11
Blinds along the windows segmented daylight into thin bands that fell upon a long table where half a dozen CSIS agents sat exchanging glances with twice as many RCMP officers. Peter Tombs was present as well.
The Minister of Justice wore a fine black suit with a gray shirt, and sunlight glinted off the lenses of his glasses. Jack had been watching the man for the last five minutes. Everything depended on swaying him to their way of thinking.
Jena stood at the head of the table.
Dressed to kill in a black skirt and purple blouse, she kept her hands behind her back as she ran her gaze over everyone present. “The situation has changed,” she said. “Our guy has come into the open. He wants to be seen, and he wants everyone to fear what he might do next.”
Peter Tombs sat with his elbows
