"I can't put my finger on it, but I'm starting to see too many inconsistencies and one too many lapses in our investigation."
"Here?" he said, staring around the watch floor.
"Even here. The Imam's snatched right out from under us, never to be seen again. True America operatives carried away into the night less than a block from a major FBI crime scene. Anonymous phone calls leading us right to the Al Qaeda cells. I'm getting the impression that Sharpe's holding something back. I have no idea what it might be, but I'm willing to bet it has something to do with Stewart. She seems awfully content watching over us from her perch. Don't look up at her."
Hesterman stopped his head from turning all the way.
"She just stands up there, doing nothing."
"That's exactly what Sharpe wants her to do around here. Nothing."
"I wonder, though…"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Hesterman asked.
"I don't know. I'm going to talk to Sharpe about my call to the Laurel police chief. I just asked the chief to provide me with Sergeant Osborne's vacation record for the past two years, and he flatly denied the reque—"
"You did what?" Hesterman said incredulously.
"Yeah. Nothing about Osborne's statement makes much sense to me. Maybe I'm losing it. Either way, if Sharpe ignores this, it's time to start watching over your back."
"Do you need backup in there?"
"Nope. I'll be fine." She watched Special Agent Mendoza approach Sharpe's door with two cups of coffee. Perfect. She could play them off each other.
O'Reilly stood up from her computer station and prepared what she would say.
Sharpe had taken his second sip of coffee when O'Reilly appeared in his doorway and knocked on the frame, announcing her obvious presence.
"Come on in, Dana. You want to grab a coffee first?"
"No, thanks. The coffee doesn't seem to have any effect on me anymore, beyond sending me to the bathroom every thirty minutes," she said.
"Then grab a seat. Your visit is perfect timing, since Frank was about to fill me in on the recent developments from Hacker Valley."
Frank Mendoza slouched in one of the faux leather chairs under a standing lamp, holding his coffee in two hands in what looked like an effort to keep it warm. The coffee cups stocked in the break room weren't insulated and didn't include tops. All of the equipment installed in the Operations Center was state of the art, with the exception of the coffee machine. Even the complimentary juice machine had a touch screen, allowing the selection of several dozen beverages, including carbonated choices. The coffee maker was a stainless steel, two-pot Bunn classic, taking up twice the amount of space necessary and brewing up the same coffee served to government employees for the past four decades. Amazingly enough, the machine looked new.
"I wish there was more to report, but Dana's team will start making calls to businesses and households shortly. We'll send teams out for interviews. How many were identified? Sixty-three? It's a lot of legwork. Nobody likes to talk over the phone to a faceless FBI agent. This takes the highest priority, and we'll have help from other agencies, so we're expecting to start collecting detailed information by noon. More pieces to fit into the puzzle. I'm hoping we'll start seeing a useful pattern here shortly. We have a lot of information," Mendoza said.
"I agree, though I'm a little disturbed by the pattern developing at the compound. That, coupled with something else," she said nervously.
"What is it?" Sharpe said.
"It doesn't fit, does it?" Mendoza said.
O'Reilly looked at him, surprised. "No, none of it does."
"What are the two of you talking about?" Sharpe said.
"We've identified sixty-three of the suspects at the compound. Too many of them have overt ties to extremist groups. Eleven of them showed up on the lists you ordered us to start compiling over a year ago. None of the operatives that we've captured recently held recent ties to any domestic extremist groups. They'd all gone quiet on that front three to four years ago."
"A new batch of trainees?"
"On the eve of their magnum opus?" she retorted.
"It struck me as odd, too. I was waiting to hear more about their backgrounds," Mendoza said.
"What are you suggesting?" Sharpe asked.
"I'm not sure, but I've also found some inconsistencies with Sergeant Osborne's report. I called the Laurel police chief to ask about Osborne's vacation schedule for the past two years, but he—"
"Dana, would you close the door, please?"
O'Reilly looked annoyed by his request and sudden interruption. "Of course," she said, pulling the door free of its magnetic hold.
"You called the Laurel police chief, implying that Osborne might be involved in today's incident?" Sharpe asked, before she could continue.
"Yes. I didn't think it would be a big deal. Of course, he wouldn't share the information. Maybe it wasn't the best decision on my part."
"I trust your judgment, Dana. I could have told you there was no way he would release the information, especially without a warrant."
Sharpe knew there was no way he could keep them in the dark any longer. He detected a confrontational edge to O'Reilly's mannerisms, which was out of character for her. Something was bothering her, and his guess was that she had finally started to put all of the pieces together. There were too many unexplained coincidences and logical leaps to go unnoticed by either of them for long. He regretted not bringing them into the fold earlier. No matter what he told them now, they'd feel betrayed, possibly not trusted. If he didn't do it now, it would only be worse when they came to the inevitable conclusion on their own.
"Hold up for a minute. We need to bring someone else in on this conversation," he said.
O'Reilly took the remaining empty leather chair and raised her eyebrows at Mendoza. He merely lifted his shoulders from his relaxed position in the other chair. Sharpe sent a text message and waited for the knock at his door.
"Dana, Frank, I need you to know that this has nothing to do with the utmost level of trust and confidence that I have in both of you. I was simply trying to mitigate the potential damage to your careers."
He paused, avoiding their eyes for a moment, until someone knocked on the door and entered without waiting for Sharpe's permission to enter. Callie Stewart closed the door behind her and turned to Mendoza and O'Reilly. She looked as confused as his agents.
"What the fuck is she doing here?" O'Reilly said.
Sharpe watched the look of bewilderment harden into a look of betrayal. He had no idea how he was going to proceed, so he jumped right in.
"I've been cooperating with Sanderson's people without your knowledge since the morning of the 26th. Sanderson's operatives have been critical to moving our investigation along, in ways that we could never implement without their help."
"Jesus Christ," Mendoza uttered.
"I thought I could insulate the two of you, but I was just deluding myself. There are some developments that support your theory, Dana, and require the highest levels of secrecy within the task force. I trust the two of you implicitly."
"It doesn't feel like it," O'Reilly said.
Stewart started to talk, but Sharpe cut her off with a severe look and an outstretched hand sporting his index finger.
"I understand that, and I'm sorry beyond words for keeping you in the dark. I really thought I would be doing you a favor. I made this decision to protect you. The backlash for working with Sanderson outside of the agreed-upon parameters would be devastating. You know how the director feels about them," he said.
"Like I do?" O'Reilly said, glaring at Stewart.
"We've worked together for over four years, Dana. I should have known better."