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Sandra sipped appreciatively at her champagne, pursed her lips, and then drained the glass.
"Was the offer of something stronger bona fide?"
Kocian nodded.
"In that case, Colonel, I will have one of your famous McNab martinis, thank you ever so much."
"My pleasure," Castillo said, and went to a sideboard loaded with spirits and drinking paraphernalia.
"So, what happened, Sandra?" David W. Yung asked.
"Cutting to the chase, Two-Gun," Sandra said, "ten minutes after my better half here assured me that all was well as the Secret Service was on its way to our bullet-shattered cottage by the side of the road--before which sat our bullet-shattered new car--they did in fact arrive, sirens screaming, lights flashing. I expected Bruce Willis to leap out and wrap me in his masterly arms. By then, of course, the AALs who had turned tranquil Churchill Lane into the OK Corral were in Atlantic City. But what the hell, I thought, naive little ol' me, I shouldn't fault them for trying."
"Then what happened?" Davidson asked.
"The first thing they did was tell the Philly cops to get lost," Sandra said. "My living room was now a federal crime scene. And they hustled Jack and me into the back of one of their SUVs and drove off with sirens screaming. I thought they had word the AALs were coming back."
"The what, my dear?" Dona Alicia asked.
"African-American Lunatics, make-believe Muslims who don't like Jack very much."
"Why not?" Dona Alicia asked.
"I kept an eye on them for the police department," Britton said.
"What he did, Abuela," Castillo said, "was live with them for long years. He wore sandals, a dark blue robe, had his hair braided with beads. They thought his name was Ali Abid ar-Raziq."
"And for that they tried to kill him?"
"Actually, they came pretty close to killing both of us," Britton said.
"Sandra," Yung said reasonably, "an attack on Jack, a federal officer, made it a federal case."
"Is that why they took Jack downtown and took his gun and badge away? The way that looked to me was that Jack was the villain for getting shot at."
"They took your credentials and weapon, Jack?" McGuire asked.
"And it was my pistol, not the Secret Service's."
"Had you fired it at the bad guys?"
Britton shook his head.
McGuire looked at the four Secret Service agents who had brought the Brittons to the house.
"Who's in charge?"
"I am, sir," the shortest one, who held a briefcase, said.
"Where's his credentials and weapon?"
"I have them, sir," the agent said, holding up the briefcase. "Mr. Isaacson said I was to turn them over to you."
"Give Special Agent Britton his credentials and his pistol."
"Sir, I don't--"
"That was an order, not a suggestion," McGuire said. "And then you guys can wait in the kitchen."
