Blindside - By Gj Moffat Page 0,49

two agents, even though Martinez had taken the lead initially.

‘I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to discuss that with you right now, sir. But I’m sure it will all be clearer when we get to the office.’

Cahill looked at Logan and shrugged: it’s up to you.

‘We’re not under arrest?’ Logan asked Ruiz.

‘No, sir.’

‘And you have no plans to send us back the way we came on the first available flight?’

‘That’s correct, sir. You’re welcome to stay here. Mr Cahill is a US citizen after all.’

‘You just want to ask us some questions about Tim Stark?’

That got a reaction. Martinez drew in his breath sharply and stared at Logan.

‘No one said that.’

‘But that’s what it’s about, right?’

‘As I said, sir,’ Ruiz interrupted, an edge in his voice like he was annoyed with his partner for reacting. ‘We can go over everything in town.’

‘I guess we could do that.’

Cahill took his bag from over his shoulder and held it out to Martinez.

‘Would you mind?’ he said.

Martinez hesitated and took the bag. Logan left his on the concrete and followed Cahill past Martinez and into the back of the car. He looked up to see Martinez set his mouth in a thin line before picking up his bag and heading to the back of the car. He could’ve sworn that Ruiz smiled a little before he closed the door.

‘Game on,’ Cahill said, rubbing his hands together.

The air con was on full all the way in from the airport and Logan felt gooseflesh rise on his skin. Both agents wore aviator-style sunglasses like in the movies and Logan swallowed an urge to laugh. The journey along the interstate was uneventful and the traffic fairly light. The city looked compact to Logan, the real centre of it probably no bigger than Glasgow. High-rise buildings stretched up with the mountains looming in the background.

Logan did not know the geography of the city centre or the outlying suburbs so he was content to watch the world go by outside. They stopped at a set of traffic lights and two city cops on horseback stopped beside the car. Logan looked up at the men and saw that they wore dark-coloured Stetsons to match their uniforms. One of the officers looked down at Logan and raised a hand in greeting.

‘Welcome to the wild west,’ Logan said quietly.

‘What?’ Cahill asked.

‘Talking to myself.’

They drove on for another few minutes before the driver, Ruiz, indicated to turn left and slowed the car. Logan looked out of his window as they drove through the entrance to an underground garage that lay below an eighteen-storey office block.

The agents said very little after parking in a bay next to an elevator and going round to the back of the car to retrieve the bags. Logan pulled at the handle on his door but it was locked.

‘We’ll have to sit tight and wait for them,’ Cahill said.

Logan looked out into the garage and saw Martinez and Ruiz carry their bags over to another agent who had emerged from a door to the right of the elevator. He took the bags from them and went back through the door.

‘They took our bags,’ Logan said.

Cahill glanced out of his window as the agents walked back towards the car. Logan stepped out when the door opened and asked what they had done with the bags.

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Ruiz told him. ‘We took them for safe keeping.’

His overly polite and officious language was beginning to grind on Logan.

‘You don’t have permission to open and search the bags. You know that, right?’

Ruiz said nothing for a moment.

‘Is there anything in the bags we should know about?’

‘No.’

They stood looking at each other.

‘Follow me please, sir.’

Ruiz walked towards the elevator while Martinez waited behind them.

Cahill motioned with his head for Logan to follow Ruiz, which he did. Martinez stayed five paces behind them until they got to the elevator. Inside, Ruiz pressed the button for the eighteenth floor and the doors slid shut quietly. No one said anything and there was no horrible muzak playing. Talk about uncomfortable silences.

The reception area of the FBI field office was decorated in muted earth tones with a representation of the shield on the wall behind a desk. A young black woman sat at the desk and smiled when they approached.

‘Where are we, Martha?’ Ruiz asked the woman.

‘Meeting room four.’

‘They in there already?’

‘Sure are. Go on ahead and I’ll let them know you’re coming.’

Logan had no idea who ‘they’ were, but was intrigued to find out.

He and