Chapter 13
Washington, D.C., Tuesday, September 30, 2013
STAN WARREN STALKED the halls of the third floor, east wing. He was going to find someone who would talk to him. Three days of meetings, debriefings, strategy sessions. Then nothing. Not for a week. No one returned his phone calls; email went unanswered. He wanted to know what the hell was going on.
He spotted his target, Rebecca Nesbit, who had been knowledgeable, and committed to this investigation. Had been. He bumped into her, spilling her folders.
“Sorry,” he said, stooping to pick them up, in spite of her protests that she could do it. Holding onto three folders, he cornered her against the wall. “So,” he said pleasantly. “What the hell is going on?”
Rebecca looked around, shifting her eyes without moving her head. “Good t
