"What the hell is this?" I demanded, searching his brown eyes. He was focused on something far away.
"It is done," he said, pressing the hard, round object into my palm. He squeezed my hand tightly and shut his eyes.
A loud rap startled me. Still holding his hand, I felt Jibril jump in surprise.
"FBI!" An angry voice shouted from behind the door. "Open up!"
Michael looked at me. "Were we followed?"
"Oh shit!" I tried to squirm out of Jibril's grasp. Jibril held my hand firmly. I couldn't escape his grip without relinquishing my hold on the strange, metallic object he gave me. Despite the object's apparent uselessness, I couldn't bring myself to let go. I tried to will my fingers to release. My mind refused to obey. If that thing could somehow reconnect me to the LINK, I wasn't about to lose it no matter what was at stake.
"Are you crazy or something?" I barked at Jibril, trying to catch his eye.
"It is as Allah wills it," he said as he watched the door with a dreamy expression.
Michael grunted. "God has chosen the FBI as Their agents? I'm in the wrong profession."
I squirmed in Jibril's grip. "Let go of me." I gestured with my knee.
Michael held up his hands. "Relax, Deidre. Don't do anything rash. We've done nothing wrong. What can they do?"
"It is as Allah wills it," Jibril repeated calmly.
"We're coming in!" A muffled command came from behind the door.
"I'm going to open the door," Michael said with a quiet conviction. "Show them that we intend to cooperate."
" 'Cooperate'?" I repeated, stunned. "Good Lord, you are a country bumpkin, aren't you? You don't cooperate with the FBI. They'd just as soon shoot as not."
Michael stopped in front of Jibril and me. "What do you suggest we do? Run? I might have been a smalltown cop, but I know enough to realize that if those agents are doing their job, every exit is covered. We wouldn't get far. Gabe is right. It's out of our hands."
"Not if I can help it." I slammed the flat of my foot into the most vulnerable part of Jibril's body: his knee. With a yelp, he let go of my hands.
The apartment door strained under the pressure of someone's body or a battering ram. Wood began to splinter. They would be through the door in a second. I pocketed the metallic object Jibril gave me and reached for my Magnum. Michael grabbed my elbow before I could even pull the gun out. "That would be really stupid, Dee. You know that."
"Let go of me," I demanded, sizing Michael up for my knee trick.
Following my gaze, he said, "Don't even think about it. What do you think you're going to do with that gun anyway?" His smile was as tight as his grip on my elbow. "You're one tough woman, Deidre McMannus, but not even you could hold an entire battalion of FBI agents at bay with a measly six rounds from an ancient projectile weapon."
The door slammed open so hard the doorknob punched through the thin plaster wall. A black uniform stepped cautiously into the room. Bright yellow block letters spelled out fbi on his ball cap. A badge was printed on the tee shirt underneath his heavy leather jacket. Seeing me, with my fist in my pocket, the agent raised his assault rifle.
"Play it cool," Michael whispered to me. "We didn't do anything wrong."
"I didn't, that's for sure. What about you? What about him?" I jerked my head in the direction of Jibril, who had propped himself up on the chair and was rubbing his knee. "What have I been aiding and abetting this time?"
Two more uniforms gingerly stepped around the shattered doorway. As I stared down the barrel of a gun, my feet felt rooted to the spot. Sweat pricked under my arms. Michael let go of my elbow, and raised his hands.
"I'm a cop," Michael said calmly, as if his announcement of that fact would diffuse everything. "Take it easy."
More black and yellow-clad men streamed in the door, like a horde of wasps, followed by uniformed police.
When I saw the police, I relaxed a little. With effort I let go of the Magnum, and put my hands up. As a uniform passed near me, I asked, "You boys got a warrant?"
He looked over his shoulder at the FBI, then walked away.
The police moved about the apartment. I could hear doors popping open as they methodically checked the other, rooms. Someone grabbed Jibril, shouting, "Get your hands behind your head. Down on the ground. Move it!"
"Don't push me, man, I'm already wounded," Jibril protested, glaring at me. He complied with the officer's demands. "Yeah. Don't you people need a warrant or something?"
An FBI agent frisked Michael and took his badge and gun. "Down on the ground."
"And you wanted to cooperate," I sneered at Michael. I slowly pulled the gun out butt first, ready to surrender it. So far, however, the cops and the agents were ignoring me. They concentrated their testosterone-hyped bullying on the men. I scanned the uniforms for a woman. Without one, I might be spared the humiliating process of being frisked until we reached wherever they intended to take us. With luck, I could secrete the mysterious object somewhere before then.