Elk Grove, Virginia

It was too late.

Tully knew as soon as they turned onto the street. Even Ganza stopped chewing, a wad of tuna sandwich still stuffed in his mouth while he muttered, “Son of a bitch, they beat us here.”

A guy with short cropped hair, an athletic frame and confident gestures waved the FBI’s plumbing van away from the curb to make room for a white panel truck. Tully recognized the way the man moved, the way he held himself, a taut jawline, steady eyes that captured everything around him. He was a commanding presence and although he wore blue jeans and a leather bomber jacket, Tully knew this guy was a soldier.

“They’re sending our lab techs home,” Tully said, pulling his own car over to the side, a half block away.

Ganza threw his sandwich on the dashboard and started digging through his pockets. Tully stared at the sandwich crumbs scattered and falling all over his car. He remembered the coffee spills from that morning. It seemed like days ago instead of hours. Ganza was punching a phone number into his cell phone while Tully watched the soldier direct the panel truck up onto the lawn, guiding it as it backed all the way to the rear of the house. He bet this guy never had a half-eaten sandwich on the dashboard of his car or coffee stains on the upholstery.

“We’re right outside,” Ganza was saying into the phone. “They’re sending away our van. What are we supposed to do?” Ganza’s monotone didn’t give away his urgency. He left that to his long, bony fingers, tapping the console between them.

Another white truck passed alongside them. This one had Virginia Water and Sewer printed in black on the sides. The truck was too white, too clean. From where Tully sat he noticed the tires showed little wear. Two men got out of the truck, dressed in white jumpsuits, logos on the pockets, polished black boots, not a speck of dirt. They started taking construction-crew sawhorses from the back and blocking off the street. Neighbors might believe the house in question had a water main break or a gas leak. That is if they didn’t notice the clean boots and new tires. The old man raking his front yard stopped to watch, but Tully didn’t think he looked alarmed or even interested. After a few minutes he went back to raking.

The FBI’s plumbing van passed through the narrow opening between the sawhorses. It pulled up beside Tully’s car and the driver’s window of the van came down. Tully opened his window, too. The agent inside was familiar to Tully though he knew him only by sight and not by name. It didn’t matter. He looked past Tully and over to Ganza when he said, “It’s a military-slash-Homeland Security operation now. Nothing we can do about it.”

“What about collecting evidence?” Ganza was still on the phone, responding to both the agent and whoever he had on the line. Tully wondered if it was possible Ganza had a direct line to the FBI director.

“Secure and protect,” the agent said. “That’s their priority. They’re treating it like a terrorist threat, not a crime scene. And we’re not invited to the party.”

“But we’ve got two agents inside,” Tully said, looking back at the house, realizing Maggie and Cunningham weren’t with the SWAT team climbing into the second plumbing van. “They’re still inside, right?” Tully glanced at the agent, who now looked away and rubbed at his jaw.

“Yeah, they’re still inside. That’s the reason Assistant Director Cunningham called in the troops.” He glanced back at Tully and Ganza, who were quiet, staring and waiting though they already knew what they would hear. “They’ve both been exposed.”