That gate had a single guard in a civilian uniform, and the two vehicles passed with little more than a wave. After another five minutes driving, the sedan approached a larger, much more imposing checkpoint, set off among the trees. Here, each lane was tightly bounded by Jersey barriers and jogged at several 45-degree angles as it approached a checkpoint where five uniformed and heavily armed soldiers carefully checked identification cards. It took Coopersmith several minutes talking and several signatures on documents before the guards allowed them to bring Camille into the facility.

The idea of asking the guards for help crossed her mind, but she rejected it immediately. Like as not, they were as much in collusion as were the fake agents. But she did make it a point to smile, say hello, and even wink at one of the guards as they passed through. The guard smiled, and neither of her travel companions seemed to notice.

Sometimes standing out isn't bad, she thought.

"Just go to VSS," Coopersmith said to Dunphy when they'd gotten past the security gate. They had so far not cuffed or restrained Camille in any way, and she pondered making a run for it. Would they shoot at her on a military base? At that point, nothing would surprise her, so she opted to remain compliant. Besides, her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

A few minutes later, the sedan pulled into a small parking lot in front of a building clearly marked, Valhalla Security Systems. Sam's black SUV pulled in beside them. The three men escorted Camille inside to a small, comfortable waiting area. She took a seat without asking and, as an added garnishment, picked up a nearby magazine and casually began leafing through the pages.

The office suite was small, and the sound of a man speaking on the phone in an office just off the lobby was all she could hear. She couldn't see into the office from where she sat, but the speaker's words were clearly audible. Coopersmith went into the office and was immediately out of Camille's view. The technician had disappeared, and she was left alone with Dunphy, who sat across the room from her.

"Hold on," said the man on the phone. He continued talking for several minutes in a slight southern accent before finally hanging up with a sigh. "Dave, where the hell have you been?" The speaker obviously was deeply agitated.

Okay, Camille thought, Coopersmith is Dave.

"Taking care of that thing in Chicago. Where else would I be?"

"Jesus Christ, Dave. Do you know what a fucking shit-show that has turned into?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa ... Chris," Coopersmith/Dave interrupted. "I did not want to do that. We walked into that clusterfuck with almost no intel on 12 hours' notice. Ask Kevin. The client signed off on it—hell, the client insisted."

There was an iciness between the two men that suggested a deep preexisting animosity.

"Well, Dave, I can't ask Kevin," Chris said in mock politeness. "Kevin is fucking dead. So is Elliot, and so is Ken, and so are more than 30 other people ... including Major Gissom and one of his NCOs." Chris's voice had raised to the point where he was nearly yelling. "The client is about ready to go ape-shit."

"What happened?" Dave's voice was suddenly quiet.

"Some dumbass down at The Range decided to let your friend from Chicago out of his cage and to go for a little hunt. Nearly 40 people were dead before they figured out what a fucking bad idea that was." Chris's voice continued to grow louder and more strident. "Now he's off in the woods headed to Canada with two others like him. Half the installation is turned out looking for him, and the other half are on high alert."

Camille felt as if she sat in an electric chair. Sam's free ... and headed for Canada. She muffled her elation.

"Oh, fuck." It was all Coopersmith said.

"There's no way we're gonna keep the lid on this." There was a tinge of fear in Chris's voice. "Do you know how high we had to climb up the food chain just to make that mess with the Chicago Police go away? The VP is gonna cut everybody's fucking balls off over this."

"Speaking of which," said Coopersmith mildly, "we had a breach in security on the way back. That NYPD cop who popped Johansson and called the cops in Chicago followed us to just outside Browning. We had to pick her up."

There was a long moment of silence. Camille added yet another name to a face before asking herself why they were allowing her to hear any of this. A new pang of worry leapt up.

"Dave," Chris said quietly, "did you just tell me you picked up a civilian?" There was another long silence before Chris spoke again. When he did, his voice trembled but was otherwise low. "You do remember Kansas, five years ago, don't you? The rules are very, very fucking clear. We pick them up for the client. We do not ever, ever, ever touch civilians. Ever."

"Fuck you!" Coopersmith roared, his voice cracking with anger. "Things went fucking sideways on this motherfucking operation because the client panicked. They sent us in with strict orders not to come back from Chicago without that guy and any information he had. I did as I was fucking told. And if you hadn't been off at Hilton Head, golfing with the fucking chief of staff, you'd know that."

The sound of a chair overturning could be heard in the other room as Chris began yelling back. The man's voice was trembling and choked with anger "Is that what you want me to fucking tell Colonel Rance? That it's all his fucking fault?! You picked up a fucking civilian. And we've got 40 fucking people dead down at The Range, a facility we operate, including an army major, and now I'm supposed to tell the commander of this installation what? It's his fault? Tell me, Dave, have you truly and honestly lost your fucking mind?"

The offices were assaulted by a sudden silence. The door between the two rooms was still wide open, but save for the sound of some shifting about, only the heavy breathing of the two men was audible. Dunphy sat across from her, near the door, in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Chris spoke.

"Jesus, I ...." Chris paused another moment. "Dave," he said, in a voice that sounded like someone had just stepped on his grave. "I see Dunphy sitting right there. Who's with this person you detained?" Coopersmith didn't respond. "Please tell me you took her to the off-site," Chris said in a tone that was almost begging.

There was no answer.

Camille heard the slight movement of someone walking and soon saw a tired looking man in his mid-fifties step from around the corner. He was balding, slightly rumpled, with a hangdog look about his face. That face now registered something akin to horror when he looked at her. From the way he swallowed, it was clear his throat was dry.

"Dave." Chris let out a breath. "Why did you bring her here?" The older man seemed like he wanted to say something to Camille, but he couldn't find the words.

"I thought we would stick her at The Range for a couple of days," Dave responded, docilely, "... until we could figure out what to do with her."

"Well, I don't think that's going to be possible." Chris spoke quietly as he stared at the ceiling and rubbed cheek and jowls with both hands.

Camille seized the opportunity.

"Hiya, Chris," she said in a tone that was as friendly and confident as she could muster. "I think you should let me go, now. I'm happy to stipulate your man made a well-intentioned mistake and am willing to swear off all charges."

The older man let out a huge breath. "Miss ... I ...," was all he could get out.

Chris was like any American dad she'd ever seen, and Camille knew instinctively that he wanted to do the right thing. He shook his head and looked toward Dave.

She felt for the older man but couldn't leave this alone.

"Sir, I don't want you to be complicit in kidnapping. Now, I don't know what you do here, and, honestly, I don't care. I came here looking for Mr. Babington. Apparently, you don't have custody of him anymore. I'm perfectly willing to forget about your colleagues' recent behavior, if they return my credentials, phone, and car keys." Camille realized she'd overplayed her hand.

"Shit! You have her phone here? Dave, please tell me you turned it off. They shut down the relays, but the phones are still pinging off towers, you .... Oh, fuck me," Chris said finally.

Coopersmith stood there, wordless. Chris turned away as if Camille was not there, as if he hoped she might simply disappear. "Where's Johansson? ... well, wherever he is, get him, and I want the three of you to take this nice young woman to the off-site." Chris's voice was calm but resigned. "I'll talk to Colonel Rance and drive out this afternoon and let you know what we're going to do." He paused and Coopersmith interjected.

"What about that San Francisco thing?" he said hoarsely.

Chris said nothing. He merely looked at Coopersmith and waved him silent. "Don't let her go anywhere, but—" Chris stopped. "Dunphy, take our guest out to the car. I want to talk to Dave for a few minutes." The man looked like he'd just gone 10 rounds with a heavyweight.

Outside in the car, Camille leaned back and waited until Dunphy took his place in the driver's seat. After counting to five, she spoke. "Mr. Dunphy, I have one get-out-of-jail-free card. Who's gonna use it?"

He turned his eyes to her with a slight look of worry and, for the faintest moment, it looked like he might speak. Finally, he got out of the car and waited outside.

About five minutes later, Coopersmith and the technician, Johansson, arrived. Coopersmith settled in the back seat, and Johansson climbed back into Sam's black SUV. After they departed the facility, both Dunphy and Dave rebuffed her every attempt at conversation.

A half an hour later, the two vehicles pulled into the parking lot of a small building marked with a nondescript sign reading, VSS, Inc. It was about 20 miles from the secret facility they'd just left. When they arrived, Coopersmith dismissed a receptionist, telling her she had the day off, and took Camille to what looked like a small breakroom in the middle of the building. There were no windows and a single door.

"Someone'll be outside if you need anything," he said and left.

Camille walked to the refrigerator, opened it, and rummaged around for something to eat.