“She is in possession of classified military hardware and intelligence documents.”

“We have a federal warrant for her arrest.”

Vance looked at me, his face turning pale.

“Do they?” he asked.

“There is no warrant,” I said.

“If there was, the Capitol Police would be kicking the door down, not Vanessa Cross.”

“She is bluffing.”

“But she is not alone.”

I heard the heavy, slow footsteps of a man in the corridor.

Then came the voice of General Marcus Albright.

“Mr. Vance,” Albright said, his tone calm and resonant.

“I am here with Captain Merritt.”

“Please open the door so we can resolve this matter without involving the press.”

Vance looked at the logbook, then at the door.

His hand hovered over the telephone.

“If I open it, they will take the book,” I said.

“And it will vanish into a classified vault forever.”

Vance’s eyes hardened.

He reached down, picked up the logbook, and slid it into a heavy steel safe behind his desk.

He spun the dial, the clicks sounding like gunshots in the small room.