Sanya said a few minutes later, “normally I do not storm headquarters buildings of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And in broad daylight, too.”We were parked down the block from the FBI’s Chicago office, where Toot had guided us, crouched on the dashboard and demanding to know why Sanya hadn’t rented one of the cars that could fly instead of the poky old landbound minivan he had instead. Toot hadn’t taken the answer that “cars like that are imaginary” seriously, either. He had muttered a few things in Russian that only made Sanya’s smile wider.“Damn,” I said, staring at the building. “Toot? Was Martin with her?”“The yellow-hair?” Toot sat on the dashboard facing us, waving his feet. “No, my liege.”I grunted. “I don’t like that, either. Why wouldn’t they have been taken together? Which floor is she on, Toot?”“There,” Toot said, pointing. I leaned over and hunkered down behind him so that I could look down the length of his little arm to the window he was pointing at.“Fourth,”
