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Camped out on one side of the wire-topped fence outside the facility where his boys were being held were three mobile television trucks with their camera-topped jib arms extended high over their roofs. The press. Vultures. “I saw them when we pulled up,” Xander said. Only a few reporters were ambling around, smoking and talking on cell phones. The rest of the area was deserted. “At least the animal rights demonstrators are gone.” “They were probably too weak to stand up all night. A diet of tofu and lawn clippings will do that to a person.” Bartleby leaned over, picked up a small stainless steel suitcase near his feet, and set it on his lap. He flicked two latches and popped it open, then pulled out a laminated photo ID on a lanyard, an official-looking document, and a business card—all
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