Leo’s eyes, wide and dark in his small, pale face, scanned the cavernous chamber. They were the eyes of a child who had seen the end of the world and somehow survived it. They passed over the panicked faces of the committee, the stunned media, the wall of FBI agents. Then, they landed.
First on Speaker Sterling. Then on Arthur.
And they stopped.
In the crushing silence, a small, trembling hand lifted from beneath the blanket and pointed.
Agent Davies knelt beside the wheelchair, his voice gentle, a stark contrast to the authority he had wielded moments before. “Leo,” he said softly, “can you tell us who these men are?”
Leo didn’t look at Davies. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from his tormentors. His voice, when it came, was a child’s whisper, yet it carried the weight of a dozen stol
