Three Decades of Pretending Come to an End in a Military Holding Cell

Before I could reach for the radio dial, my cell phone lit up in the center console.

Arthur Vance’s name glowed on the bright screen.

I let it ring three times.

I meant to tell him to cancel the injunctions, send back what was left of my retainer, and close the file for good.

I pressed the green button on the steering wheel controls.

“Mr.

Vance,” I said.

“I’m glad you called.