It read, “Bart Callan, United States Department of Homeland Security.”
Heat and Rook sat on folding metal chairs in the cargo trailer watching a pair of lab technicians in white coveralls at the deep end of the hold swab the exterior of their luggage with wipes that they placed in portable infrared scanners. After each cloth got electronically sniffed, it was then sealed in an evidence-grade plastic zip bag. The techs had followed the same procedure with the swabbing pads they had run over their hands and shoes. “Not being one to jump at criticizing the federal government,” said Rook, “but aren’t you supposed to do that before we get on the plane?”
Agent Callan turned from the scanning table and strode over to him. He looked like he did triathlons because marathons got too easy. “You can save the snappy one-liners for your next appearance on Anderson Cooper, Mr. Rook. Although you won’t be commenting on this meeting there or anywhere, as it is classified. I have a paper for you both to sign.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels, body language for stud in charge.
Heat turned to appraise Callan’s partner, who sat to the side, observing. There was something the other agent didn’t like in the knowing way Nikki smiled at him, and he averted his gaze. She turned back to the alpha. “What is this about, Agent Callan? I’m sworn law enforcement. You have no reason to detain me.”
“I guess you don’t get to make that determination, Detective Heat.” His tone was matter-of-fact, not threatening. He seemed too secure in himself to bully. He had the sort of authority that came from personal dedication instead of ego. But he also clearly enjoyed dealing the hand from his own deck. “I have some questions I want answers to. We’ll see how satisfied I am and how soon, and we can talk about getting you on your way.”
Rook couldn’t resist. “Good, because I want to get to the Apple store in SoHo before it closes, to see what this new iPad device is all about.”
Nikki gave Callan one of those shrugs that says What are ya gonna do? and the agent acknowledged it with his first hint of a smile. He leaned a hip against the metal task table he had set up as a work space inside the trailer and picked up a file. “Two days in Paris. That’s what I call whirlwind.”
“You said you had a question,” was all Nikki gave back.
“You going to wrestle with me, Detective?”
“Your meeting, Agent.”
Rook rubbed his palms together. “This is so cool. It’s like a mixed martial arts smackdown. We even have folding chairs.”
A standoff followed while Callan assessed her. For Nikki’s part, she normally wouldn’t give so much push-back to a fed, but it felt instinctively right. Aside from lingering annoyance at their kidnapping, she had a protective motive about her mother since hearing the rumor that she might have gone double. And frankly, there was too much she didn’t know. Heat figured that by making the DHS man do some work, she might gain more than she gave.
Bart Callan shifted techniques from chatty open-ended to business-specific. “I want you to tell me who you saw and what you did while you were in Paris.”
“Why?” asked Rook.
“Because I’m asking. And I’m asking her.”