Over the course of the next ten minutes, the door opened three times, each time admitting a man dressed in the regulation garb of a government agent. Navy blue blazers, gray flannel trousers, white shirts and rep ties abounded in the Department of the Treasury building as well as the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and every other security agency on Capitol Hill. The last person to enter was Cam's direct supervisor, Stuart Carlisle. They had known each other for over a decade and were probably as close to friends as one could be in that kind of environment. Each understood that regardless of personal feelings, the system they served had the ultimate power, and, like all governments, was not immune to error. Error that sometimes destroyed careers and lives. They also both believed that however flawed, it was probably the best version currently available.


Carlisle nodded to her briefly and proceeded to the head of the table. From the end opposite him, a mid-forties, iron-gray haired man, thin and fit appearing, coolly appraised each individual in the room. Across from Cam, to the left of the redhead, a man about Cam's age with a faint five o'clock shadow who looked like he might have played football in college, sat staring at her, something hard in his gaze. Cam did not recognize any of the other people present, but she recognized the type. The woman, early thirties, short well-cut hair, understated make-up, conservative suit, had a look of self-contained confidence that suggested she didn't work for any of the men in the room. An independent consultant or perhaps a forensic analyst. She had apparently come to give an opinion, and she probably didn't care about inter-agency politics. The men were a different matter all together. The two men in addition to Carlisle were FBI, CIA, or both. They were unsmiling, faintly belligerent looking, and plainly annoyed -- probably because the meeting wasn't on their turf. That concerned Cam. Because if the meeting was here on her ground, it suggested that it had to do with Blair, and that worried her more than she cared to admit.


Carlisle, at precisely 0800, began to speak. "Let's get the introductions out of the way. Secret Service Agent Cameron Roberts, who commands Egret's security detail," he said, nodding at Cam, his eyes unreadable as they skimmed over hers. Indicating the gray-haired man at the far end of the table, he went on, "Robert Owens, National Security Agency. Special Agent Lindsey Ryan, from the behavioral science division of the FBI," signifying the redhead, "and," pointing to the man opposite Cam, "Patrick Doyle, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI task force investigating Lover Boy."


Cam stiffened but her expression remained carefully neutral. Lover Boy was the code name assigned to the man who had stalked Blair Powell the previous year, leaving her messages, photographing her, and presumably making an assassination attempt which had resulted in Cam being wounded. This was the first that she had heard of any ongoing task force. The fact that Mac had not mentioned it led her to believe he was unaware of it also. Which meant the investigation had been taken out of the hands of the Secret Service, leaving the people directly responsible for Blair's safety in the dark. She was furious, but she needed more information before she knew precisely where to direct her anger. So she listened, her fists clenched under the table, her jaws clamped tightly enough to make her teeth ache.




Chapter Seven

For a moment, the room was silent as they each took stock of one another. Then the NSA man cleared his throat and said in a hoarse voice, "I'll let Doyle bring you up to speed on recent domestic developments. You'll find a summary of current information and analyses in the binder." He began to pass prepared folders to each of them from a stack he had carried in with him. "From a national security standpoint, we're concerned about the President's upcoming summit meetings on the global warming agreement with the European council members next month. In addition, he'll be attending the World Trade Organization meeting in Quebec in just a few days. Any act of terrorism, including an attack on Egret, would obviously disrupt those plans."


"We don't have anything to indicate that Lover Boy is a member of any group, national or international, with a political agenda," Doyle said, his voice hard-edged with a hint of Midwestern accent. His tone and expression suggested that he wasn't overly interested in Owens's national security issues.


"Nothing in the psychological profile suggests that he is philosophically or politically motivated," Lindsey Ryan, the behavioral scientist, interjected. "'The message content - poetic verses, sexual ideation, the fixation on knowing where she is and what she's doing - these things indicate a distorted sense of reality. Nevertheless, his ability to make repeated contact with her, and effectively elude capture for a prolonged period of time, indicates an intelligent and highly organized personality. Nevertheless, all of his focus has been her. He's obsessed withher . This isn't about the President."


"We have to assume that anything directed at Egret, even remotely, is related to the President," Owens said testily, his remarks clearly directed at Doyle.


Cam, working hard to contain her temper, listened to the two men engage in verbal debate while ignoring the obvious importance of Ryan's assessment. It was clear to her that Blair was of much less concern to either man than establishing who had the greater stake in seeing the UNSUB captured.


"Exactly where do we stand on the degree of penetration as far as Egret is concerned?" Cam asked, barely managing to keep the wrath out of her voice. She needed to know how close this psychopath had managed to get to Blair this time.


Doyle, looking impatient, raised his voice a notch and continued as if no one else had said anything. "Until the last ten days, all contacts from Lover Boy have occurred via electronic transmission, specifically Internet messages, delivered directly to the subject's personal email accounts. Despite our attempts to trace the point of origin, we have been unable to verify a source. Changing Egret's accounts, rerouting through substations and aliases, and erecting electronic filters has all been ineffective. His messages to date have been," he hesitated a moment as if considering how to phrase his comments, then continued, "mostly of a sexually suggestive nature."


"Is he escalating?" Cam questioned, her breath constricting in her chest. This was why she had been recalled. And if the task force had been ongoing for months, something had changed recently. She tried not to think about the fact that Blair had almost slipped their surveillance yesterday.


Doyle shuffled a few papers, looking annoyed. "He was inactive for a period of time following the shooting last year. Of course every government agency including the Secret Service, FBI, and CIA were involved in the manhunt, and he didn't have much choice but to go under. He surfaced again three months ago."


"Three months," Cam repeated, her eyes boring into Doyle's. "Threemonths and you're just advising her security detail now?"


"I knew," Stuart Carlisle said, unable to completely conceal his discomfort. He wasn't about to explain that his decision to have the task force run out of New York, and by his people, had been overruled by the Security Chief. He was still bitter, but he had orders to follow too.


Cam turned to him, knowing better than to break rank in mixed company and question his judgment or his authority, but there was criticism in her eyes, and she knew Stuart saw it.


"The Secret Service isn't equipped to handle this kind of scenario," Doyle said dismissively.


"We're on scene," Cam retorted, "and we're the ones who know the day to day situation best. A threat like this demands we increase our readiness level." Everything about the way they guarded Blair needed to change.For god's sake, she'd been underprotected for months!


"We've had a presence," Doyle snapped. "We're more than capable of securing her."


"Not the way we can," Cam answered, still unable to believe that Stuart Carlisle had let this happen. But she couldn't back down, not when it was Blair's life at stake. "We need to take the lead in this investigation."


Doyle's color darkened as his lips curled slightly in derision. "You people knew about him in the beginning and your security was so ineffective it almost got Egret killed. I don't think you're up to it."


Cam's voice was cold, her words razor-edged. "By excluding the Secret Service from your intelligence, you put Egret at severe risk. Unacceptable risk.Untenable risk."


"Roberts," Carlisle warned from beside her. She had effectively accused the FBI task force leader of endangering the life of the President's daughter, which at the very least constituted dereliction of duty, and according to strict interpretation, could be considered an indictable offense.


She continued as if her supervisor hadn't said anything. "I want every piece of data, every transmission, every record, every projection and profile that you currently have. I want-"


"You'll get whatever I say -" Doyle began, leaning forward, the muscles in his formidable neck straining.


Cam stood quickly, placing her hands flat on the table, looking down at him. "Every single word, Doyle, or I'll personally file a report citing your negligence and hand carry it to the Oval Office."


Doyle came out of his chair faster than a man his size ought to be able to move. "You threaten me, Roberts, and I'll find the dirt you think you've been able to hide and I'll bury you in it."


Cam smiled faintly, her voice quiet but very clear. "You don't know me very well if you think that will frighten me."


Neither of them heard the door open behind them as they stared at each other, taking measure for the fight that was sure to come.


"From what I hear, you shouldn't even be on this detail," Doyle said derisively. "I'd like to know whose piss-poor excuse for a decision that was."


"I assume that would be mine," a deep male voice said calmly.


Cam straightened and turned toward the voice as the others hastened to stand for the President of the United States.


*


Eleven hours later she was back in NYC, having reviewed as much of the information regarding Lover Boy's recent activities as she could access through channels. She knew there was more, but it would take her a while to get at it. Now that she understood why she had been recalled from Florida, her work really began. But first there was personal business she needed to put to rest.


Cam stopped just inside the door and stared at Blair, who had clearly not been expecting her. She looked like she was dressed to go out, wearing a patterned silk blazer over a thin pale camisole and loose black trousers. Cam wondered fleetingly if she were meeting someone. She pushed that thought away, because she was in no position to change it.


"What is it?" Blair said, a quick surge of fear produced by the stony expression in Cam's eyes. "What's happened?"


"Why didn't you tell me?" Cam said, her voice low and deadly. She was struggling so hard to contain her anger she could barely get the words out.


"I'm not sure what you mean," she said, stalling, hoping that it wasn't what she thought. But she knew it was, it couldn't be anything else. She had hoped, with Cam out of NYC, away from her detail, she could keep it from her. Keep her out of it. Keep her safe.


"You let me make love to you, you let methat close, and you couldn't tell me that he was back?" Cam seethed, her apprehension for Blair's safety and her fury at being excluded both by Blair and the FBI nearly made her mad. "How in God's name could youdo that? I thought -" she meant to say,I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought we had something.


She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and gathered her strength. This was not about her. Her relationship with Blair wasn't the issue anymore. She had to separate her personal feelings from what was happening now. The clear and present danger that Lover Boy presented to Blair was what mattered. Not how she felt, not her disappointment, nor her sense of betrayal. She concentrated on her duty, the one thing that always focused her, the one thing she always depended upon to drive the anger away.