"I'm surprised he agreed. Did you see the look on his face!" Jessica looked at Billy with bemused admiration. "That was brilliant, Billy."

"I guess we'll see." She looked across the table at Miller. His attention was on a hangnail, but she knew what he was thinking.

Verna touched Jessica's arm and beckoned her close to whisper.

"Gretta got Forrester's hard drive from the backup control room. She said it would have everything recorded on it."

Jess sat down, her face serious. "Where is it?"

"It was in a small pack tied around her waist."

"Why didn't she mention it on the plane?"

"We were all busy with her wound . . ."

"Wait a sec." Jess got up and sat next to Arny.

With a brief head nod, she indicated the camera in the corner of the ceiling, and covered her mouth as she softly questioned him. He shook his head and leaned over to Gordon, repeating Jess' questions. The surreptitious discussion went around the table; no one knew about the pack with the drive.

"What about Mark, the pilot?" Deborah asked aloud, covering her mouth and looking sheepish.

"Yeah, where is he?" Jeff asked.

"If they took a jet to the island, which they obviously did, Forrester, Paulson, and Mark are probably somewhere else here under restriction." Hart idly twirled his sunglasses on the table-top. "He was, after all, Forrester's employee."

"Well we have to tell them." Deborah hissed.

Arny shook his hand. "No way. we need to get hold of it ourselves. I don't trust this Westerbrooke."

"How do you propose to do that?" Gordon wispered.

"Let's just wait and see what comes of Billy's videos and photos." Jessica spoke up, and nobody objected.

****

Westerbrooke came back to the room accompanied by a man, a good six inches shorter than him, dressed in a black suit with a severe tie, and wearing tinted glasses. he took the prominent position at the table and introduced himself to the group in a scratchy voice.

"I am Field Director Orin Trout. We have perused the contents of Ms. West's camera, and it has been sent to our lab for study."

"What a crock." Gordon expressed his irritation. "You think we had the means to doctor pictures and videos on that island? This is bullshit."

"I don't abide profanity, Mr. Hardy."

"Really. Want to know what I don't abide?"

"Gordon, please." Deborah tugged on his sleeve.

Westerbrooke seemed to be uneasy, standing just back of Trout, and he shook his head at Gordon.

"You didn't answer his question," Hart said.

"There are protocols we follow – to the letter, Mr. Hart."

"So meanwhile what? We sit in this room until your protocols are all put to bed?"

"You will be moved to adequate accommodation, and yes, until we reach a conclusion."

Parker snorted and pointed at Trout. "A conclusion for you guys is when you get tired of thinking. If we were terrorists would we have radioed for help, and reported what happened?"

"Protocols, Mr. Nevens. I will have more to say later."

"You know, Mr. Trout, a wise man once said – nothing – he only listened."

A distinct flush appeared above Trout's collar, and he spun on his heel and marched out of the room.

"Not a good sign." Westerbrooke said, sadly. "He doesn't like being wrong."

"Tough." Parker scowled.

"It was that last line you said. That was a real shot to his ego." A smile actually filled his face.

"Aren't you worried about that camera?"

Miller asked.

"They aren't on when agents are in the room." Jessica said. "Only when suspects are alone. We sometimes do the same thing."

Westerbrooke nodded agreement, and blew out a long breath.

"If you will all follow me I'll get you to our local hotel and checked in."

****

The room was comfortable, due in part to the padded leather chairs and sofa. A Persian rug of muted colours went almost wall to wall, the fringe curling against the baseboard. Orin Trout stood at the built-in bar, meticulously constructing a drink, and listening to Malcolm Forrester dismiss the evidence discovered on Billy's phone.

"Despite what you say, Malcolm, some of the videos – and the photos – are quite damning."

"So lose them. Who can say anything?"

"The lab technicians and Agent Westerbrooke, and he is not on your page, I should warn you."

"I can handle the technicians easily. A handsome deposit in their personal accounts will take care of them. You handle Westerbrooke." He swirled his drink and watched the liquid cling for a moment.

Trout sipped his drink and moved to one of the chairs, sitting, and making a production of adjusting his trouser crease before relaxing.

"I'm afraid that's not on, Malcolm. I won't jeopardize my position in the agency."

"Won't? I think you have forgotten you owe me, Orin."

"I'm well aware of my debt, but I will not let it compromise my career."

"So what do you propose?"

"I have very little choice, Malcolm. You sent them personal invitations, you should at least have asked them to bring them. Now they are all over the country in drawers or on desks – who knows, maybe even in a scrapbook. Then you admit to them that you were responsible for a veritable wave of crime all over the world! Really, what would you suggest?"

Malcolm stood and looked down at the Bureau Field Director.

"I would suggest you give serious thought to the career you covet so zealously, Orin, because if it happens that I go down, I will not – I repeat – not – go down alone." He finished his drink and left the room.

Orin stared at the empty space, then slowly rose, placed his unfinished drink on the bar, and walked out as well.

****

"It's all very well being put up in this Hostage Inn, but when will we be allowed to go home?" Parker complained to Westerbrooke at the elevator.

"Trout wasn't kidding, he wants you guys for terrorism." The protests all began at once, and he backed away, hands up in surrender.

"He hasn't got a case, I know that, but he will do his damnedest to build one, which means I don't know when you can leave."

"I want to contact our embassy." Jessica said.

"I'm really sorry, Ms. Stroud, that's Trout's call."

"You can't just hold us like this. We have rights." Miller blustered.

Westerbrooke shrugged and made a sorry face. "You have your keys, settle in, and we'll see what happens."

"Wait a minute," Arny protested, "what about Ms. Lawrence?"

"She'll remain at the hospital for now. Sorry."

Angry complaints began again as the elevator doors opened behind them, and a voice called a cheery hello.

"Mark!"

The myriad questions had to be filtered, and finally the group let Jessica do the talking.

"First off, what are you doing here? Is Forrester in this hotel?"

"Hah, not likely. They stuck me here with Paulson – different rooms, same floor. What floor are you guys on?"

"In a minute. This is important, Mark. Did you find a small pack on the plane after we left, It would have a strap for--?"

"Yeah, it's in my room. I think that Gretta woman had it."

The sudden hug shocked him, and soon he was mobbed by the rest of the group.

"Wha- what's goin' on?"

"You have saved the day – again!" Deborah cheered.

"Right. You are officially one of us now. Our personal pilot," someone said.

"He is. And henceforth shall be known as Enola Gay Jr., for that brave action over the Forrester boathouse." Arny lightly punched his arm.

"Let's get upstairs and get the pack. It needs to be kept somewhere safe." Jessica pushed the elevator button again, and beamed a smile at a bewildered Mark.