On a hot, humid July afternoon, agent Matt Hornsby steered the Crown Victoria past a condemned apartment building in a run-down part of the southeast quadrant in Washington, DC.
“Go around the block one more time,” his partner said.
Following orders, Matt turned at the next corner. With no traffic in sight, he glanced at Roger Flynn, sitting in the passenger seat.
“We’ve been at this all day, all week,” Matt said. “I don’t think they’re here.”
“That Hezbollah terrorist cell is around here.”
“It’s Friday and I’ve got plans tonight. How ‘bout we head back to DHS and do our reports?”
“Just a few more times. They’re around this neighborhood, I’m sure of it.”
Matt hated it when Roger repeated himself. Trish had mentioned that he had started doing it at home, too. She wouldn’t have to put up with Roger anymore after tonight, if everything went according to plan.