Special Agent in Charge Mike Stefon, his hair a mess and his shirt wrinkled from lying down for an hour to catch a little rest, entered his office, shut the door, and locked it behind him. The night had been long, filled with interrogations and confrontations with overbearing lawyers, most of whom managed to get their clients to exercise their right to remain silent. What little information they obtained came from fingerprints and databases.
As he sat down at his desk, he noticed the file folders from last night's events arranged neatly, positioned between his office phone and a black pen holder. Each folder looked thin, barely containing any pages. The look he gave them suggested that this pleased him.
Pulling the top file from the pile, Stefon flipped it open. His intense brown eyes quickly scanned the pages as he stroked his full beard. Name after name of arrested suspects looked back at him. Most had military backgrounds, with experience in the Special Forces and numerous commendations from deployments, many from the same commanding officer.
As he read through the documents, he came across statements about being darted and knocked out or experiencing strange things. One report was especially troubling—it suggested that the suspect had been attacked by, was he reading that right? A monster?
Having heard some of the stories over the past few months regarding the bounty hunter Angel's odd tactics, this provided another clue to an already clear puzzle that Agent Sims, though she'd been adamant otherwise, had called him in.
Stefon's focus sharpened as he studied the connections. How many of these men could be linked to Bible? He made mental notes of which suspects would require in-depth interviews.
A shrill ring cut through his concentration.
Scowling, he reached over and grabbed the receiver of an older-style land-line phone. "Agent Stefon."
"Stefon," came the familiar voice of Ethan Wilks, Assistant Director of the FBI in Washington, D.C. "I'm glad I caught you in your office this morning."
He straightened up in his chair.
"Sir," he answered. Suddenly tense, his jaw tightened.
"I heard about the raid last night. Good job." Ethan praised. "When will you have the reports sent over to my office?"
"I am reviewing them now, sir. They should be in your hands by mid-afternoon."
"Very good." Ethan paused. "I understand you had to suspend one of your field agents?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"She went against my orders and brought in an outsider," Stefon stated curtly. "I believe you are familiar with Mr. Collins, the bounty hunter operating independently for the past few years?"
"Yes, I'm quite familiar with him. I also heard he played a significant role in last night's events. Possibly as the catalyst for the girls' rescue?" Ethan questioned.
"While the results were positive, sir, he was not authorized and could have caused more damage than good. I have issued an APB to bring him in." Stefon's fingers drummed against the desk.
"I want you to cancel that APB, Stefon."
"But, Sir!" He blurted out the words before he could stop them.
"Look. I have every intention of having him brought to D.C. for a debriefing and discussion, but last night was just the tip of the iceberg. So far, Mr. Collins has been no more than an irritation for procedures, while his work has saved lives. Lay off him until I have that talk with him, understood?"
"Yes, Sir." Stefon's face flushed—for more reasons than Ethan knew. "Anything else, sir?"
"Just get those reports to me as soon as possible. We've had very few leads on this Bible, and I'd like to see what your agents have gathered. I also want all the interrogation notes from those you've rounded up."
"Yes, Sir." His free hand twisted the phone cord until his knuckles went white.
"Good. I look forward to reading them. Have a good day, Agent Stefon."
The line went dead.
Stefon slammed the handset back onto the phone base. "God dammit!"
Pushing back from his desk, he stormed angrily to the file cabinet. The middle drawer squeaked as he yanked it open, and his fingers pushed files aside before he reached deep into the back corner and retrieved a small key.
Back at his desk, he opened the bottom drawer. A small lock box sat there like a guilty secret. He lifted it onto the desktop, hands trembling slightly as he inserted the key. The lid popped open, revealing a burner phone.
Pressing the power button, the phone's screen flickered to life. He selected the only saved number and tapped it. One ring. Two. Three. By the seventh ring, sweat beaded on his forehead.
Finally, the call was answered.
"Stefon," Bible's voice sounded angry. "What is it?"
Stefon swallowed hard, "Sir. We have a problem. I just received a call from Assistant Director Wilks ordering me to kill the APB on Mr. Collins, and he wants the full file report on his desk by mid-afternoon."
Silence stretched across the line, and Stefon's nerves began to fray.
"I have other means to deal with Angel in progress as we speak, Stefon, so to maintain your cover, do as he ordered. I expect you to clean up the files before sending them as usual."
"Of course. But I usually have more time to ensure everything looks official and clean. His demands could create a problem."
"There is no problem." The implications of failure were left unspoken.
"Sir." Stefon's voice came out smaller than he intended. "With Agent Sims going against my orders and bringing Mr. Collins in, as well as last night's bust, suspicions are high. I can't alter too much or I'll be discovered."
Another pause. Stefon gripped the phone tighter.
"This Sims? She knows Angel?"
"Very well. They dated before he joined the service."
"Interesting." Bible paused. "Do your job, Stefon, and make sure any detail that can be linked back to me is destroyed."
"I will try, sir, but after this, I can't do anything else, or I could be discovered."
"You will do what I tell you to do, Stefon."
"I'm sorry, sir, but they're already suspicious around here and in D.C. If I'm discovered, they'll link me to you, and I know you don't want that."
"No, I do not." A beat of consideration. "Redact the files you have. I will contact you soon."
The line went dead.
Stefon slumped back in his chair, mentally and physically drained. This position was not one he had ever wanted to find himself in. He felt sorry for the children and always experienced a sense of relief when one of them was saved, but Bible held secrets that would destroy him if they were revealed, so he did what he had to do. Self-preservation was paramount.
He ran his tongue across dry lips and began sorting files. Problematic reports went into one pile. The digital versions would need scrubbing next, then the physical evidence would go through the shredder—just as his Master demanded.