PROLOGUE

Cameras and microphones swung in Patrick’s direction, and a few reporters fired questions at him while staying out of his reach. The cop on duty outside the room grabbed him from behind, pinning one arm behind him with a "come-along" grip, and pressing a finger into his mandibular nerve behind his jaw. Patrick yelled in pain. The cop had him good—he could go no direction except straight down at the floor, right in front of all the reporters and cameras.

"Hold it, officer, hold it," Barona said quickly. "Let him go. That’s Officer McLanahan’s brother." Patrick fought to keep from swinging back at his attacker. The cameras and microphones were squarely on him now. Barona said, "I’m very sorry, Mr. McLanahan, but the police force is at a very high state of readiness and alert, and anyone can be considered a threat. Now, what was it you had to say to me?"

"The doctor ordered uninterrupted rest, no visitors at all, for twenty-four hours. That order includes family, friends—and chiefs of police and reporters. Look at him. He’s exhausted. You should have checked with the doctor before barging in here like this."

Barona looked down at Paul as the cameras swung back towards him. He gave Paul’s hand a squeeze, patted him on the head, and nodded. "Let’s let this brave officer rest now, guys. Everyone outside." He led the reporters out of the room, then stood in front of the door as if on guard himself. "That’s one tough rookie cop in there, folks," he said to the reporters, who had immediately arrayed themselves around him, with Paul visible through the window in the door over Barona’s shoulder. "He wounded three terrorists in the Sacramento Live shootout before being gunned down himself. Seriously injured, he still had the toughness and spirit to get up out of that hospital bed and attend his partner’s funeral. That’s a Sacramento cop for you: the best of the best." He turned towards Paul’s door, gave him a thumbs-up, and said, "Get well soon, Officer McLanahan. We need more soldiers in blue like you out there protecting our streets." He averted his head as if hiding a tear. His aides used that opportunity to stop the photo opportunity, and the reporters were quickly hustled towards the elevators.

When they were well out of range, Barona glanced at Patrick and said, "My staff should have checked first."

The Chief looked sideways glance at Thomas Chandler, as if silently blaming him. Chandler extended a hand, and Patrick reluctantly took it. "I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr. McLanahan," Chandler said, "and I’m sorry for what’s happened. I promise you, we’ll find out who did this."

Patrick didn’t think Barona’s apology was sincere but he let it slide as he shook Chandler’s hand. "No problem, sir. Paul’s doing OK. He’s tough." But Barona had already started speaking with his aides. Patrick took a step towards Barona, close enough to attract the attention of his aides. "Excuse me, Chief Barona. I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment?"

Barona wiped the look of irritation off his face—he didn’t want to seem impatient with any member of a cop’s family. "Of course, Mr. McLanahan," the Chief said. They stepped away from the aides, far enough to feel as if they were carrying out a private discussion, but near enough to be overheard. Chandler joined them. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I was wondering if you could give me any more details of the incident in which Paul was hurt," Patrick asked. "Any details about the robbers, where they came from, where they went, who they are—anything that might help to explain how something like this could happen here in Sacramento."

"It’s not just in Sacramento, Mr. McLanahan," Barona responded. "It’s a nationwide problem. The increase in crime, in gang violence, in the use of assault weapons, in the brazenness of the criminal element—it’s happening all over the country."

Christ, a political statement at a time like this. Patrick felt that flush of anger again. "I understand, Chief, but about the robbers—are you saying they were gang members? As in Crips or Bloods? What kind of gangs? Do you know specifically who did this?"

"We don’t have that information yet, Mr. McLanahan," Barona said, looking down the hallway with an edge of impatience. "My deputy in charge of public affairs will provide that information when it becomes available. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’d better get back to my office so I can organize the hunt for those bastards that attacked your son…"

"My brother," Patrick corrected him curtly. "Listen, Chief Barona, I want to help with the investigation. From what the press and the speakers at the memorial service said, they were heavily armed military types. I can help track them down and fight them. I’d like to speak with you and your investigators about ways I can help…"

Barona again looked sideways at Chandler, as if asking, "Why in hell are you allowing weirdos like this near me?" "What is it you do, Mr. McLanahan?" Barona asked.

"I work for a defense contractor in San Diego. We produce communications, surveillance, and space systems for the U.S. military."

"You mean satellites? I don’t see how a satellite can help us. If you’ll excuse me…"

"We make other things as well, Chief," Patrick said. "Weapons. Sensors. We can access information from all over the globe. If you can tell me what you need or what your special objectives might be, I’m sure we can design a system that can help you."

Barona regarded Patrick with complete exasperation. "Mr. McLanahan, you’re not trying to sell me a communications system, are you? Are you a salesman? If you are, this is hardly the time…"

"I’m not trying to sell you anything, Chief," Patrick retorted. "I’m trying to give you something. I can give you any kind of exotic weapon, sensor, or electronics system you might need to help locate and capture those bastards who killed those cops and put my brother in the hospital. I can outfit your officers so they’d never have to enter a building without knowing exactly how many and where each and every person inside is. I can give them the ability to paralyze a roomful of criminals with a single shot. I can make it so an officer would never have to fear a bullet ever again. I can give a single officer the power of…"

"Mr. McLanahan, please," Barona interrupted, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "This all sounds fascinating, but I don’t have the time to…"

"Chief Barona, I’m not making any of this up—I can do all of what I’m saying," Patrick said. "But it would be better if you gave me some kind of idea about what we’re up against…"

"‘What we’re up against?’" Barona mimicked. He closed his eyes, then stepped past Patrick, heading away. "Listen to me carefully, Mr. McLanahan," he said. "Let me caution you about something. Interfering with a police investigation is a crime. This crime will be investigated by agents of the U.S. military, ATF, FBI, the state police, and by volunteers from agencies all across the west. No one kills a cop anywhere in America without brother officers coming to help. But civilians are not permitted to participate. You’d be needlessly endangering yourself and those around you. You don’t have the training and experience it takes to…"

"But I do have the training, and I’ve got the advice, assistance, and equipment necessary to do the job," Patrick said. "Let me talk to you about this in more detail. I can demonstrate technologies that will astound you."

"No thank you, Mr. McLanahan," Barona said. "Again, I must warn you—stay away from this investigation. I would hate to punish any family member of a fallen cop, but I will if I must to protect the lives of other cops. Take care of your family and your brother, sir, and leave the investigation to us." Barona pulled up the collar of his coat with a snap, signaling an end to the conversation, and strode off. Chandler nodded to Patrick, a little embarrassed by his chief’s tone, and followed behind.