint halo showed up on only one kind of person.
    Alice Hsieh was like me.
    Calliope Flax—FBI Home Office
    I tried Wachalowski one more time on my cell across the street from the Federal Building and let it ring. I’d called him a few times, but he wasn’t picking up. I picked the phone up at a convenience store, and I was supposed to be gone another two years so it wasn’t a total ditch, but I was sick of getting his voice mail.
    “. . . Special Agent Nico Wachalowski. Leave a mes—”
    I hung up. After a minute, I crossed the street.
    The last time I had a run-in with the Feds, it wasn’t exactly a win. They screwed me on a reward I had coming, doped me, grilled me all night, then kicked me to the curb. The place still made me a little edgy.
    A camera followed me up the steps, and drones in suits watched from a gate just past the door. I walked up to it and flashed my ID card.
    “Flax, Calliope,” the door said. “First Class. Violations including: assault, illegal possession of a weapon, public drunkenness, and speeding place you as security risk: medium-high.”
    Some asshole going by looked over. The door kept talking.
    “Records show a recent return from military service,” it said. “Honorable discharge at rank EMET Corporal. Awarded commendations: Bronze Star, and Purple Heart. Welcome back, EMET Corporal Flax.”
    “Just open.”
    The door clicked, and I pulled it open and went in. The place looked part military and part corporate jerk-off, full of suits with guns and big wallets. The lobby was decked out, and the floor had a big, fancy seal on it. There were flags and spy cams on every wall, and a big metal detector and X-ray up front. I took off my jacket and dropped it on the belt while the bald guy behind it watched.
    “Welcome back, Corporal. Step through, please.”
    I went through, and after he checked me out, he gave the coat back.
    “You meeting someone?” he asked.
    “Agent Wachalowski.”
    “He expecting you?”
    “He said look him up when I got back,” I said.
    “Sign in, please.”
    I signed the log, and he gave me a badge to wear.
    “Elevator’s that way. He’s on the fifth floor.”
    The lift was full of suits, and on the way up I did a sweep with the JZI. I found