“Is John around?”
Her resentment worsened. “Yes, he’s right here.”
“Listen, I really am sorry to bug you. But if the two of you were thinking about visiting the States, now might not be a bad time.”
chapter
twenty-four
DUNLOP
Dunlop didn’t recognize the two FBI agents who were there to escort Schrader to the local Bureau field office. That didn’t concern him. The marshals who routinely shuttled prisoners to and from the courthouse, everyone got to know. But no one could keep track of Bureau business. Probably not even the Bureau itself.
He squinted at the court order again. There was nothing wrong with it. It was properly filled out and stamped, and signed by District Judge Ricardo. And the agents’ IDs were legit, too.
But still, a day pass for an off-site interrogation was unusual. Plus Schrader was the FDC’s premier celebrity guest. That nice prosecutor, Alondra Diaz, had been by to meet with him not thirty minutes earlier. It all made Dunlop feel a little . . . twitchy. He wondered if he should maybe contact her. But no, a court order was the last word, and if Diaz objected, there would be nothing he could do and all he would accomplish would be to get her pissed at him. Dunlop had been with the Bureau of Prisons for eighteen years and had never made a major mistake, and all he cared about at this point was keeping it that way so he could enjoy his pension while doing nothing but drinking beer and catching fish and watching football. So no, no sense calling Diaz. But if there was an i here that hadn’t been dotted, he was damn well going to make sure it wasn’t his ass that got bitten for it.
“How come you guys didn’t call ahead?” he said, looking up from the court order. “Usually people call ahead when they’re going to pick up a prisoner. Sometimes it takes us a while to locate them, believe it or not. Unless they’re in the SHU, which this guy Schrader is not.”
The two agents glanced at each other. Both white guys, both early thirties and fit-looking, both with that cocksure Bureau attitude that rubbed everyone the wrong way. “You gotta be kidding,” the taller one said. “They were supposed to call ahead. Like an hour ago. Jesus. How long is it going to take to locate this guy . . . What’s his name? Schrader?”
“Well, I don’t know. He’s probably back in his cell now. We had him out just a half hour ago to meet with the prosecutor. But say, Agent . . .”
“Robinson,” the tall one said.
“Right. Agent Robinson. The thing is, this is an unusual request. I’m just going to call the ExA—the executive administrator—and make sure it all checks out.”
“Do what you gotta do,” Robinson said. “Sounds like we’re already going to be late and it’s none of our faults. It’s the idiots who didn’t call ahead.”
Five minutes later, the ExA, a pencil neck named Nulty, was out front, personally reviewing the court order and the agents’ credentials. Nulty would understand that Dunlop had called him to cover his own ass, of course. But that was fine. He’d also understand that the ass at risk now was his own.
“Everything seems to be proper,” Nulty said, still staring at the paperwork. “Have you checked to make sure it’s in PACER?”
Shit. Dunlop hadn’t thought of that. “Uh, no. Give me just a minute.”
He logged on, but couldn’t find the order. “Nothing by case number. Nothing by Federal Register Number. And . . . nothing by name. It’s not entered.”
“Huh,” Robinson said. “Maybe they haven’t gotten to it yet or whatever. Can you call the court?”
Nulty nodded. “Sure, we can do that.” He glanced at Dunlop to indicate that by we he meant you.
“Just do me a favor,” Robinson said. “On the assumption everything checks out, which it should, can you bring out the prisoner so we can get a move on? We’re on bullshit detail all day, and this isn’t our only stop.”