Chapter 8: Snowbound Showdown

“I contacted a friend,” Terri said as Vince made another coffee. “She passed the bar with me but works as a special investigator for the FBI in Denver.”

He returned to his seat, gazing at her warily.

She raised her hand. “Relax, there aren’t dragons lurking in every shadow,” she scoffed. “Emily is a great friend, and I trust her with my life. She flew in for my baby shower over the weekend. And we spoke at length over lunch.”

He remained quiet but nodded.

“She’s in organized crime and RICO cases, but as she put it—’it’s still a village,’ meaning word gets out ... internally.” She fetched a water bottle and took a small pill. She noted his expression and rolled her eyes. “It’s heartburn medicine! Don’t judge until you pack another person inside you for nine months!”

He grinned and fanned his fingers out submissively.

“Human trafficking is a top priority for the Bureau, after national security and counter-terrorism. Em mentioned that grand juries are forming faster than storm clouds, and investigations focus on unexpected entities.”

“Dirty insiders and politicians,” he remarked dryly.

She nodded as she swallowed, tipping her bottle at him. “The media firestorm over Epstein and his island only hints at a small piece of a much larger and vile problem.”

“Hard to fix if judges won’t punish the wicked because they’re exploiting young girls too.”

“It goes deeper,” she remarked, “when lawmakers petition to legalize the practice.”

He bristled at the thought of wealthy and influential players like his ex-wife’s father, who could protect her. “No court or legal system is gonna save these fuckers if I get to them first!” he growled.

Terri stared at him but didn’t comment. “You need to be careful, Vince. These animals will cut off their arm to save the body. They’ve been hunting Anna for months and will stop at nothing to silence her.”

“We can’t trust the system to keep her safe,” he snorted.

She tried to argue but found herself speechless again. Instead, she looked down at her desk and chewed her lip.

“Are you and your family safe?” he asked quietly, draining his cup. He got up and put it back by the coffee maker.

She nodded, “Safer than you, I’m afraid.” She got up and faced him. He sensed her turmoil. “I don’t want to know what you’re up to, Vince,” she said softly. “But please cover your ass?” She stepped forward and hugged him unexpectedly, and his eyes widened. “And don’t die.”

They agreed on an encrypted channel for the UWAN satellite comm units to keep their messages short and cryptic. When he returned to his truck with Bandi, he found a yellow flashing LED indicating a text from Shannon.

’CALL ANIMAL CONTROL’

“Craig, Vince. What’s up?”

“A silent BOLO is out on a stolen red pickup taken near the Enterprise rental by Rockford airport,” the deep voice rumbled in his ear.

“What’s a ‘silent BOLO’?” he asked while scanning the streets next to the law office. His SUV was the only vehicle.

“Word of mouth only, among local LEO units,” he replied. “These fuckers are in the system, and we don’t want to tip them off.”

Vince was impressed and said so.

“Kid, some of us are older than Google,” he snorted. “But we did our jobs without today’s sophisticated gadgets.”

‘Point taken, ’ he mused. “Has anyone reported seeing it?”

“It was spotted by the Red Apple and Chet’s Gas Mart a few hours ago. It has Idaho plates. Units canvassed the area, but it’s gone.”

“Police scanner?”

“Nope, we’re using cell phones.”

‘Okay then, ’ he thought as he started the Excursion and pulled onto the main street. “I’ll let you know if I spot them. I’m heading back to the cabin now.”

“Watch your six, bud.”

“Copy that.” He hung up and called Shannon. She answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly.

“Hey, where are you?”

“Still in Portland. Ikea was freakin’ huge!” she replied. “What’s going on with you?”

He updated her about the red truck and the silent BOLO. “If you see it, go to the nearest cop shop, understand?” He cruised through town with the small utility trailer, glancing at the vehicles.

“What do Idaho plates look like?”

“They’re red on top, white in the middle, and blue on the bottom.” He scanned a used car lot as he headed south toward the freeway, then back to his rear view — “Actually, don’t worry about the truck.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why?”

“Because they just pulled in behind me,” he replied, studying the burgundy Nissan Frontier in his mirror. Their headlights were on despite the daylight. He counted three silhouettes in the cab.

“Jesus Christ! Baby, lose them—”

“Hell-to-the-no, babe,” he snorted. “Then I’d have to find them all over again—” ‘How did they find me so quickly?’ “I need to call Craig back. In the meantime, stay away from here. Head the opposite direction. Go to the coast, get a hotel, and stay there until I okay it. Don’t use any cards!”

“Okay,” she replied, “What about you?”

“Don’t worry. Your priority is keeping Anna safe. I’ll be okay. These fools stole a cheap Frontier without four-wheel drive. They can’t follow me.” He grinned as a plan formed. “I gotta go.”

“Wait! Baby ... I don’t have much money.”

“Use the cash.”

“What cash?”

“In your visor.”

“In my—” he heard shuffling, then, “Oh, you little shit!”

“How did they find me so fast?” he demanded.

“Probably a tracker,” the giant man replied. “Where are you headed now?”

“I’m taking them to the old Neal Creek off-road park. What do you mean ‘tracker’?”

“It’s a GPS device. They can be as small as a quarter. They probably stuck it to your rear bumper. You mean the sledding area by the old Fir Mountain schoolhouse?”

“Yup. I got a new sled to break in.”

“Let me know when you’re on 1710, and we’ll box them in.”

‘We?’

Surprisingly, no other off-road enthusiasts were around as he turned his vehicle around and climbed out of the Excursion. It took him two and a half minutes to remove the ties and unload the snowmobile. It took twice as long to get Bandi into her insulated vest to protect her from the chill of high-speed sledding. Once he donned his heavy parka and gloves, he mounted the sled and pulled his tinted goggles over his face. The Excalibur TwinStrike was slung over his shoulder with two arrows locked into the rails. Bandi quickly jumped onto his lap, and they raced across the thick, unblemished powder to the north. The region was filled with tall fir, larch, and lodgepole, which gave way to deciduous alder, birch, and aspen as they approached and crossed frozen tributaries.

It was exhilarating to feel the freezing air as they flew across the white blanket. ‘There’s no way they made it to the last bridge, ’ he thought as he tracked further northwest, peering for any sign of the road to the old trailhead. The Excursion had difficulty without the plow, but with determination, patience, and local winter-driving know-how, he made it to the base where sledders came to rip around the snowy wonderland. Bandi was indifferent to the chill wind over the windshield, perched with her haunches in his lap and her forepaws on the snow machine’s handlebars. Her tongue lolled as she took in the scenery.

‘There!’ He spotted a metallic glint of a deep red truck ahead and to his left, adjusting his course toward the stuck vehicle. Two figures clung to the truck’s rear, trying to free it while the driver revved the engine and spun out. They were on the rear bumper, bouncing as he approached, trying to jolt the vehicle out of the trench. They stopped to look as he drew closer.

He cruised casually across the road behind them, then circled 360 degrees before stopping five yards from the driver’s door. The window was down, and he could see the driver’s breath in the cold air. Glancing up, he saw Dusk approaching. The engine quieted to a low idle when he let off the throttle.

“You boys are stuck real’ good,” he said as he lifted his goggles and pulled the crossbow over his shoulder.

“Can you tow us out, friend?” the driver called. The door opened, and a tall, blonde man climbed out. The other two stepped down from the bumper and seemed suspicious. Everything about them set off his ‘creep’ radar.

He shook his head. “Not with this baby,” he replied, holding his weapon with the twin arrows pointed down to the snow. “I’d have to get my truck. The one you were following.” He sensed the guarded expressions and shrugged. “Next time, steal a rig suited to these conditions.” He noticed the furthest guy at the truck’s rear step around toward the far side and shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“If you knew what’s best, you’d return the woman and forget you ever knew her,” the driver spat. “She’s not worth dying over.”

Vince aimed the crossbow at the driver. “Seems many have had similar thoughts lately,” he replied. “But that’s not important because she’s not with me. In fact, she isn’t even in the area. I sent her away when you idiots started shaking down the town for her.” He turned the crossbow toward the sketchy man in the rear. “I said, ‘I wouldn’t do that’.”

“Consider your choices,” the driver warned. He unzipped his heavy jacket as Vince turned the crossbow back on him. He smirked and opened his jacket, revealing a shoulder holster.

Vince placed his gloved finger over the first trigger. “You know? I might recognize you from Anna’s description.”

The driver grinned cruelly. “Ah, the Ivanova cunt would be familiar with me,” he leered. “We know each other well.” His accent dripped with scorn.

‘Bad choice of words, Boris, ’ he thought as he braced the crossbow against his shoulder. The man turned just as Vince sighted. He adjusted his aim at the last second before pulling the trigger with a loud crack. At less than twenty feet, the missile struck the man’s neck. It didn’t impact his cervical spine because he had turned away. Instead, the lethal tip pierced the soft tissues and blood vessels of his throat, passing clean through, leaving a spray of blood across the windshield as it vanished.

He heard a sick gurgling wheeze escape from the blonde man’s face as he reached for his throat in disbelief before collapsing. He swung the crossbow to his right, but both men dove behind the pickup and dived for cover.

‘Gotta go,’ he decided and released the weapon to hang at his side before grabbing the handlebars and launching the snow machine onto the road behind the stuck vehicle. Crossing behind the truck, he plunged into the soft powder on the other side, grabbing Bandi’s vest to prevent her from falling off the sled. He saw the passenger door swing open and glanced into the side mirror to watch as one of the men reached inside.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he yelled over the screaming Polaris motor as they flew across the clearing at 65 mph. He was heading north towards a thick copse of saplings, hoping to make it before they could open fire. ‘I’m not gonna make it!’ He knew as the seconds ticked by and the trees remained out of reach. “Hang on!” he yelled, yanking the snow machine into a hard left turn before wrenching it back to the right, ejecting a wall of snow several meters high. He repeated the maneuver and alternated his turns to remain unpredictable and obscure himself. Unfortunately, he eliminated his view of the gunmen and any way of assessing the threat from behind. Would he hear gunfire over the engine noise?

He was 20 yards from the thicket when he felt something hit the rear bumper cowling. His reflexes steered the racing machine right before he charged into the grove half a second later. His adrenalin-flooded mind noticed sapling branches snapping before entering the thicket. Then he ducked and tried to protect himself and Bandi from the low-hanging branches as they plummeted through the young trees. Maneuvering was the last thing on his mind, yet he yanked the machine right to avoid a collision with a larger alder that had appeared swiftly.

After releasing the throttle in the grove, their velocity bled off slowly as they smashed through the saplings. He glanced up, and his eyes flew open as the ground stopped! It was another creek bed! “Oh Shit—” he yelled as they became airborne. Had he had a second to prepare, he would’ve tried to gun the motor and jump across the four-meter valley. Instead, the nose of his sled dipped as they dove into the opposite bank. “FUCK!” He tried to pull back on the handlebars to land correctly. Fortunately, the powder was deep, and nothing hazardous was hidden. His breath exploded from his lungs on impact, but he remained in his seat.

The motor coughed and sputtered but caught itself as he slipped backward toward the frozen creek. He used the throttle to control his descent until the sled stopped. “Goddamn!” he exclaimed as he reached down to—. Where was his dog? Echoes of gunfire reached his ears as the motor returned to a low putter. “Bandi!”

He turned towards a disturbance in the deep snow on the opposite bank. Her black and white head erupted from the drift, and she glanced around with her mouth open and tongue hanging out. She turned to his voice and gave an exhilarated expression. ‘C’mon, Dad, let’s do it again!’ Then she leaped from the snow and bounded down the creek bed, shaking herself once beside him. Another burst of gunfire rang out through the trees, and he heard branches snapping above and behind him.

He killed the engine and dismounted the snowmobile, unslinging the crossbow. “Come on,” he told his furry companion and began plodding through the snow. He re-cocked the bottom rail with another hunting tip as he headed toward the bridge, planning to approach the red Nissan from behind. “Shhh,” he warned the pup as they left the thicket, meeting her mismatched eyes. She huffed silently as if to say, ‘I’m not stupid!’

He removed his goggles and tucked them into a coat pocket. Enough light remained for visibility as he peeked over the bank towards the road where the stuck truck was. It was still there. He spotted both gunmen walking through the clearing to the right, following his tracks into the grove of saplings. They were carrying rifles and spread several feet apart.

He ducked back and considered his options. He decided to backtrack toward the sled and blend into the trees to flank them. Then he straightened as a new sound reached his ears. It was several sounds, and he recognized the high-pitched ripping noise of at least two other snow machines and a lower, more mechanical noise, like tractor treads. They were coming from the north, so he turned and jogged back to the bridge away from the trees.

Two sleds appeared on either side of the road, each with two riders. The closest one spotted him and turned to head him off. The driver signaled the other pair, and they raced over to join them. The heavily burdened snow machines plowed more than skipped across the surface. The lead machine took the creek bed at an angle and nearly rolled while descending to the frozen tributary. The second detoured and pulled up on the bridge. He heard a heavier vehicle approaching slowly once the engine noise died down.

“You Vince?” a heavyset man with wild red hair bursting from his goggles and hood asked. The rider behind him wore hodge-podge apparel, from worn snow pants to a red plaid lumber jacket. Both carried assault rifles—the rider’s slung low in front and the passenger’s across his back.

“Yeah,” he replied as the rear passenger of the lead sled climbed off and approached him. He was younger and had light blonde hair and a full beard.

“I’m Hardy. This is my brother Cole,” he said, shaking hands. “Craig is following up in the snow cat with three others.”

They shook hands, and the blonde man patted Bandi, who decided the newcomers were non-threatening and maybe had cookies. Hardy’s eyes lit up at the double-railed crossbow. “Dude!” he exclaimed. “That is fucking dope!”

“What’s the sitrep on the kidnappers?” Cole asked, ignoring his brother’s infatuation.

Once the black and white pup realized no treats were coming, she went to the other riders 30 yards away.

“I killed the driver over there,” Vince replied, pointing South. “They got stuck, and I flanked them with my sled—”

“And a crossbow?” Hardy laughed. “We heard automatic fire a few minutes ago.”

“I ran across the field and through those trees,” he indicated. “The other two are chasing me. I was about to flank them when you showed up.” He glanced north as the snow cat appeared. “They probably heard you, so who knows where they are now.”

Cole pulled out a handheld radio and barked, “Skittles! Is the drone up yet?”

A young female voice cursed, “Duh! And stop calling me Skittles—fat ass!”

Hardy grinned at Vince, “That’s our kid sister Maggy.” He pointed at the bridge where a smaller female figure stood beside the snow machine holding a tablet. Her bright red hair spilled out of her hood. She glanced back and raised a one-finger salute.

“Maintain radio discipline!” Craig barked over the radio. “And Maggy! Get your ass down! You’re standing out like a fucking target!”

Vince saw the petite figure drop behind the snow machine while the driver disembarked and unslung his rifle, aiming it at the trees. Bandi dashed around excitedly.

The big red-haired man reported on his radio, updating the animal control cop as he navigated the snow cat off the road before the bridge, following the creek’s bank toward them and the trees. He halted 35 yards away, and Vince watched four heavily armed figures exit the cab. He heard Craig belting out orders, and they spread out as they approached the bank, dropping to the snowy ground and taking up positions.

“Got eyes on ‘em yet?” the giant man rumbled over his radio.

“Give me a damn sec’ will you?” the girl griped. “I just got over the creek bed, and we’re approaching the trees from the north side—” There was silence, then, “Holy shit! That’s the Polaris Khaos off Danno’s showroom floor! Sick!”

Hardy glanced at Vince enviously. “Dude, you gotta be loaded to afford that beast!”

“Yeah,” Vince grumbled, scanning the darkening sky for the drone. “You can take it for a spin when this is over.”

“Suh-weet, dude!”

“I got ‘em!” the girl said excitedly over the radio. Then, she became guarded. “Uh, Hard ... Cole ... those assholes are less than 200 feet from your position!” She sounded worried, and both brothers dropped to their knees as they aimed up the bank toward the thicket. “They followed the sled tracks and darted through the powder, taking the shortest route into the trees when they heard us.” There was a pause, and only the cat’s engine disrupted the growing darkness. “They are hiding behind a downed tree facing y’all—” Then she gasped. “They are looking up ... they hear the drone—”

Gunfire shattered the dusk. Vince gasped and dove for the bank beside the brothers, who cursed.

Several bursts of automatic fire preceded the echoing reports.

“They shot at me!” Maggy cried. “Those fuckers almost killed my drone!”

She was cut off as the three gunmen on the opposite bank opened fire. Even without automatic weapons, it sounded like a warzone, and Vince covered his ears as he buried his face in the snow. Then it ceased abruptly, and he could hear Craig screaming, “Cease fire! Goddamn it! Hold your fucking fire!”

After the gunfire stopped, Vince sprinted back up the creek bed towards his snow machine to escape the crossfire. He heard heavy footsteps and breathing as the brothers followed. Once the sled appeared, he climbed up the bank to his left and dropped to his chest. He heard the heavy panting of the men behind him, and then his heart stopped when the radio squelched. He whirled and hissed, “Turn that fucking thing off!”

A snow machine engine revved to his left, and he guessed the bridge was no longer safe. It raced south toward the stuck Nissan. More gunfire erupted, and he flinched at the closeness. He spotted the muzzle flashes less than fifty yards away. Then, the gunfire ceased, and darkness covered the area. Spots of light disrupted his night vision, but he knew where the gunmen were hiding and crawled forward as quietly as possible while Hardy and Cole covered him.

It became pitch black, and he squinted to see the tree silhouettes against the snowy backdrop. ‘Fuck! I can’t see anything!’ he cursed.

As if by divine intervention or prescience, a KC lightbar atop the snow cat suddenly flared up and illuminated the area like daytime. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, and suddenly, he could make out the trees between him and the gunmen.

“LISTEN UP!” Craig’s voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “YOU FUCKERS GET ONE CHANCE TO SURRENDER!”

Vince used the noise to move forward 20 feet. He spotted the log Maggy mentioned and detected movement beyond it. He heard murmuring ahead and raised the TwinStrike to look through the scope. It was challenging while prone in the snow, but he knew better than to lift his body any higher.

Another pair of lights flared up directly ahead. It had to be the other sled that had raced forward. They positioned themselves across the field, near the Nissan, and the fallen log suddenly stood out clearly. He lifted his shoulders slightly to rest his cheek against the stock to peer through the scope.

“WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED AND OUT GUNNED!”

Suddenly, a sharp silhouette of a gunman appeared, rising from behind the log. He spun toward the new light source and raised his weapon. His torso filled Vince’s view, and he braced the crossbow against his shoulder.

THWACK!

He dropped after firing, burying his face in the snow. Half a second later, he heard a thud and a cry of pain and surprise. Then, a man shrieked in agony. He didn’t see the figure topple but winced as he squeezed the trigger of his weapon, filling the sky with reports before emptying his magazine. Once the gunfire faded, he heard the man groan while his partner cursed.

Vince lifted himself and saw the other gunman’s silhouette against the backlight. “DROP THAT GUN!” he shouted, causing the man to jerk and spin. “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, FUCKER!”

“SURRENDER NOW AND LIVE!” Craig’s voice blasted over the loudspeaker. “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!”

The gunman hesitated, trying to peer back at Vince through the saplings. He raised his crossbow and aimed at the figure’s torso. The man gripped his rifle uncertainly, then twitched as the loudspeaker filled the clearing, “C’MON MAN ... DON’T MAKE US KILL YOU, TOO. YOU GOT THREE SECONDS—”

‘One Mississippi,” Vince thought as he braced the stock against his shoulder. “Two Mississippi—”

He took a breath, held it, and squeezed the other trigger.

THWACK!

The gunman screamed. Vince felt sick as he lowered his aim at the last second. He would never attempt a less-than-lethal shot against a game animal; the thought of causing intentional torment made him ill. But this target was hardly innocent, and he felt no such humanity as he shot him in the lower torso. He couldn’t be sure if he had struck the gut or pelvis, but from the screams, it was more than a flesh wound. He watched the man collapse before rising.

No more gunfire erupted as he charged forward, closing the final yards in seconds with the breathless brothers behind him.

“Targets down! Hold your fire!” Hardy gasped into his radio as he tried to keep up.

Vince stayed apart as the gunmen were zip-tied and dragged across the clearing to their stolen truck. Two snow machines raced to the thicket, each with two riders, while Craig navigated the larger snow cat along the road, picking up the young woman. Hardy returned to fetch Vince’s Polaris and took a longer route before meeting the others.

The driver of the stolen pickup was dead from a horrific neck wound. The second gunman was in bad shape, with a crossbow bolt through his chest. He was barely alive, suggesting the missile missed his heart and major vessels. He was unresponsive, in shock, with foamy blood around his mouth. The third man, with short dark hair, was pale and in pain from an arrow in his lower abdomen and pelvis.

“This one won’t make it, Craig,” a newcomer said, standing over the two surviving traffickers.

The retired cop grunted and spat in the snow. “We gotta try anyway. Let’s get ‘em into the cat and head back to town.” He looked at Vince. “Come with me while the boys clean this up. Give ‘em your keys.”

Vince nodded and tossed the keys to his Excursion to Hardy. “You can pull the Nissan out with the winch,” he said as the two injured gunmen were loaded into the tracked vehicle.

“Maggy, crawl into the back and keep an eye on them,” the giant man grumbled.

The red-haired girl complied, her eyes lighting up when he handed her a Glock.

Minutes later, Vince was crammed into the tight cab with Craig driving, and Bandi squeezed between them, studying the girl and the captives in the back.

“What’s the plan?” Vince asked as they picked up speed in the heavy snow.

“We need to get ‘em to the ER,” Craig replied. “The Feds can use them alive.”

“Can we trust anyone?”

“Got any better ideas?”

Vince considered his question before pulling out his sat phone.

Terri answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Argyle, this is Vincent Hargrove.”

“Vince!” she replied, “I didn’t recognize the number—”

“I’m in the sticks using a satphone.”

“What do you need?” He sensed uncertainty and suspicion in her voice.

“You’re close with that Special Agent in Denver?”

“Em? Yeah ... Why?”

“How soon can you reach her?

“What—” she stammered. “Why? Vincent ... What did you do?”

Hours later, Vince was in a conference room overlooking the front of the Trauma Center in East Portland. Streetlights lit the parking area, and he stood before the windows, looking down at the fleet of government vehicles. He saw law enforcement vehicles, Suburbans, and tactical vehicles from the FBI, Homeland Security, and the ATF. Black helicopters were parked next to the helo pad along with the medical chopper that had flown the victims from Rockford. The parking lot resembled a military camp.

A door opened behind him, and he turned to see an elderly man with cropped white hair and a robust military bearing enter, followed by others. All wore black tactical coveralls with FBI blazers.

“Mr. Braun will pull through despite your efforts,” he stated with a bemused mid-west accent. “His Bosnian colleague Adin Kovač is out of surgery and recovering under heavy guard.”

Vince stayed silent as the older man approached. Nearby, Craig sat at the conference table, hunched over a coffee and a notepad.

“Elliot Marconi, Special Agent in Charge of the Portland Branch,” the agent introduced himself.

Vince shook his hand firmly. “Bosnian?”

The SAIC nodded. “The deceased whose head you nearly took off with that crossbow—was another German counterpart of Herr Braun’s named Hermon Weber.” He poured himself a cup of coffee. “According to my Homeland colleagues, he operated a multinational human trafficking ring investigated by organizations from both sides of the Atlantic, including Interpol.”

“Damn shame you killed him,” another uniformed man said. “If he’d talked, it would’ve been invaluable.”

“If your aunt had balls, she’d be your uncle,” the SAIC replied sourly. “Relax, Roger, take the win.” Everyone turned when the door burst open.

A stern red-haired woman entered the conference room wearing a colorful maternity business casual suit. She carried a large bag and peered at everyone. Her expression lightened when she saw Vince holding a cup of coffee by the windows.

“Hi, Terri,” he greeted, pleased to see a friendly face.

“Gentlemen,” she said as she shuffled across the room. “I’m Theresa Argyle, Mr. Hargrove’s attorney.” She set her bag at the end of the table and took the seat Vince pulled out for her. He went to the coffee service and grabbed an Evian from an ice chest. She thanked him as he handed it to her and took out a laptop and legal pad from her bag. “Please introduce yourselves and update me on the inquiry.” She placed a stack of business cards on the table.

“Relax, counselor,” special agent Marconi replied. He introduced himself and the others. “We’re here to gather testimony about your client’s involvement in capturing three felons wanted from here to Amsterdam.” He sat at the table and nodded for the others to sit. “If we had concerns about Mr. Hargrove’s involvement or character, this would be handled differently.”

“Is it a testimony deposition?”

The SAIC remained calm as he shook his head. “We’re trying to gather the facts, ma’am.” He glanced at Vince, “Did someone ask you for a statement?”

Vince nodded toward the table at another legal pad and a pen. He had written over a dozen pages in the last couple of hours.

One agent started to rise, but Terri beat him to it. “I’d like to review my client’s statement first, if you don’t mind,” she said firmly.