"If you run out of food or medical supplies, go to w-w-w dot FEMA dot gov, slash, San Francisco, all one word, dot h-t-m-l to find the closest supply depot, or call 911. Residents of the affected cities are advised not to go to grocery stores, as some store owners have taken to shooting at those who approach, fearing—"
The men droned on for a few minutes about the lockdown and the ensuing civil unrest. "The manhunt for Aryan Ascendancy ringleaders Harold Trubb and Jim Palenti continues. The Department of Homeland Security is offering a one million dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of either of these men, and a ten million dollar reward for the recovery of the nuclear warhead. If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of these men, or any members of the Aryan Ascendancy, call 911, or on the web, go to w-w-w dot DHS dot gov and click on the link in the upper-right corner."
Gene turned off the radio and looked over at Carl.
Carl looked up from the floor and met his eyes. "I think we're screwed, Gene." They both looked over at Doug, who nodded in agreement.
"Even so," Gene said, "we need to get to Gabrielle's. We've lost too much time already." He picked up his COM from the nightstand, put it in his ear, and spoke. "Sam?"
For the first time since he started working with her, she didn't reply. He tried again. "Sam?"
A sonorous male voice answered. "Ms. Greene called in sick today, Agent Palomini. This is Agent Johnson. What can I do for you?"
Called in sick? Sam almost never left work, much less called in sick, and would have called him if she had. He looked at his phone. Nothing. "Um, nothing. I just wanted to ask her a question." He cut the connection and pulled the COM out of his ear.
He used his cell phone to call Sam's apartment. After twenty rings the machine hadn't picked up. He hung up and tried her cell, with the same result. He called the FBI's main number and spoke to the receptionist. The connection was terrible; there was a lot of noise on the line. "This is Special Agent Gene Palomini. Can you patch me through to A.D. Adams' home, please?"
"Hold, please," she said. The phone beeped in his ear.
Adams' voice was hard to recognize through the static. "Hello?"
"Bernard? This is Gene Palomini. What's going on?"
"Gene? Where are you? Sam said you'd flown to San Francisco. Are you still there? Are you in the lockdown zone?"
"You've spoken to her? I tried her at home and couldn't get through." Gene's voice was full of worry.
"I haven't. I'm just working on the report from yesterday. Are you in San Francisco?" Adams' voice was tight, his words clipped. It wasn't normal.
Gene's reply was guarded, "Not exactly, but in the area."
"Where precisely?" Gene raised an eyebrow at Doug.
"I'm not sure exactly. We're on the road somewhere at a little motel."
"What motel? What's the number there?" Visions of helicopter strike teams danced in his head.
"Um, Lucky Seven in Cupertino," Gene lied. "Um, I'd have to go get the number; it's not on the phone here in the room." Doug and Carl gave him odd looks.
"Are Goldman and Brent with you?"
"Yeah, they're right here. What—?"
"Put Agent Goldman on the phone, please." It was clearly an order.
"Um, okay, but I have a question first." Gene mouthed to Doug, he wants you.
"Just put him on, Agent Palomini," Adams said.
"Okay, but he's not feeling well." Gene stalled. Doug held out his hand.
Adams' tone of voice brooked no argument. "I'm ordering you to give Agent Goldman the phone, Agent Palomini. Now." Gene handed the phone to Doug.
Doug took the phone. "This is Agent Goldman."
Gene could hear the voice on the other end, but not what he said.
Doug mumbled an okay, rose slowly from the couch, and stumbled his way into the bathroom. He closed the door.
Once inside the bathroom, Doug spoke into the phone. "Done." The tile chilled his bare feet, and he was in no mood for games.
"Is Palomini listening?" Something in Adams' voice didn't sound right.
Doug opened the door softly, stepped back into the living room, and looked at Gene with wide eyes. "Um, no. He's not listening."
He held the earpiece away from his head so that the sound would project into the room. "I need you to take Agent Palomini into custody."
"That's preposterous. You and I both know—"
"Doug, I don't care what you think you know. We have it on very good authority that Palomini and Palenti are the same man." Gene's jaw dropped as he looked at the phone in Doug's hand. "You will—"
Doug interrupted him. "Pardon my French, but that's the dumbest fucking thing I've heard in my entire life, sir. I've spent almost every waking moment with Gene in the past two weeks, and most days in his presence for several years before that. Even if he is a racist bastard, which he isn't, he wouldn't have time to run some skinhead group or plan a nuclear attack. Sam's been tracking our movements for years, ask her. It's simply not possible."