“Excuse me,” a woman from an agency Murphy couldn’t remember cut in. “How does the FBI categorize HVEs?”
“Let me handle that one, Agent Murphy,” Director Steele said. “HVEs are defined by the FBI in conjunction with DHS as domestic terrorists engaging or planning unlawful acts of violence. These acts intimidate civilian populations or influence domestic policy. These groups arenotassociated with another country. Sadly, HVEs are completely ours.”
There was a pause after the director finished. Hearing no other questions or comments, Murphy finished her presentation. “More recently, the CLA has supported secessionist movements in states like Texas and New Mexico, hoping to establish a Constitution-abiding nation. The original leadership parted ways with the organization. We’re unsure why. Right now, we have no idea who the current leadership is. And until yesterday, none of our agencies were tracking them.”
The group sat around for another forty-five minutes discussing directions for the new task force. Unfortunately, Murphy was appointed as the head of the new group. She was already stretched thin overseeing the Emerald City, so this new task force was poised to send her over the edge.
“Thank you,” Director Steele said, as the meeting finally ended. “I look forward to robust interagency cooperation as we address the immediate situation.” With that, members of the forum started disappearing from Murphy’s screen. Murphy was about to sign off herself when Director Steele asked her to stay on.
When Steel and Murphy were the last two on the conference call, Director Steele said, “Congratulations on making it through your first interagency review. These meetings are fraught with politics. You handled yourself well today. Leadership suits you.”
“Thank you, Director. I won’t lie. I was a nervous wreck coming into this today. I wasn’t sure what would happen.”
“Thankfully, everyone seemed to be on their best behavior. Don’t expect it to last. If something goes wrong, the finger-pointing and blame game will start. Right now, everyone was caught by surprise. We really need to get a handle on this fast. Any resources you need, just let me know. I want you to coordinate with the Albuquerque, Dallas and Oklahoma City field offices. We know this group is based in West Texas, so those three field offices create a triangle around that area. Hopefully, someone in one of those field offices will have better intel.”
“Yes, Director. I’ll contact them once I finish this call.”
“Keep me in the loop. I expect at least daily updates. If there are any significant developments, I need to know immediately.”
With that, the director left the meeting, and Murphy was alone in the SCIF, wondering what step to take first.
Chapter Eight
Ethan
Shortly after Blayne went to Pennington to teach, Arnold informed Ethan that he had to head to the hospital. Arnold had a spare pair of scrubs in his car, so he went out and got them before taking a quick shower. Of course, Arnold had asked Ethan if he wanted to join him. Still, Ethan informed the cheeky surgeon that he’d already taken a shower with one man that morning and was perfectly clean. Arnold hadn’t said anything in return but had cocked an eyebrow and smiled.
Before leaving, Arnold gave Ethan specific instructions on what to do when the patient awoke. Ethan had a lot of other words for her, and ‘patient’ was not on the list. With Arnold out of the apartment, Ethan took to pacing. He kept the woman’s gun in his pocket and didn’t take an eye off her except when he inevitably had to go to the bathroom. Even then, when he returned, he held the gun out in front of him like a scared victim in a horror film right before whatever creature pounced and ate them for dinner.
“God, this is ridiculous,” Ethan muttered to himself.
He sat at the kitchen table with another cup of coffee. He glanced down at his watch, and it was a little past one. Blayne would be back around three-thirty, so he had to wait until then. He pulled out his cell phone. He desperately wanted to call his security team or Stephanie, but the last thing he wanted to do was violate Blayne’s trust or drag anyone else into this mess.
“Well, I guess I’m not dead,” a voice grumbled from the couch.
“Don’t move,” Ethan said, fumbling to pick up the gun and hold it at the woman as she pushed herself into a sitting position. She winced. She turned her head and looked at Ethan.
“Put that thing down. The last thing we want is for you to shoot me accidentally. One bullet wound a week is my limit.” She lifted the T-shirt to inspect the wound. She peeled back the corner of the dressing and stared at the stitching. “Good work. Clearly not something you or Blayne did. Who’d you find to patch me up?”
Ethan stared at the woman. His right hand holding the gun was visibly shaking, so he braced it with his left. “You don’t need to know.”
“Let me guess…Dr. Arnold Giest-Mueler.” Ethan faltered for a second, letting the gun dip toward the table. “Ethan, dear, I told you last night… I assume it was last night—”
“It was.”
“So, how long have I been out?”
“About ten hours.”
“Fuck. I need to get moving.”
“You’re not going anywhere—at least not until Blayne gets back. You promised us answers. That’s the only reason you’re still alive. Trust me… I voted to let you bleed out on the couch.”
“Thankfully, Blayne is the more logical one. You two make an impressive pair. He’s all brain, and you’re all heart.”
“You know nothing about us.”
“Don’t I?”
