By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

er, Mr. Thorne. I work for Mr. Castillo.”

“So what’s this all about?”

“We need to look at some of your personnel records, Mr. Thorne,” Castillo said. “Specifically, we need the names and addresses, etcetera, of the people who you sent to work at Lease-Aire from May first through the fifteenth.”

“No fucking way,” Thorne said.

“Excuse me?” Castillo said.

“I said, ‘No fucking way,’ ” Thorne said.

“Mr. Thorne, perhaps you don’t understand,” Castillo said. “I’m with the Secret Service. We’re asking for your cooperation in an investigation we’re conducting . . .”

“What kind of an investigation? Investigating what?”

“The disappearance of the Lease-Aire 727 in Africa,” Castillo said.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. What are you trying to do, tie me to that?”

“No, sir, we are not. But we’d like to check out the people, your people, who worked for Lease-Aire in the . . .”

“You didn’t think I was really going to hand over my personnel records to you just like that,” Mr. Thorne said and snapped his fingers. “What are you trying to do, get me fucking sued?”

“Mr. Thorne . . .” Castillo began.

“You got some kind of a search warrant?”

“We hoped that wouldn’t be necessary,” Castillo said. “We were hoping for your cooperation.”

“You get a search warrant and run it past my attorney.”

“That would take time we just don’t have, Mr. Thorne,” Castillo said.

“You don’t look stupid,” Thorne said. “What part of ‘No fucking way’ don’t you understand?”

“Mr. Thorne,” Miller said, courteously, “can I have a private word with you?”

Thorne looked at him with contempt.

“Please?” Miller asked.

Thorne shrugged his massive shoulders.

“Thank you,” Miller said, courteously. “Over there, maybe?” he asked, indicating the space between two of the hangars.

Thorne shrugged his shoulders again.

“Make this quick,” he said. “I have business to attend to.”

“I’ll try,” Miller said with a smile.

Thorne walked a few steps into the space between the two hangars and turned.

“Okay, brother,” he said. “Like I said, make it quick.”

Two seconds later, he found his face scraping painfully against the concrete-block wall of the hangar. His arm was twisted painfully upward on his back.

“What the fuck?” he protested and then yelped with pain.