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“Ah . . . I assume he’s sleeping, sir.” Patterson knew exactly who Hargrave was, as he had just brought Wilson by his house before they left for Afghanistan.
“Any idea why he’s not answering his phone?”
“Probably because he’s sleeping, sir.” Patterson regretted the answer immediately.
“Agent Patterson, who do you work for?”
“The FBI, sir.”
“That’s correct, and who does Special Agent Wilson work for?”
“The FBI, sir.”
“That’s correct. We don’t turn our phones off . . . ever. Do you understand me, young man?”
“I do, sir.”
“Do you like your job?”
“Ahhhh . . . yes, I do, sir. Very much, sir.”
“Well, let me giv
e you a little advice. If you want to keep working for the FBI, you are going to follow my instructions to the letter. Do you know where Agent Wilson is right now?”
“I think he’s in his quarters, sir.”
“And where are you?”
“I’m at the gym.”
“Well, you are going to go wake his insubordinate ass up and you are going to call me back and put him on the phone. Have I made myself clear?”
Patterson stepped off the treadmill. “Crystal clear, sir.”
“If I don’t hear back from you in ten minutes, your career is over.”
“Sir?”
“What?”
“I need your number.”
“I’ll text it to you. Call me back in ten minutes.”
Patterson was about to respond but the line went dead. He noted the time on his watch and stuffed his phone and his earbuds in the zippered pockets of his running shorts. He grabbed his sweatshirt and started running. The trailer where Wilson was sleeping was only two minutes from where he was, but Patterson wasn’t about to take any chances. It was getting light outside as he broke into a near sprint.
People were already out doing their morning PT, and Patterson got more than a few strange looks as he blew down the street as if he was running for his life, which he basically was. There was a moment of near panic when he couldn’t locate the specific trailer. They all looked alike. On his second try he found the right place and as he burst through the door he found one of his fellow agents drinking coffee and staring at his iPad.
“Where’s Wilson?”
The agent pointed with his coffee mug toward the back of the trailer. “Sleeping.”
Patterson pulled out his phone and was relieved to see the text from Hargrave. He tapped the number as he moved down the hallway, passing the smaller bedrooms on his left and right. He was tempted to knock on the door, but when he heard Hargrave answer, he decided not to stop. He flung the door open and marched right to the bedside. Wilson looked up, dazed and confused by the light spilling in from the hallway.
“Here he is, sir.” Patterson placed the phone in front of Wilson’s face and said, “It’s an emergency.”
Wilson took the phone and said, “Hello?”