well dark when they arrived at Fort Monroe.

 

Puller and Knox were escorted into Building Q by one of the armed guards who had

been posted outside. The building was clearly closed for the night, the workers

having apparently all gone home; the parking lot was empty of cars.

 

They passed down a long corridor and were led into a small conference room and

left alone. They heard the guard’s heels tapping on the floor as he went back to

his post.

 

They sat side by side at a small round conference table. Knox glanced at Puller

and then her gaze drifted to a small camera lens sunken into a corner of the

ceiling.

 

Puller had already noted this. He nodded at her.

 

They waited in silence until the door opened again.

 

Framed in the doorway was a petite woman in her late fifties with short graying

hair, dark glasses, and dressed in a navy blue skirt and matching jacket and a

white high-collared blouse. On her feet were low-heeled black shoes. She looked

to Puller like a veteran banker or lawyer.

 

She nodded to them both before sitting down across from the pair. “My name is

Claire Jericho. I was the one who called you, Agent Puller.” Puller nodded and