The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then glanced again toward the duty nurse as a drowning man might toward a life preserver.

“This isn’t a cardiac ICU,” the nurse said to Corrie. “It’s not even a step-down unit. The patient was recovering from a bullet wound to the leg, in a maintenance ward chosen specifically because it had a secure room. It was a low-grade infection.”

“Convenient,” Corrie said.

She felt Morwood’s hand on her shoulder. “Agent Swanson? Let’s take a walk.”

As he began to turn her away from the group, she resisted a moment, looking at the guard. “May I see the visitor log?”

The guard retrieved it from where it was resting against a chair leg. Taking it, Corrie allowed Morwood to lead her down the hall. She glanced into Rivers’s hospital room as they went by. The single bed within was rumpled, empty.

They ducked into a stairwell alcove, an oasis of relative quiet in the busy hallway. “You realize what you did wrong back there?” Morwood asked in a tone of mild reproach.

Corrie took a deep breath. “What, sir?” She could guess well enough, but it seemed prudent to let him say it.

“You lost your cool. You were impatient. You called into question the expertise of the doctor and the competence of the BLM rangers. This is not how we gain cooperation and support. Remember, you aren’t a lone wolf out here. As long as you carry that shield, you represent the FBI. Even though the cause of death seems pretty obvious, we’re going to conduct an autopsy.” He paused. “I know you’re annoyed you didn’t get anything out of the man—I’m a little annoyed with you about that, too. And now, you’re upset because you won’t have another chance. But you’re not going to get anywhere by taking it out on others.”

Corrie looked at the floor and took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Was she really annoyed at herself ? Maybe—but she could analyze that later. “I know the doctor and the nurse did all they could. But those rangers? I wasn’t impressed with them at all when I visited before. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were snoozing when—”

“When what? Somebody slipped in and magically caused that dirtbag’s heart to stop? It’s a wonder he lived as long as he did. Besides, you heard the nurse: Rivers was being kept in a secure room with a locked door. Those guards were there to make sure only authorized visitors signed in and out.”

He pointed at the log in Corrie’s hand—a clipboard. She glanced at it.

“Those BLM rangers may not be the sharpest knives in the drawer, but you had no reason to call their professionalism into—”

“Hey! Look at this!” Corrie said. As Morwood was speaking, she’d been idly scanning the top sheet on the clipboard. Now she turned it toward him.

Morwood peered at the top sheet. “Sheriff Watts, arresting officer. Laforge, BLM, federal transfer and processing. Swanson, FBI, questioning—we know all about that last visitor, don’t we?”

Corrie pushed the clipboard closer. “Look at the final entry.”

Morwood frowned. “Bellingame, Military Police, FORSCOM, questioning.”

“What’s FORSCOM?”

“United States Army Forces Command.”

“So he came from White Sands. What was an MP doing questioning Rivers?”

“He didn’t come from White Sands. The nearest FORSCOM installation is Fort Bliss, adjacent to the missile range.”

“Same goes for Fort Bliss. If they’re adjacent, they’re part and parcel of the same thing, right? What’s their interest?”

“Bliss and WSMR are more like night and day. Fort Bliss houses armored divisions, brigades, and an air defense command. Oh, and an intelligence center for tactical ops. Fort Bliss is the real deal … and they don’t give tours.”

“They had even less reason to question Rivers, then.”

Morwood took the clipboard from Corrie. “This speculation is a waste of breath. This MP might hail from Fort Bliss. Then again, he could be from Fort Bragg. Or Fort Knox.” He stepped out of the alcove and walked quickly back toward the secure hospital room, Corrie at his heels.

The doctor and nurse were still outside the door but had turned away, preparing to leave. They stopped when they saw Morwood approaching. He walked past, to the ranger. “Akime?” he said.

The ranger straightened. “Sir?”

Morwood showed him the clipboard. “The last name on this list of visitors. MP Bellingame. It says he was admitted at eleven fifteen last night.”

The ranger stared at the clipboard as he might the head of a gorgon.

“Were you on duty at the time?”

“I was.”

“So you saw this man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you admitted him?”

“He said he had some questions for the prisoner, sir.”

“Did he say what base he was from, or who had sent him?”

“He showed me his credentials, which looked good. I … didn’t make a note of his base.”

“You didn’t ask to see his orders?”

“That isn’t protocol, sir.”

Morwood’s jaw worked briefly. “And how long did he stay?”