Jake did as instructed and the cell door opened. Each linebacker grabbed an arm and escorted him to a room he knew to be an interrogation room. Finally, he thought, he was making progress. He was pushed into a chair and cuffed to the table. Leg cuffs were clamped around his ankles and secured to anchors in the floor. The uniforms stood by his sides, batons in hand. Who the hell did they think he was?
The answer came when a man appeared in a coat and tie. He was a tall man who looked to be in his mid-fifties with a full head of salt and pepper hair. The man placed Jake's pistol, screw-on sound suppressor, pocketknife, and iPhone on the table in front of him. From his pocket he pulled Jake's wallet and flipped it open.
"Are you Jake Pendleton?" The man asked.
"You're looking at my driver's license, you can read." Jake realized his mistake as the words crossed his lips.
"Special Agent Donald Corbin, FBI." He pulled out a badge and ID from his jacket pocket, showed it to Jake, then put it back.
"FBI?" Jake asked. "Were you watching the house? Is that why I got picked up?"
"No. Until today the FBI had no interest in that house or Ashley Regan. You got picked up," Corbin put extra emphasis on his last word, "because a concerned citizen saw you kick in the front door and enter with a gun in your hand. They were concerned about Ms Regan's welfare and called 9-1-1."
"That doesn't explain you. Why the FBI and not a detective?"
Corbin picked up the sound suppressor and held it in front of Jake. "Suppressor, illegal. Glock 37 Gen4 .45 caliber special military issue." He slid the gun across the table then he picked up Jake's knife and phone. "Benchmade spring-assisted knife, and this," Corbin put the knife down and pointed to Jake's phone, "this is like nothing like I've ever seen before. What kind of iPhone is this anyway?"
"Custom made."
"Mr. Pendleton, who do you work for and what do you do?"
"Commonwealth Consultants, Fairfax, Virginia." Jake looked Corbin in the eyes. "Check it out."
Corbin stared back at Jake, raised his hand, and snapped his fingers. "Check it out." He sat back in his chair.
"I can straighten this out with one phone call, I'm entitled to that."
"Are you aware that under the Patriot Act I can hold you for a very long time without allowing you to make a phone call or retain legal counsel?"
"So, you think I'm a terrorist?"
Corbin waved his hand across the table. "Look at this stuff. These aren't your typical private investigator accessories, more like mercenary gear. On this table I have enough cause to hold you indefinitely, so I'll ask you again. What do you do?"
"Special Agent Corbin?" A voice from an overhead speaker. "Can you come in here, please?"
Corbin stood and smiled at Jake. "Don't go anywhere."
Jake turned his wrists up and pulled the cuffs against the restraints. "Funny."
Corbin left the room only to return five minutes later. He looked at the guards. "Unshackle him and leave us." He turned to the mirror behind him. "Video and audio off. Someone go get the rest of Mr. Pendleton's belongings."
Corbin sat down. "CIA? NSA?"
"Neither."
"Mr. Pendleton, what happened in that house?"
"I don't know. That's what I was trying to find out. When I walked by the window, I saw the house had been ransacked so I kicked in the door. I made a quick sweep of the house to make sure no one was inside and then the cops showed up." Jake leaned over the table. "And if someone had given me a chance to speak, this never would have gotten this far."
"The house belongs to Ashley Regan. She has a roommate named Samantha Connors." Corbin said. "What do you know about them?"
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
"Nope. Not lying."
"Mr. Pendleton, you're not leaving until I know what you were doing in that house. We've tried contacting both women with no luck. Ms. Connors works from her home and Ms. Regan is taking personal days from the accounting firm where she works. Who was it you came to see?"
This had gone far enough. Jake needed to get out of here and get the FBI off his back. "How about that phone call?"
"I'm not letting you make a phone call until I get some answers." Corbin said.
Jake stood. Corbin followed suit. "I don't want to make a phone call." Jake said. "You want answers, you make the phone call."
"I beg your pardon?" Corbin sounded surprised.
"You to make the call."
Corbin stared at Jake for several seconds without speaking. "Alright. But my patience has worn thin." Corbin pulled out his phone. "What's the number?"
Jake recited the number from memory then sat back down and listened to the one-sided conversation.
Corbin's eyes widened and he looked at Jake. "Special Agent Donald Corbin, FBI…yes ma'am…yes ma'am" Corbin wrote something in his notepad. "Yes ma'am, I'll do that right away, ma'am."
Corbin hung up the phone and looked at Jake. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"Call your field office, give them that authorization code, and see what they have to say." Jake said.
Corbin placed the call. His face looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because, Special Agent Corbin, I'm not at liberty to discuss this with anyone…and that includes the FBI." Jake stood. "Now if you'll have Charleston's finest bring my stuff, I'll be on my way."
Jake checked his watch as he walked down the front steps of the Charleston Police Department. It had been over three hours since the taxi dropped him off in front of Ashley Regan's house. He pulled out his iPhone, punched in the special 24-digit password, scanned his left thumb, and unlocked the phone. Five missed calls from George Fontaine.
Jake stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi instructing the driver where to take him at the airport. He called George Fontaine.
"Jake. What the hell happened?"
"They hauled my ass off to jail, that's what happened. But not until after some young hotshot popped me with a Taser."
"How'd you enjoy riding the bull?"
"I didn't."
"Is it as bad as they say?" Fontaine asked.
"I still have a headache if that tells you anything. If I ever come back to Charleston, remind me to track down that officer and shoot him in the balls with one of Wiley's Tasers." Jake paused. "Got something for me?"
"Yeah, got your iPad with you?"
"No, it's on the plane. I'm headed that way now."
"When you get there, read what I sent. You'll find it more than a little interesting. Tell your pilots to take you to Tri Cities Airport in Tennessee. I've arranged a rental for a few days. You're on your own for lodging."
"What can you tell me now?"
"Jake, I ran facial recognition on the cemetery infrared photo and nothing turned up. So I hacked into Ashley Regan's facebook account and ran a facial comparison with all her photos and I found our mystery woman. Her name is Christa Barnett and she and Regan grew up a few houses apart. Best friends since childhood. According to their high school records, the two of them were in trouble on more than one occasion. Mostly harmless pranks but it got them suspended on the third incident. I'm running a background check on her now."
"What about Adams? Did you find anything there?" Jake asked.
"We got lucky again. The Army has moved into the digital world by progressively scanning and cataloging war casualty records. Adams shipped remains to several towns in Tennessee. Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville, and Butler."
"Butler? Never heard of it." Jake prided himself on knowing his way around the southern Appalachian Mountains, but this one was new to him.
"I'm almost a hundred percent sure Regan is going to hit Butler. Everything you need to know is in the file I sent. After you read it, call me back so we can discuss it."
"Sure thing, George. We're pulling up to the airport now."