The message is waiting for us when we get in.

Bradley wants to see us; I assume it’s for the purpose of downloading him on our current progress, or lack of it. I haven’t even told him about what happened on my trip to Vegas, and I’m sure he’ll want details. I should have taken a cell phone picture of the buffet.

I tell Jessie to come in with us, since she’s involved with a number of important aspects of the investigation. But when we get to his office, we discover that Bradley is not alone. There are two men with him, and just based on my first impression of their manner and dress, they are Federal agents.

Bradley does the introductions. “Lieutenant Doug Brock, Lieutenant Nate Alvarez, Lieutenant Jessie Allen, this is Special Agent Alex Wiggins and Special Agent Randall Kiper. They are with the FBI.”

“I thought you said there would just be the two of them,” Wiggins says. I get the hunch that he’s the leader of the pair; maybe he’s the more “special” of the two special agents.

“Jessie is a part of the team,” Nate says. “Easily as important as we are.” I’m glad he said it; I wish I had.

Wiggins just nods. It’s an acceptance of reality, not an acknowledgment of having been rebuked. “Very well.” Then he turns to Kiper and says, “Show them.”

Agent Kiper takes his cell phone out of his pocket, presses a couple of buttons, and then points it at the wall. It projects an incredibly clear photograph that takes up most of that wall.

“That is very cool,” I say, a comment which draws a response from absolutely no one.

The photo is of a crowd of people, but it’s obvious that the man in the center was the target of the photographer. The camera is above him, and he’s not looking at it, but rather straight ahead. It appears to be a crowded airport, or train station … something like that.

“Do any of you recognize him?” Wiggins asks.

Jessie says, “No,” while Nate and I shake our heads.

“Ever seen him before?” Wiggins asks.

Another “no” from Jessie, and this time one from Nate as well. I say, “I don’t think so.”

“You might have?” Wiggins asks.

“Don’t go there,” Nate says, and Bradley quickly tells him that I’ve recently experienced some memory loss. Wiggins nods as if he already knew that.

I want to move this along. “Who is he?”

“He has at least forty names that we know of, and while we think we know his birth name, it is unimportant. He hasn’t used it for many years. For the past two weeks, while he was in this country, he went by the name Isaiah Butler.”

“Why are you asking us about him?”

“Ten days ago, he entered the country and rented a van at Newark Airport. Yesterday he died in that van in an accident on Route 15 near Baker, California.”

“Do we know it was an accident?” Bradley asks. My guess is that he already has been briefed and knows where this is going.

Wiggins nods. “We have high confidence that it was. There were high winds, and a car swerved into his. A father and son in one of the other cars was killed, and the driver of a third car suffered a broken leg. The accident is not suspicious, at least not at this point.”

“Why do you care about him?” I ask.

“He’s part of a group that supplies arms, explosives, and advice to bad actors; if you want to kill people in large numbers, and you have a lot of money to spend, these are the people you turn to for your equipment and expertise.”

“What does this have to do with us?”

“Through the GPS on the van, we were able to track its movements since he rented it. It made stops in New Jersey and Vegas that we believe were drop-offs.”

“Drop-offs of what?” Nate asks.

“Without knowing exactly, we know it is something we would be very interested in finding.”

“They are aware of our investigation, and think that Butler, or whatever his name is, might be involved,” Bradley says.

“You think the drop-offs were to Silva and Tartaro?” Nate asks.

Wiggins answers with a question to me. “What were you doing in Vegas?”

“How did you know I was there?”

“We know a lot of things. What were you doing there?”

I’m about to tell him to kiss my ass when a slight nod from Captain Bradley indicates that I should answer the question. “Talking to witnesses.”

“Tartaro is a witness?” Wiggins asks.

The question tells me that they’ve been monitoring what I’ve been doing; either that or they’re monitoring Tartaro and I got swept up in it. “He’s a suspect in a drug investigation.”

“So what did you learn out there?”

“That the buffets are worth every penny.”

Wiggins doesn’t seem amused; either he didn’t appreciate the joke or he has a different view of the buffets. He tells Bradley that he and the Bureau need to be kept informed of any progress in our investigation, and Bradley agrees, which annoys me.

The meeting breaks up, leaving Bradley, Nate, Jessie, and me alone. Jessie asks the obvious question. “Why would Silva and Tartaro need explosives to peddle drugs?”