St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

protections as private residences.” She held out her hand. “I’ll see the warrant, please.”
    “We have information that a specific individual may be in this bungalow and that said individual is in the country illegally,” Morehouse said.
    Faroe hadn’t budged from his place at the top of the three steps leading to the bungalow. Morehouse couldn’t go forward unless he went through Faroe and the pregnant lady.
    Agents piled up behind Morehouse.
    “Ma’am—” Morehouse began.
    “If you had specific information,” Grace cut across him calmly, “you should have applied for a warrant. Who is this specific individual, anyway? He must be important.” She flicked a glance at the men behind Morehouse. “And dangerous.”
    With a muttered word, Morehouse pulled a notebook from his hip pocket. Command presence sure wasn’t making a dent in the couple in front of him. Maybe a show of cooperation would get the job done.
    “The name is John Neto,” Morehouse said. “He’s a Camgerian alien who, according to our information, entered the country illegally from Victoria, Canada, on a tourist visa.”
    Faroe and Grace traded looks.
    “That’s specific information, all right,” Grace said. She shut the door and walked two steps to the porch railing, where she looked down at the milling of agents. “And obviously this Neto is an extremely dangerous man. Otherwise the immigration service wouldn’t have sent all these men.” She looked out at the grounds. “I count eight men in five vehicles. That’s a tremendous show of force,” she said, turning back to pin Morehouse with cold black eyes, “particularly here in Phoenix, where I’d guess one person in six entered from Mexico without papers.”
    Morehouse sighed. He’d known the minute he picked up his orders—and enough men for a baseball team—that this assignment stank. Now he had a hard-case male and a pregnant woman in his face before he’d even had two cups of coffee.
    “Ma’am, I have my orders. Just stand aside and we’ll be in and out real quick.”
    “Where did these orders come from?” Grace asked.
    “The district director,” Morehouse said. “Ma’am—”
    “At seven o’clock on a Sunday morning?” Grace interrupted.
    “He said it was a top Homeland Security priority. Now, if you’d just—”
    “Orders? From Washington?” she asked, pitching her voice to carry to the mike next door.
    “I don’t know,” Morehouse said impatiently. “I just take orders.”
    Faroe made certain that none of his amusement showed. He’d worked with men like Morehouse—decent, steady, unimaginative.
    Grace would make pâté out of him.
    “I understand, Officer,” she said sympathetically. “And we certainly don’t want to impede a legitimate federal investigation. If you’d give me a telephone number for the district director, I’ll discuss paperwork with him.”
    Morehouse said something under his breath. “Tell you what, ma’am. We’ll come in and check, and you can talk to the director later. It’ll be a lot easier that way.”
    “It might be a lot easier if I signed a permanent waiver of my Fifth Amendment rights,” Grace said. “That would hardly be good for America, would it? But never mind about the number. Senator Miller’s chief legislative aide is a good friend. I’m sure Jerry will have your director’s number.”
    Morehouse looked at her and knew it was going to be a bad day.
    “You aren’t getting inside without paperwork,” Faroe said. “Court order, warrant, or the phone number. Your choice.”
    The line of Morehouse’s mouth said he wasn’t happy.
    “Take it from me,” Faroe said, “this woman eats badges every day and spits out itty-bitty staples.”
    Morehouse knew a political impasse when it was shoved down his throat. He told Faroe the phone number. Grace went inside, closing the door behind her.
    Faroe peered into the morning sunlight and almost winced. Summer was more than a promise in that Phoenix sun. It was a threat.
    “I’m getting a cup of coffee,” Faroe said, turning away from Morehouse.
    Morehouse grabbed Faroe’s arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    “I just told you. You want a cup?” He looked at the agent’s belly. “Double cream and sugar, right?”
    The agent’s fingers dug into Faroe’s arm. “You and your lady are impeding federal officers, and I’m getting sick of it. We’ll have a little respect around here or somebody’s going to jail. Now break out