CHAPTER SIX
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C., the next day
Daniel stifled a yawn as he and Remi sat down in Assistant Director Ochiai’s office.
“Sorry to cut your vacation short,” she said. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Remi said as she sat down beside Daniel.
The assistant director moved over to the side of the office, under a black and white photo of Japanese-American cowboys branding a steer somewhere in Texas, and started up the espresso machine that sat on a small side table.
“Is that a new one?” Daniel asked, pointing to a photo of a man who he knew was the assistant director’s cousin wrestling a steer to the ground. Man and bovine had their faces pressed together.
“New and old,” she replied, brewing up the coffee. “I took this a couple of y
