Alexis Truffant’s cell phone rang the moment she walked back into her apartment. “Truffant here,” she said, trying to mask the exhaustion in her voice. From the moment Kline had stepped into her office with the news of the Fed president’s shooting, Alexis’s mind had been on overdrive, trying to make sense of what had happened—and how it connected to Garrett. Now, her brain needed a respite. She opened her fridge to reach for an open bottle of chardonnay, phone cradled between her chin and shoulder. “This is Mac Gunderson at TSA.” The voice on the other end of the line was clipped and businesslike. “I’m regional operations director for MIA.” “MIA?” Alexis asked, confused. “Miami International Airport.” “Okay,” Alexis said warily. She had only just delivered a watch bulletin to the Transportation Security Administration that afternoon, trying to carefully distill what Garrett had given her into a document that a bureaucracy such as the TSA could act on: Russian, student visa, engineer, distant mob ties.
