"Sir?"
"If they're willing to frame you, they may need you alive."
The marshal glanced toward the tunnel.
"We need to move."
They entered the basement.
The service tunnel was narrow and poorly lit.
Pipes ran along the ceiling.
Old electrical cables crossed the walls.
Mercer led the way.
"How far?"
"Three hundred yards."
"Where does it come out?"
"Behind the federal records building."
The judge nodded.
"Good."
They walked in silence.
Then Mercer stopped.
He pointed ahead.
A door.
It was slightly open.
The judge approached.
The door had been forced.
Mercer whispered:
"This wasn't like this yesterday."
The marshal checked the hallway beyond.
Empty.
They entered.
Inside was a small storage room.
Boxes filled the walls.
The judge noticed one box lying open.
Documents were scattered across the floor.
He bent down.
The label read:
CALDER — HISTORICAL MATERIAL.
He picked up a folder.
Inside were copies of emails.
He scanned the first page.
The sender was David Mercer.
The recipient was Lieutenant Harris.
The subject line read:
THE JUDGE'S SCHEDULE.
The judge's eyes narrowed.
He turned the page.
Another email.
Harris to Mercer.
8:15 remains the critical window.
The judge looked at Dawson.
She saw the page.
"That's it."
"What?"
"The time."
8:15.
The exact time Harris had instructed her to stop him.
The judge read the next message.
Keep him outside until Cole arrives.
He looked at Mercer.
"How long has this been happening?"
Mercer shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Months?"
"Years."
The judge looked at the documents.
"What is Cole's role?"
Mercer hesitated.
"He's the one who keeps the system clean."
"What does that mean?"
"He makes sure investigations disappear."
The judge stared at him.
"Internal investigations?"
"Evidence complaints. Security violations. Financial records. Anything that threatens the organization."
Dawson looked shocked.
"Organization?"
Mercer nodded.
"There is no official name."
"What do they call themselves?"
Mercer looked at the floor.
"The Circle."
The judge frowned.
"The Circle?"
"They don't call it that publicly."
"Who does?"
"People who survive it."
The judge looked at the documents again.
"How many?"
"Inside this courthouse?"
Mercer nodded.
"Maybe eight."
"Eight people?"
"At least."
The judge looked toward Dawson.
"Do you know any of them?"
She shook her head.
Then she hesitated.
"Maybe."
The judge turned.
"Who?"
Dawson swallowed.
"Captain Lewis."
The marshal looked at her.
"Our security director?"
She nodded.
"I saw him meeting Harris after hours."
"When?"
"Three weeks ago."
"Where?"
"Parking garage."
"Did you hear them?"
"No."
"Why didn't you report it?"
She looked ashamed.
"Because Lewis is senior to me."
The judge stared at her.
"That's not enough."
"I know."
He looked at the marshal.
"Do you trust Lewis?"
The marshal hesitated.
"I don't know anymore."
The judge nodded.
"Good answer."
They continued through the tunnel.
At the far end, another door blocked their path.
Mercer opened it.
Sunlight flooded in.
They emerged behind the federal records building.
No cameras.
No reporters.
No security officers.
The judge looked back toward the courthouse.
From the outside, it looked completely normal.
People were still walking past.
Cars were still moving.
The American flag still hung above the entrance.
Nobody looking from the street would have guessed that inside, a group of people had been manipulating security systems and trying to control a federal case.
The judge took out his phone.
It showed no signal.
"Of course."
The marshal looked around.
"We need transportation."
A black SUV appeared at the end of the street.
The judge watched it approach.
The marshal moved in front of him.
The SUV stopped.
The rear window lowered.
The driver was the Chief Marshal.
"Get in."
The judge approached.
"How did you know where we were?"
The marshal looked at him.
"I didn't."
The judge stopped.
"What?"
The driver frowned.
"Your Honor?"
"Who told you to come here?"
"No one."
The judge stared at him.
"Then how did you know?"
The driver looked confused.
"I received a message."
"From whom?"
"The courthouse system."
The judge's expression hardened.
"What did it say?"
"Emergency extraction. Location provided."
"Show me."
The driver handed him the phone.
The message was genuine.
But the sender wasn't.
It had been generated through an emergency response account.
The judge looked at Mercer.
Mercer shook his head.
"That's not possible."
"Why?"
"Because that account was retired last year."
The judge looked at the marshal.
"Did you verify the request?"
"No."
The judge closed his eyes briefly.
"Then we don't get in."
The driver looked confused.
"Your Honor?"
The judge stepped back.
"Thank you."
The SUV drove away.
Dawson watched it disappear.
"How do we know who is real anymore?"
The judge looked at her.
"We don't."
He reached into his pocket.
"But we can verify."
He pulled out the phone he had kept separate from his regular device.
A secure line.
He dialed a number from memory.
A woman answered.
"Federal Judicial Security."
"This is Judge Marcus Ellison."
There was a pause.
"Your Honor."
"I need an independent security detail."
"Are you under threat?"
"Yes."
"Where are you?"
The judge looked around.