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have to have both of those codes to identify an individual project. No, I don’t see a connection between what we do at INESCO and what happened at our home.”
    “What if I were to tell you that the young man your husband injured was a former employee of your company?” Agent Porter asked.
    Valerie laughed and said, “I recognized his face, and if I’m not mistaken, he was employed in our rubber division as an entry-level compounder. I’d have to look at his employee file to be 100% certain about that, but he had nothing to do with, and therefore no knowledge of, anything going on in R&D.”
    Agent Porter stood up as his two silent cronies began packing up their files and other paperwork.
    “One other thing I’d like to ask you, and that’s, how does a woman with no history of firearms training that we could find make a shot like the one that killed the intruder? I mean, even on my best day, under perfect conditions at the range at Quantico, I can’t hit the bull’s eye. But you, Mrs. Valerie Granger, shot a man who was twenty-seven feet away in partial light between the eyes. How’s that possible?”
    “My dad taught me to shoot when I was a kid,” Valerie said.
    “That’s your answer?” he asked. He stared down at Valerie for a little too long before going on.
    “Okay. I see how it is. The conclusion we reached about thirty minutes after we arrived in Park City is that the unfortunate incident at your home was a home invasion by what turns out to be a couple of out of work ex-cons. The man that was killed was James Smotherman, recently paroled from the Federal Penitentiary in Atlanta. I’m sure with a few additional man-hours, the two men that entered your home illegally will be shown to have known each other in some capacity. Furthermore, I’m confident that the man in the hospital is Daniel Pickett, who targeted your home because of his having worked briefly as a low-level employee at INESCO. He most likely assumed there was cash or other valuables on hand. This incident was not an attempt to kidnap Leecy Granger, but they pay me to investigate, so I investigated. It was nice to meet you all, and I apologize if my line of questions ruffled any feathers. It’s my job to find the answers, and that’s not always a pleasant process to undertake.”
    The Smith boys, as if on cue, stood and filed out of the room, with Agent Porter lagging behind.
    “I’ll inform Chief Rawlings this case is closed and there’s no need for any further concern. Good day, Grangers.” He walked through the open door, but stopped as if something occurred to him, and turning, he came back into the room.
    “One last thing,” he began, “when I started with the FBI in 2002, there were stories – more like rumors really – floating through the agency. I never gave the stories much credence till I read your file this morning, Ron. Do you want to know why?”
    “Not really,” I said.
    “Well, I’ll tell you; I think you will find it interesting. See, the stories I heard were about a Native American CIA agent operating in the Middle East and Europe in the mid 90s. The rumor was, this operator was the CIA’s best. He was so good, in fact, that he operated alone. I remember thinking that was ridiculous. I knew the CIA had kill teams, but no one believed there was this single guy out there somewhere. I didn’t believe it. I dismissed the rumors. That’s until I read your file and immediately began to wonder if this was the guy. I mean why wouldn’t I think that? Now, add to the file what you did to Mr. Pickett with your bare hands and you know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking this is the guy. I’m thinking the rumors I’d heard all those years ago are actually true.” Agent Porter leaned in real close to me and asked, “Just between us, are you the guy?”
    I sat there looking at the now empty table, listening to Agent Porter and running down my list of things I didn’t like about the Smith boys. Valerie was now