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thoughts were interrupted by Gregory Johns, one of the field office’s rookie agents, who appeared in the doorway and said, “The assistant director wants to see you, boss.”
    She was on the phone when he entered and gestured for him to take a seat. When she put the receiver down, she said, “Have we got anything stronger than coffee around here?”
    “What’s going on?” Mike said.
    She looked at him for a moment, then closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “Close the door.”
    Mike did.
    “The White House is pulling the investigation. They’re sending someone over to pick up the files.”
    “Why am I not surprised?” Mike said.
    “How did you get on with the list?”
    “I think I’ve tracked down most of the names.”
    “Good. Put everything you’ve got together. They should be here in the morning.”
    “That’s it?” Mike asked.
    “That’s it.”
    When he reached the door Mike turned around. “I really hope they know what they’re doing.”
    The assistant director nodded. “You’re not the only one.”

Chapter 11
    New York, New York Monday 17 July 2006
    1300 EDT
    Jack handed the cab driver a fifty and got out before the man could count out his change. He walked the two blocks to Park Avenue and arrived in the parking lot just as the man he had come to see pulled in behind the wheel of a red Ford van with the words Mitchell Plumbing and Heating stenciled across the door. Jack followed the van to the end of the parking lot and got in.
    Steve Rollins was in his mid-forties, at least six feet tall and well built. He wore faded jeans and a black t-shirt under an old green army parka with a peace symbol sewn onto the left breast.
    “Jesus, Jack. You look like shit,” Rollins said.
    “I’m fine,” Jack said.
    “So what can I do for you?”
    “What do you know about the New York Fed?”
    “It’s a bank?”
    “I know it’s a fucking bank, Steve. What I’m asking is, do you know if anyone’s – you know – made a move on it recently?”
    Rollins looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Made a move on it?”
    “Robbed it! I’m asking you if anyone’s robbed the god-damned place!”
    “First of all, if someone had I wouldn’t know,” Rollins said. “As you’re well aware, I’m not in that line of work anymore. But even if I was, the Fed is the last place anyone would try and break into.”
    “Why?”
    “Why? Because it can’t be done. That’s why you wanted to see me? To ask me about the Fed?”
    “It can be done,” Jack said. “I know because I’m the fucking guy they did it to.”
    “You know, Jack, I’ve never taken you for a practical joker.”
    Rollins studied Jack’s face for a moment and saw nothing remotely jovial in it. “You’re serious?”
    “The assistant director of the FBI field office got a call yesterday morning.”
    “How the hell do you know that?” Rollins asked.
    “I have a contact inside the Bureau. But that’s beside the point. I was there this morning. Something was taken out of my safety deposit box.”
    “What?” Rollins said.
    “A hard drive. A very fucking important hard drive.”
    “If it was yours, you must have some idea who would want to steal it.”
    “I don’t,” Jack said and pulled the two photographs from his jacket. “But the asshole left these.”
    Rollins studied the photographs then read what was written on the back of one of them. “Jesus. What’s Princip?”
    “How the fuck should I know?”
    “And you have no idea who these two people are?”
    “Never seen them,” Jack said.
    “Maybe they hit the wrong box. How long have you been using it?”
    “About two months.”
    Rollins nodded somberly. “If the feds are involved, they won’t be for long. I can tell you that.”
    “They’re not,” Jack said. “The investigation was shut down by the White House this morning.”
    Rollins nodded again. “Of course it was. Imagine that, someone pulling a job at the Fed. I’d give my right arm to know how they