"Is the task force working this weekend?"

"You really have to ask that?"

"Sorry. Please find the Arabs."

"Searching for Arabs is all I do."

He had hung up with the director and walked into the war room. His agents were drinking coffee and eating donuts; caffeine and sugar, the basics of a manhunt.

"Where's Pea with the tacos?" he asked.

No answer was forthcoming, so Beckeman bit into a chocolate glazed donut.

"Chief," Agent Jenkins said, "I've been thinking."

"Your first mistake."

"My six-year-old son plays soccer. I go to his games, it's like the fucking Academy Awards, all the cameras. Mommies and daddies capturing every moment of Baby Jesus's life."

Agent Jenkins stuffed a donut into his mouth but did not stop talking.

"The taller Arab in the yellow sneakers, he played on the mosque soccer team. Maybe other Muslims taped the games. Maybe someone captured his image on their cell phone or camcorder."

"And you think they'll just hand over their phones and cameras?"

"I asked a few to check their phones, but they're not exactly cooperating with us." He shrugged. "We did arrest their Imam. But we could get search warrants."

"How many?"

"Could be hundreds.

"It'd take several days to get all the names and the warrants, right?"

"Probably."

"So by that time, what do you think would happen to any images on their phones?"

"Deleted?"

"Exactly."

Agent Jenkins glanced over Beckeman's shoulder and shot off as if to jump between a bullet and the president. Which meant only one thing.

"Tacos!"

Agent Pea had arrived. She carried a box of tacos; Agent Smith followed behind like a bodyguard. Beckeman muscled his way to the front; these sons of bitches weren't eating all the eggs, cheese, and bean tacos that day. He grabbed two and dropped his cash in the box.

"Pea, Smith," Beckeman said, "any security problems with the judge?"

"Chief," Pea said, "it's a diversion, the judge's abduction. We're looking in the wrong direction. We-"

"No, sir," Ace said. "No problems."

"Good. 'Cause you two got the night shift. Meet the judge at the garage exit at four-forty-five, one of his girls has a basketball game at five."

"I'm betting the black girl," Agent Smith said.

Pea gave him a look.

"What?"

"You're a regular Sherlock Holmes."

Scott sat in the gymnasium stands. Alone; no one wanted to be in his company, except for his crew. The fans that had greeted him so warmly the week before now acted as if he had Ebola; they had crowded into the adjacent section of the bleachers, as if expecting Islamic terrorists to burst through the doors and open fire at him. His abduction had taken him from hero to potential target. No one wanted to be collateral damage. To his left sat Louis, Carlos, Bobby, and Karen bouncing Little Scotty on her knees; to his right sat Boo and Agents Pea and Smith. He had not expected them to work his evening security detail, but he had not been disappointed when they were waiting at the garage exit. Scott stood.

"Come on, Boo, concession stand run." He pointed out the orders. "Root beers for Carlos, Louis, and Bobby, coffee with cream for Karen, and prunes for Little Scotty." He patted the boy's head. "Sorry, bud. Agents Pea and Smith, what can I get for you?"

"I'll take a root beer, too," Agent Smith said. "And ice cream, if they got some. I love root beer floats."

Agent Pea rolled her eyes at her partner then stood. "Agent Smith seems to have forgotten that we're here to protect you, sir, not eat ice cream. I'll go with you."

Agent Smith offered a bemused expression. "I don't think a middle school basketball game in Highland Park is going to attract a crowd of Islamic jihadists."

"The game won't, but the judge might."

Scott looked from Agent Pea to Agent Smith and back to Agent Pea.

"Do you two need a moment?"

Agent Pea sighed. "I need caffeine, and he needs sugar."

Louis stood. "I'll go with you, Judge Fenney."

"It's okay, Louis. Agent Pea's got a gun."

"I've got your back."

Louis led the way down the stands. Scott, Boo, and Agent Pea followed. They stepped onto the floor and turned toward the concession stand-and came face to face with Penny Birnbaum.

"Hello, Scott."

"Oh, uh, hi, Penny."

Her eyes went from Scott to Agent Pea. She frowned. "Is she with you?"

Agent Pea recoiled. "She-"

"-is an FBI agent," Boo said. "She's guarding A. Scott's body."

"Oh, really?"

The two women gave each other once-overs as women do.

What the hell are you looking at?

First the cute teacher and now this little tart. What, is the judge starring in Highland Park Bachelor? Cat returned the favor and gave her a possible perpetrator eyeballing.

Wonder how you'd feel if I strip-searched you, see if you're wearing Spanx under that tight knit dress to make your ass look so round and firm?

Cat needed no help in that regard.

The two women eyed each other like prizefighters at the official weigh-in. Boo's eyes darted back and forth between the women as if she were watching a tennis match. She was clearly enjoying this. Scott decided to break it up.

"Enjoy the game, Penny."

Penny stared to walk past him but abruptly put her mouth to his ear away from Agent Pea and whispered, "I'm not wearing panties." She blew in his ear and squeezed his hand. He felt his face turn hot. Agent Pea noticed.

"Five root beers, two coffees with cream, a jar of prunes, and ice cream."

The judge ordered, the big black bailiff hovered like a Mexican mother, and Cat eyed the civilians loitering around the concession stand ... no one looked Muslim or armed or dangerous except that tart named Penny ... but her attention was abruptly drawn to Boo and another girl, blonde, five-two, a little snot by the looks of her. There was apparently bad blood between them because they immediately got in each other's face.

"How's your nose, Bitzy?"

"My dad said he's going to sue you."

Boo threw a thumb at her dad. "Call my lawyer."

"Uh, Judge, sir ... your daughter ... "

"She's fine." To the attendant: "Better make that six root beers."

"Oh, that's right, your dad," the blonde said with a wicked sneer. "The liberal federal judge."

"Uh, Judge ..."

"She's fine."

"She decked the blonde."

"She does that."

"I ain't never dated an FBI agent," the judge's assistant named Carlos said.

"I've never dated a man with five priors," Cat said.

"Ay-yi-yi. You ran a criminal background check on me?"

"On everyone near the judge ... except these two girls."

Cat sat across the table from Carlos and between the judge's daughters.

"You've got a crush on him, don't you?" the daughter named Boo whispered to her.

"Who? Carlos?"

"No. A. Scott."

"Why do you say that?"

"I observe."

"Your father seems to have quite a few girls."

"Oh, no, he's the hunk of Highland Park, but he doesn't have anyone."

"The hunk of Highland Park?"

"We think he is." Her eyebrows bounced. "Do you think he is?"

"I'm on the job."

"But you look at him."

She was observant.

"Don't worry about that Penny girl," Boo said. "She's an oral sex kind of girl, and A. Scott doesn't want that."

Agent Smith spit out his pizza so as not to choke.

"Why not?" he said.

"Ace," Cat said.

"Oh. Sorry."

He ducked his head to his pizza. Cat shook her head at him.

"She's not his type," Boo said.