Triple Threat

planted in a large room with a stage. When the clock hit four in the interrogation room, I had Albert call me and pretend a bomb had gone off and killed people but the stage had absorbed a lot of the blast. That was just enough information so that Keplar believed it had really happened. Then all I had to do was perp walk him past Simmons, who asked why those particular victims. Keplar couldn’t keep himself from lecturing.
    “Sure was close.”
    True. Ten minutes meant the difference between life and death for two hundred people, though fate sometimes allowed for even more narrow margins.
    One of the FBI’s black SUVs now eased to a stop beside Dance and O’Neil.
    Steve Nichols and another agent climbed out and helped their shackled prisoner out. A large bandage covered much of his head and the side of his face. O’Neil stared at him silently.
    The FBI agent said, “Kathryn, good luck with this fellow. Wish you the best but he’s the toughest I’ve ever seen—and I’ve been up against al-Qaeda and some of the Mexican cartel drug lords. They’re Chatty Cathy compared with him. Not a single word. Just sits and stares at you. He’s all yours.”
    “I’ll do what I can, Steve. But I think there’s enough forensics to put everybody away for twenty years.”
    The law enforcers said good-bye and the feds climbed into the Suburban, then sped out of the CBI lot.
    Dance began to laugh.
    So did the prisoner.
    O’Neil asked, “So what’s going on?”
    Dance stepped forward and undid the cuffs securing the wrists of her associate, TJ Scanlon. He removed the swaddling, revealing no injuries.
    “Thanks, Boss. And by the way, those’re the first words I’ve said in three hours.”
    Dance explained to O’Neil, “Gabe Paulson’s in a lot more serious condition than I let on. He was shot in the head during the takedown and’ll probably be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life. Which might not be that long. I knew Nichols’d wanted to have a part of the case—and for all we knew at that point he had primary jurisdiction. I wanted to interrogate the only suspect we had—Keplar—so I needed to give Nichols someone. TJ volunteered to play Paulson.”
    “So you just deceived the FBI.”
    “Technically. I know Steve. He’s a brilliant agent. I’d trust him with anything except an interrogation with a deadline like this.”
    “Three hours, Boss,” TJ said, rubbing his wrists. “Did I mention not speaking for three hours? That’s very hard for me.”
    O’Neil asked, “Won’t he find out, see the pictures of the real Paulson in the press?”
    “He was pretty bandaged up. And like I said, it may come back to haunt me. I’ll deal with it then.”
    “I thought I was going to be waterboarded.”
    “I told him not to do that.”
    “Well, he didn’t share your directive with
me
. I think he would have liked to use cattle prods, too. Oh, and I would’ve given you up in five seconds, Boss. Just for the record.”
    Dance laughed.
    O’Neil left to return to his office in Salinas and Dance and TJ entered the CBI lobby, just as the head of the office, Charles Overby, joined them. “Here you are.”
    The agents greeted the paunchy man who was in his typical work-a-day outfit: slacks and white shirt with sleeves rolled up, revealing tennis- and golf-tanned arms.
    “Thanks, Kathryn. Appreciate what you did.”
    “Sure.”
    “You were in the operation, too?” Overby asked TJ.
    “That’s right. FBI liaison.”
    Overby lowered his voice and said approvingly, “They don’t seem to want a cut of the action. Good for us.”
    “I did what I could.” TJ said. Then the young man returned to his office, leaving Dance and her boss alone.
    Overby turned to Dance. “I’ll need a briefing,” he said, nodding toward the reporters out front. A grimace. “Something to feed to
them
.”
    Despite the apparent disdain, though, Overby was in fact looking forward to the press conference. He always did. He loved the limelight and would want to catch the 6:00 p.m. local news. He’d also hope to gin up interest in some national coverage.
    Dance put her watch back on her wrist and looked at the time. “I can give you the bare bones, Charles, but I’ve got to see a subject in another matter. It’s got to be tonight. He leaves town tomorrow.”
    There was a pause. “Well, if it’s critical…”
    “It is.”
    “All right. Get me a briefing sheet now and a full report in the morning.”
    “Sure,