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“Why me?” Roth asked. “I’m just an author. Dr. Estrada is the expert.”
Silence hung on the line for a moment, then Brower said, “Mr. Roth, what I’m going to tell you is classified. Please do not repeat it. One of the senators on the intelligence committee is currently in Cancún vacationing with his family. We’re sending an SUV to pick you up and bring you to Capitol Hill.”
Roth swallowed, and an itching feeling crept over him. Even though his family was safe—for now—this was far from over. In some ways, it was just starting.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DIRKSEN SENATE OFFICE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, DC
January 9
Roth had been to several major Comic-Cons during his career as an author, but he’d never been to the US Capitol building. When the SUV drove past it, he glanced at its retreating shape. “Wait, I thought we were going to the Capitol?”
The boys were in the back seat of the SUV with Jordan. Monica sat next to him in a bucket seat in the second row. The windows were tinted dark. One FBI agent drove, another rode shotgun. Dr. Estrada and Illari were in a different vehicle on a different route.
“We are,” Monica said.
“How come we just passed it?”
“You don’t enter through the front doors, Jonathon. We’ll enter through one of the Senate office buildings. The House office buildings are on the other side of the Capitol”—she pointed to the far end of the Capitol—“and the Senate ones are on this side. There are three. Which one are we going through?” she asked, leaning toward the agent riding shotgun.
“Dirksen,” replied the agent stiffly.
They were on Constitution Avenue and passed behind the Capitol building. The agent stopped at a stoplight and then continued.
“Boys, that’s the Supreme Court,” Roth said excitedly. He hadn’t realized it was right behind the Capitol.
The Dirksen building looked like many of the structures in downtown DC. It was like the center of the city had been designed after ancient Athens, with temples devoted to politics instead of Greek gods. The building was multiple stories tall, made of gray stone, and had sharp angles, a triangular roof, and square pillars. The entrance was on First Street, but there was a barrier preventing vehicles from entering the street, four retractable metal barricades with the word “Stop” on them, along with some swiveling rails like the kind that blocked a railroad. A few orange cones sat in the street as well. As soon as the SUV began to turn toward the blockade, they were waved ahead by a uniformed police officer. One section of the barrier went down, and the bar came up.
Trees lined the front of the building, where the SUV pulled up to the doors and then stopped in the middle of the street.
The agent in the passenger seat got out first, examining the road both ways. His sunglasses and suit gave him an impressive air. Two more agents strode up from the tree line, looking both ways.
“They have security waiting for us,” Jordan said. “Nice touch, Monica.”
“Brower arranged it,” Monica said. “Let’s move.” She opened the door and got out first, followed by Roth and then the kids. Jordan shut the door behind him, and the SUV took off. Another SUV drew up behind theirs, and Dr. Estrada and Illari Chaska exited. Roth thought Illari looked very ill at ease. She clutched her laptop bag tightly.
“This way, please,” said the agent who had ridden with them. He took them to the large entrance under the triangle roof.
Roth felt a prickle of apprehension. It was disturbing that he felt safer on the streets of DC than he did walking into a secure location like a Senate office building.
The answer was obvious. Because it was more likely Jacob Calakmul had someone waiting for them inside than outside.
There were guards at the door, but when the lead FBI agent flashed his badge, the guard waved them in. They had to pass through a metal detector. Jordan had to put his Glock on the tray, along with his ID and carry permit, but he was allowed to retrieve his weapon and holster it again.
A lot of people were walking just past the security checkpoint, all well dressed, and most of them quite young. One of them stood waiting on the other side of the metal detectors, a younger man in his early twenties who was even taller than Jordan and had thick blond hair. He looked like a surfer, except he wore a suit and shiny tan loafers.
“I’m Daniel from Senator Coudron’s office,” he said. “Agent Sanchez?” He extended his hand to her, ignoring the other agents.
“Yes,” Monica answered, gripping his hand and shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Daniel.”
He passed out visitor badges to the guests, which they clipped to their shirts. One agent remained to trail them, and the other walked ahead. Monica stayed in the middle with Jordan, the Roths, Dr. Estrada, and Illari.
The twins started up a steady stream of chatter, haranguing Jordan with questions about DC, since he had served there as part of his army service at Arlington. Roth tuned out their conversation and glanced at Illari.
She met his gaze once and then looked away.
