The blue grille lights flashing off his rearview mirror jolted him to alertness. They were in a straightaway not a half mile from his house, but one bordered on both sides by trees. He pulled off the road and waited. His hand slid to his wallet where his official credentials were contained. He was worried that he’d dozed off or been driving erratically because he was so tired.

He saw the men coming toward the car. Not uniforms, but suits, dark ones that made their starched white shirts stand out under the three-quarter moon. Each man was about six feet tall with an athletic build, clean-shaven face, and short hair, at least that he could make out under the moonlight. His right hand gripped his cell phone and he punched in 911 and kept his thumb poised over the call key. He rolled the window down and was about to hold up his official creds when one of the other men beat him to it.

“FBI, Mr. Meldon. I’m Special Agent Hope, my partner Special Agent Reiger.”

Meldon stared at the ID card and then watched as the man flicked his hand and the familiar FBI shield appeared on the next slot in the leather holder. “I don’t understand, what’s this about, Agent Hope?”

“E-mails and phone calls, sir.”

“With whom?”

“We need you to come with us.”

“What? Where?”

“WFO.”

“The Washington Field Office? Why?”

“Questioning,” Hope replied.

“Questioning? About what?”

“We were just told to make the pickup, Mr. Meldon. The assistant director is waiting to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’m a United States attorney.”

Hope looked put off. “We are fully aware of your background. We are the FBI.”

“Of course, but I still-”

“You can call the AD if you want, sir, but our orders were to bring you in ASAP.”