Before the first security guard could speak, McKinney answered, “Call the FBI! I was escaping from kidnappers.”
He frowned and pointed at the U.S. Forest Service truck. “Where the hell did you get a Forest Service truck?”
She was surrounded by a dozen armed security guards in brown shirts, slacks, badges, belts, and nightsticks now. What might normally feel alarming felt greatly reassuring. Her heart rate was returning to normal, but she suddenly felt exhausted.
The senior security guard was staring at her, still surprised.
She spelled it out for him. “Call. The. F. B. I.!”
He patted her on the arm. “Let’s start out with the police, honey.”
CHAPTER 15
Closed Loop
Twenty-four hours and a bit of sleep later McKinney sat in a holding room at the FBI Kansas City field office. Half the far wall was a mirror. The other walls were white-painted cinder blocks with initials and profanity here and there etched into the surface. She tried to imagine who could conceive of—let alone succeed—in sneaking razor blades into an FBI interrogation room. This was not a world she was familiar with.
The single table was bolted to the floor, along with several sturdy resin chairs, also bolted in place. Smooth edges. Nothing to hang oneself or cut oneself with. They’d taken her cheap watch when they processed her. She never wore jewelry in the field, but the FBI agents who booked her had looked at her with suspicion when they found she had no jewelry on. What kind of woman has no jewelry? Drug addicts, presumably.
After what seemed like an eternity, the single door to the interview room finally opened and a pair of clean-cut men in suits entered. They weren’t smiling. One held a folder, and they both stood across the table from her, while the door slammed decisively behind them on its own, drowning out the brief interlude of footsteps and hallway chatter.
“Ms.”—he looked at the folder—“McKinney, I’m Special Agent Tierney, this is Special Agent Harrison.”
She nodded to them. “Gentlemen.”
“How is it you’re here?”
“In my written statement I—”
“The State Department lists you as ‘missing, presumed dead,’ somewhere in Africa. And yet you show up here, claiming to have information about the terror bombings in the U.S.”
“I do have information related to the bombings.”
“Related to the bombings? How’s that different?”
“The bombings aren’t what they appear.”
“You do know that providing false statements to federal officers is a felony?”
“Why on earth would I lie about this?”
“Well, it’s just that among other things, you have a criminal record.”
McKinney was surprised. “I’d hardly call my record criminal.”
“Marijuana possession, disorderly conduct.”
“I can’t believe we’re discussing this. I was arrested with a thousand other people at a demonstration. And marijuana? Hello, I went to college.”
“So you don’t think drug laws apply to you?”
“That’s not—look, can we get to the very critical thing I’m trying to tell you?”
He was reading through the file. “You disappeared under suspicious circumstances with a substantial life insurance policy.” He looked up. “And you have considerable student loan debt.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“You stole and wrecked a U.S. Forest Service truck—”
“It’s not a Forest Service truck, and I had to use it to escape.”
“Because you claim you were kidnapped”—reading again—“‘possibly by a top-secret military operation . . . or a terrorist cell. One or the other.’” He looked up. “Is that right?”
The other agent just snorted.
“Look, I’m a published entomology professor with Cornell University. You can go to the university’s website, search for me, and you will find a photo of me and everything. I’m not some kook. I’m a world-class expert on ants—myrmecology. I’ve given you my social security number, my—”
“Yeah. We confirmed your identity through fingerprints. That’s not the problem. I’m just confused . . . how did you get back into the United States?” He flipped through the papers in the folder. “You departed Newark for Johannesburg, en route to Tanzania, two and a half months ago, and customs records show you haven’t returned. American Airlines shows you booked for a return flight later this month.”
“I explain that in my statement.”
“Indulge me. I’d like to make sure your story is consistent. How’d this go down again?”