The Program Read Online Free PDF Page A

Why?"
    "It may sound trite as hell, Marshal, but I love the Service."
    "It doesn't sound trite to me, Rackley. Not at all." Tannino rooted around in his file cabinet for an oath - of - office form, then stood. "Raise your right hand and repeat after me."
    Gripping his holstered .357, the badge weighing heavy but comforting in the back pocket of his khaki cargo pants, Tim headed to the Roybal Center's Garden Level. After numerous delays and endless bitching, the deputy offices had finally been moved from the shoddier Federal Building next door. It was another temporary arrangement, until the Service took over the third floor from Secret Service, its final step up the ladder of budgetary recognition. The neat lines of desks -- cheap, dark wood with shiny faux-gold pulls -- and the two waist-high barriers segmenting the room added to Tim's disorientation on his return. A row of windows to the south overlooked the gardens.
    Maybeck went red in the face when he spotted Tim, but Guerrera covered for him nicely with a nod. Across the room, Denley leaned over and wisecracked to Palton from behind a cupped hand. Tim kept his eyes forward as he walked, pretending his peripheral vision was inoperative. The past year had provided him plenty of opportunity to exercise the oblivious-yet-dignified skill set.
    The top explosive-detection canines, Precious and Chomper, whimpered at Tim's scent, tails wagging, but they'd been put on a sit-stay, so they didn't run to greet him. Reacting to his dogs, Supervisory Deputy Brian Miller stood to look over the barrier. The others followed suit, rising to their feet and staring, curiosity overcoming tact. A few new faces made Tim's hiatus all the more acute.
    A current of whispers followed him to his new desk, empty save a faded blotter and a crumpled Doritos bag. The wood partition provided him momentary respite from the stares. He set the S&W on the blotter and stared at it, weighing for a moment the significance of putting on a weapon again.
    Then he looped several rubber bands around the fore end of the grip, just below the hammer. He slid the gun in the back of his pants above his right kidney, the grip out, ready for the draw. The rubber bands kept it from slipping beneath his waistband.
    He removed the Marshals star from his back pocket and studied it. Last night he'd called to quit his security gig. His supervisor's only interest had been getting back the uniform and baton. That Tim was so eminently replaceable was apt commentary on the worthlessness of what he'd been doing over the past year.
    A massive thunk hit Tim's back, startling him from his self-loathing. Bear's voice boomed over his shoulder. "You know why they put a circle around that star?"
    A faint smile crossed Tim's lips. "So it's easier for them to shove up your ass."
    He turned to stand and was swept up in a turbulent hug. Until last year Tim and Bear had partnered on the warrant squad's Escape Team and served together on the SWAT-like Arrest Response Team. Though he was nine years older than Tim, Bear looked up to him and Dray like older siblings. A loner with many friends and few intimates, he'd been an uncle to Ginny. Tim had once saved his life and been awarded the Medal of Valor for it. Bear had returned the favor by being the most unerringly loyal friend Tim had.
    Over by the coffeemaker, Denley muttered something and Bear shot him a hard stare over the top of the barrier. "Fuck off, Denley. You got something to say, get your ass over here and say it."
    Denley held up a sagging coffee filter. "Actually, Jowalski, I was just complaining that some numbnut left the old filter in."
    Some of the noble indignation leaked out of Bear. "Oh," he said.
    Tim smiled for the first time since entering the building. "I really appreciate you easing my transition here."
    Bear lowered himself into a nearby sliding chair, spilling over it in all directions like a rhino on a unicycle. "Tannino briefed me yesterday. I already followed up the