The Face of Death by Cody McFadyen

Author:Cody McFadyen [McFadyen, Cody]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 2010-07-04T04:00:00+00:00

B O O K T W O

9

Men Who Eat Children

30

I CURSE THE RAIN AND READY MYSELF FOR THE RUN TO THE

front steps of the Los Angeles FBI building.

Southern California had very little rain and a whole lot of sun for nearly a decade. Mother Nature is making up for lost time with a heavy rainstorm every three days or so. It started in February and it’s been going on for two months now. It’s wearing thin. Nobody carries an umbrella in Los Angeles, even if they should. I’m no exception. I stuff the copy of Sarah’s diary into my jacket to protect it, grab my purse, and poise my thumb so I can hit the lock button of my key fob on the run.

I open the door and sprint, cursing, cursing, cursing. I’m drenched by the time I arrive.

“Rain got you good, Smoky,” Mitch remarks as I pass through security.

No response beyond a smile or a grimace is expected. Mitch is the head of security for the building, a grizzled ex–military man; fifty-five or so, fit, with hawk eyes and a certain coldness to him. I drip-dry on the elevator as I head up to the floor my office is on. Other agents ride up with me, looking just as bedraggled. Everyone got drenched; each region has its own piece of stubbornness. This is ours.

The current incarnation of my position is known as NCAVC

Coordinator. NCAVC stands for “National Center for the Analysis of 2 4 4

C O D Y M c F A D Y E N

Violent Crime” and it is headquartered in DC. Every bureau office has someone in charge of being the local “rep” for the NCAVC, a kind of Amway network of death. In sleepier, slower places, one agent covers multiple areas of responsibility, NCAVC Coord being just one of many hungry mouths he or she has to feed.

We’re special here. We get some of the best psychos around, in a volume that justifies a full-time Coordinator In-Charge (me) and a multiagent team. I have been in charge of my team for almost a decade. I hand-selected everyone; they are the absolute best around, in my notso-humble opinion. The FBI is a bureaucracy, so there are always rumbles and rumors about changing the name or the composition of my squad. For now, we are here, and we are generally more than busy.

I head down the hallways, turning right and then left as I continue to drip on the thin, tight-woven gray carpet until I get to the NCAVC

Coord offices, known within the building as “Death Central.” I enter and my nose twitches at the smell of coffee.

“Good grief, you’re drenched.”

I give Callie a baleful look. She, of course, is dry and perfect and beautiful. Well, not perfect, maybe. Her eyes are tired. A mix of pain and painkillers? Or just a lack of sleep?

“Coffee ready?” I mumble.

The need for caffeine is great.

“Of course,” Callie says, pretending to be offended. “You’re not dealing with an amateur here.” She indicates the pot.

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