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Casper didn’t wait. He headed to the elevator.
    Even with her long legs, Hanna Chance had to race to catch up with him. At five eight, she had a swimmer’s lanky frame, fluid movement. Her naturally-curly, reddish-brown hair, bounced as she ran. She had an oval face, shinning green eyes, lips that always seemed ready to smile, dimples that appeared when she did. Her expression was intelligent, determined. “What do we know about this?”
    “Very little,” Casper said as they got on the elevator and rode down three floors. “Call came in from Chief Bayer on Longboat.The vic is German. His business associate reported him missing."The elevator doors opened on the ground floor. Casper exited, walking quickly, Chance in his wake. “Bayer’s waiting for us at the Gulf Beach.” He glanced over at Chance. “You know where that is?”
    She nodded.
    “Good. We’ll take two cars. I may need to go directly to another meeting.”
    “Fine,” Chance agreed hurriedly.
    Casper held the parking garage door for her. Once inside, Hanna headed left, Casper right to his car. He used his remote, unlocked the white Chrysler 300 with dark tinted windows. As Agent in Charge, Casper was entitled to a Bureau car, but he preferred his own. He got in, started the engine, made his way out of the garage.
    As he made the twenty-minute drive from the Bureau’s office in downtown Sarasota to the Gulf Beach Hotel and Racquet Club on Longboat Key, Casper felt a sense of exhilaration. This was the case that would reclaim his rightful place at the Bureau.
    Just a year ago, he’d been the Bureau’s Northeastern Regional Director, responsible for 400 employees in 14 field offices. His next posting should have been Deputy Director in Washington. Casper certainly had the resume for it. A veteran of twenty-seven years service, his personnel file was filled with commendations. He’d graduated first in his class at the FBI Academy, had become the youngest Agent in Charge in Bureau history, and had received special recognition from the Director for his work on the Carswell racqueteering probe, the Lavidge and Budd kidnappings, and the Munoz drug cartel investigation. All overshadowed by one unfortunate incident.
    Casper had been lead agent in the investigation of a terrorist sleeper cell in Newark, New Jersey. The intensive six-month surveillance of the five Iranians, a Saudi, and two Jordanians—code named Jersey Boys—should have led to El Quida higher-ups. But the only communication to the cell was via encrypted emails traced to a Syrian, Mohammed Fouad, living in New York City. Casper, believing they’d obtained all the intelligence available, made the decision to take Fouad and the members of the cell into custody.
    At 9:00 on the evening of October 8th, his 12-agent task force surrounded the five-story brick tenement where the cell lived. As four agents approached the building’s front door, an older-model black Cadillac pulled to the curb. Four black gang members dressed in oversize white tee shirts, baggy jeans, ball caps tilted at crazy angles got out of the car, pulled weapons, began firing. All four agents went down. Two dead, two badly injured. In the ensuing firefight, three gang members and a bystander were killed.
    The members of the cell escaped. Casper learned later the Caddy had arrived to pick up a gang member who lived in the building. When the car’soccupants saw FBI jackets, they mistakenly assumed the FBI was there to arrest him. Fatefully bad timing.
    For the Bureau, it was another post 9-11 black eye. Initially, the press hyped the deaths, especially the bystander—a 57-year-old man sitting on his stoop drinking a beer. When news broke about the sleeper cell’s escape, the story escalated and turned ugly with the press questioning the Bureau’s competence.
    In Washington, a board of inquiry was convened and Casper called to testify. Although the board found he had acted correctly, the public needed to see accountability.