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when Frank’s call came through. She took it on her cell phone just as she reached junction of I-66 and I-81.
    â€œI’m way ahead of you, Frank. I already called your mother and she is expecting me. Karl has to be officially out of the loop on this one and the party line is that I am taking some personal leave time. There may be some flack headed your way and you can bet some close scrutiny of any Internet activity emanating from your office, but I’m on my way.”
    â€œWill there be trouble when they find out you’re attacking their databases?”
    â€œWell, if I know one thing, I know how to keep them from noticing. Hey, I work for NSA, remember? We do this stuff all the time.”
    â€œThat part I really don’t want to know. Just get here ASAP. We’re being stonewalled big-time.”
    â€œGive me a couple of hours and time to get the kid settled with your mom, and I’m on it.”
    Sam tapped off and stared through the windshield, aware of the traffic and her place in it, but otherwise a thousand miles away. Her mind raced through protocols she would need to establish, the cloaking she would need to do to keep other agencies in the dark, and the excitement of using the skills honed at NSA to go after some local bottom-feeder without needing an order from a supervisor or a warrant from a judge. Except for the horror of losing the nicest man she knew, her husband excepted, this was going to be the best vacation ever.
    ***
    â€œShe’s on her way,” Frank announced. “Now, the rest of you hit the road. I need the witnesses at the restaurant re-interviewed. I don’t trust the reports from the FBI. I want you, Billy and Charlie, to plot the distance to the explosion and then figure where else it might have happened, like, if Ike had headed straight home. Also, get us fresh pictures of the site where the thing went off and the restaurant parking lot. Tire tracks, anything and everything.”
    â€œOn it. Anything else?”
    â€œIf I were the Feds, I would have put out a BOLO and alert at exit ports within a couple of hours from here in case the bomber decided to skip the country. Check around and see if they picked anybody up in the last day or so.”
    Bill clapped his hat on. “Okay, it’s a start. Let’s see if we can out-maneuver these candy-assed big shots from DC.”

Chapter Six
    Martin Pangborn acquired wealth the way magnets attract iron filings. At least that is the way he liked to describe his success. His critics were less generous in their estimation, comparing his success to be more like how excrement attracts flies. He made millions from the misfortunes of corporations facing financial collapse. Once he’d spotted them, like a carrion bird, like a vulture, he would circle until his prey’s struggles appeared terminal and then swoop down and devour the flesh. The bones he left to be picked over by other, lesser operatives. Small companies dealing with money problems, companies with credit lines that had become stretched to the breaking point, were his targets. Once acquired, he’d sell off the viable assets, and dump the remains onto the scrapheap of corporate failures. The people left behind faced a future without jobs and pensions. Not his problem. He moved on to the next acquisition, the next corporate dismemberment. Broken dreams and men were detritus in his wake.
    He was not a popular man. Popular or not, money, he discovered did buy him a cadre of sycophants and friends eager to bask in the aura of wealth and notoriety. Among them were celebrities—movie stars primarily, and politicians, a great many politicians, all with campaigns to finance—and the shady individuals with indeterminate pasts who possessed certain skills and connections he found useful. Even the President of the United States had been persuaded to have his picture taken with Pangborn and his prospective nominee for a high government