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family sued and the Times got the story.”
    â€œWhat difference does that make?”
    â€œA statement from you and a statement from Agent Jimenez is not a proper investigation—”
    â€œYou planning to get a statement from Perez?”
    Finn heard the squeak as Glenn shifted in his leather chair.
    â€œThis isn’t a joke, Agent Finn. The government’s being sued. People in Washington are asking questions. Worse than that, the media’s having a field day. They’ll say there was a cover-up. Customs and Border Protection gets enough bad press as it is.”
    It had been a long night. Finn was tired. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. But he pushed back because he knew it mattered.
    â€œDoesn’t matter whether they say there was a cover-up or not, so long as there wasn’t one. He was shooting at us. I did my job. That’s it.”
    â€œIt’s more complicated than that.”
    â€œYou mean it’s ruining your chance of promotion?”
    â€œYou’re forgetting that I’m your boss.”
    â€œExactly. You’re meant to be on my side.”
    â€œOf course I’m on your side,” said Glenn, “But let’s not make it about who’s on whose side. Don’t be so black-and-white.”
    Finn fumed. This was what it meant to have a civilian for a boss. No sense of corps.
    â€œWhat about La Catrina ?” he said.
    â€œWhat about her?”
    â€œYou’ve only got one forensics guy searching her. It’s not enough.”
    â€œWe had a team go over her, top to bottom. There’s nothing there.”
    â€œOf course there is, otherwise Perez wouldn’t have run. They just haven’t found it yet.”
    â€œI can’t waste precious resources, Agent Finn.”
    Finn gave up. He got up to go.
    â€œOne moment, Agent Finn. The IA agents want to speak to you, obviously. I’ve arranged an interview for tomorrow morning, nine A.M.”
    â€œAn interview?”
    â€œTo establish the facts.”
    â€œYou could’ve just e-mailed them my incident report.”
    â€œThey said they want to hear it from you.”
    Finn walked toward the door.
    â€œOh, and one more thing,” said Glenn. “Obviously, you’re going to have to stay under the radar for a while.”
    Finn narrowed his eyes. “‘Under the radar’?”
    â€œI’m pulling you off the water and seconding you to field operations. Just until this blows over.”
    Glenn, in his perfectly pressed uniform, behind his gleaming, empty desk with the framed photo of his prize on it, leaned back in his chair.
    â€œI’ve got the highest intercept rate on this station, sir, ” said Finn.
    â€œCargo inspection is a worthwhile job. You’ll do fine. And above all, don’t talk to any media people. Any journalist tries to talk to you, you send them to me, you hear? Any questions?”
    Finn pointed at the photo on the desk. “What bait did you use?”
    It took Glenn a moment to understand. “Mackerel,” he said.
    Finn nodded. “That’s a striped marlin,” he said. “Protected species, right?”
    â€œNot down in Mexico. I took that one off Alijos Rocks, in Mexican waters,” said Glenn, his voice swelling with pride.
    â€œMexican waters,” said Finn. “Right.”
    He left the room.
    *   *   *
    Finn walked out of the Long Beach Air and Marine Station, a single-story, cinder-block, flat-roofed building behind a stand of drooping gray gum trees that did nothing to disguise the architect’s half-assed effort. Put some razor wire on the wall and you’d think it was a prison block like the ones down the road, he thought. Like every other CBP agent stationed on Terminal Island, Finn had to drive past the brand-spanking-new coast guard HQ, all glass and steel and irrigated lawns, on his way to work. And in Washington they wondered why the CBP had the