Chapter 10: The Breach of the Study
The second team didn't bother using the front door; they came in through the sliding glass patio doors off the dining room, their boots leaving gray footprints on the cream-colored carpet. One of them carried a portable X-ray scanner—a flat, rectangular plate attached to a long cable that fed into a ruggedized laptop.
Arthur didn't move from his spot by the sink. "You're ruining the rug, Miller."
"The rug is tax-deductible," Miller said without looking up as the technician pressed the X-ray plate against the wainscoting beneath Arthur’s bookshelves. "The wall behind it, however, is structurally compromised by forty years of unauthorized modifications."
"Modifications?" Arthur scoffed. "I put in extra shelving for my encyclopedia set in ninety-six."
"You put in a hollow core partition with a depth of fourteen inches," the technician reported from across the room, his voice flat through his headset. "Signal attenuation is consistent with lead-lined drywall or a microform storage vault."
Miller turned his head slowly to look at Arthur. "Lead-lined drywall in a split-level suburban tract home in Oak Creek. That's a unique architectural choice for a man who only cares about Depression-era grain subsidies."
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Arthur closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, the tired resignation had vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity that Marcus had never seen on his father's face before. "If I show you what's behind that wall, Miller, your director will have to resign by midnight to avoid a congressional subpoena that will ruin every pension in the intelligence directorate."
"Try me," Miller said.
