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“Three feet at the shoulder. Two hundred pounds, give or take. No take, just give—two
hundred pounds plus some.”
“So, like a pony?”
“That’s about the right image.” Bob chuckled.
Olivia stepped onto the sidewalk. “Does he fit on the witness stand? We have to keep him out of line of sight with the jury.”
“He can be surprisingly compact when he needs to be.”
“Okay, well,” Olivia smiled at the image in her head, “I’ll say mastiff and see if any questions follow.”
“Gentle giant.” Bob’s voice sounded amused.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep that descriptor in my pocket.” Olivia grabbed at the door as a man moved in ahead of her. “I’ll pursue it with the judge and the witness. I’ll call you back with an update. Thanks, Bob.”
She pressed the red dot to end the call. Resting the edge of her phone on her chin, Olivia tried to imagine the tiny box available for witnesses, the size of the chair, the size of Candace, and now add to that a two-hundred-pound dog. This’ll be interesting. She tapped her screen and scrolled through her contacts until she came to Candace’s number.
Standing away from the line moving through the metal detection machine, Olivia made her last phone call before she needed to be back in the courtroom. “Candace? Olivia Gladstone, here.” She painted her voice with concern. “Hey, I heard you weren’t feeling well.”
Chapter Three
Nutsbe
With a thumbs up from the guard station, Nutsbe pulled through the massive metal gates that protected the Iniquus compound. He liked this drive, the quiet of the green expanding out in all directions, the woods off to the side, and today—with his windows down to enjoy the first crisp day since the heat wave—the rushing waters of the Potomac making the white noise that filled his ears.
There was peace in the drive.
It was a chance to gain focus, a time to let go of personal distractions as he headed to work.
Nutsbe assumed that Command intentionally designed the entry for that very reason.
Everything they did was with great purpose.
Up ahead, the Headquarters building looked a lot like a stately country club. It was the Mata Hari of buildings—in a good way. Beauty on the outside, cunning strategy on the inside. The exterior evoked thoughts of elegance and low-voiced conversations. Yet, walking through the doors, the interior was modern, with machine-like efficiency. There, a hive of men and women joined forces to keep Iniquus's clients safe.
The people signing contracts with Iniquus ranged from the private to the corporate to the institutional. Iniquus was Uncle Sam’s favorite nephew when he needed to keep a diplomatic arm’s length from history-changing world events.
And it seemed, this week, that Nutsbe was playing a starring role in one of those events. Sucks to be me, Nutsbe thought, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel.
His stomach was making ugly gurgling noises as his body dealt with the stress.
Driving past the guest and executive parking area, Nutsbe locked eyes with Bob Palindrome. Bob was leaning against one of the pillars outside the front entrance to the atrium. His phone was to his ear, but his gaze followed Nutsbe’s car. Nutsbe pulled into his dedicated space in the Panther Force section of Parking A. The proximity to the main door was a perk necessitated by being part of a tactical force, where the members might be racing into action—jumping on a plane, roaring down Dolley Madison toward Langley, or Pennsylvania toward the FBI. And it was a definite time advantage not to have to take a shuttle from the barracks or the satellite parking areas.
Today, Nutsbe wasn’t going to the FBI. The FBI was coming to him. Joy.
Still in his gym clothes from his lunchbreak fight demonstration with Chuck and Billy, Nutsbe would grab a quick shower and change into his uniform before the big meeting got underway.
Exiting his vehicle, Nutsbe reached for the hook in the back. Snagging the hanger with his uniform, he noticed that Bob had swiveled and still held a straight line of sight, obviously waiting for him. Nutsbe wondered what was up.
Later today, Panther Force would be in the air, heading back from Estonia. Bob might just want a report on how the newest Cerberus Tactical K9, Take It to the Max, did on the flight since Nutsbe had been his temporary handler. But that didn’t make much sense. That was a phone call from their respective Headquarters. Bob wouldn’t have left Cerberus on the east side of the Iniquus Campus for something like that.
As Nutsbe strode closer, Bob raised a hand, ensuring that Nutsbe knew he needed a word and that Nutsbe wouldn’t turn toward the cafeteria entrance.
Nutsbe was hungry. The cafeteria would be good, but with a packed schedule, he’d pull something from the Panther Force War Room fridge, where the concierge unit always kept things stocked. Not just a perk but often a necessity when a tactical force was ramped up, and there was no downtime to play with.
Nutsbe raised his hand in response.
