1

“A woman drowned in the harbor,” Jeremiah Cotton said.“This is hardly a case for the FBI, sir.”

He sat together with Philippa Decker in the office of his superior, John D. High. The head of the G-Team had called the two agents in to assign them their newest case.

Philippa Decker grabbed the papers on the table and flipped open the file. Meanwhile, Cotton enjoyed the view of the team’s control center from the boss’s perspective. The wide space beyond the glass partition was bathed in bright artificial light— a high-tech headquarters rife with huge monitors and technology that Cotton had only dreamt of during his time with the NYPD.

Mr. High looked over at him disapprovingly.“Would you do me the favor of listening to me, Special Agent Cotton? That would be the fastest way for you to find out why this case has landed with us.”

Cotton tore himself away from the view of the headquarters and cleared his throat.“Certainly, sir. Excuse me! It’s just that, for a boy from the boonies, this is all still pretty impressive, sir.”

John D. High scowled.“The death in the harbor was only the beginning,” he continued.“At first, it looked like a routine case for the police. The dead woman even had her purse on her, with all her ID.”

“I see, sir. Of course, that shouldn’t be taken for granted.” As a former cop, Cotton knew: A body found with papers allowing it to easily be identified was a godsend.

“The driver’s license and credit cards identify the woman as Mira Anthony,” Decker said. She had been listening while she flipped through the documents.“But it doesn’t end there.”

“Certainly not,” John D. High continued.“First of all, the police couldn’t find out what this Mira Anthony was doing in New York. Her last known residence, based on her documentation, was the friendly town of Collinsville, Alabama.” He looked at Cotton.“As a boy from the boonies, you know about such places, Special Agent Cotton, don’t you?”

Cotton, who came from a hick town in Iowa, felt a little deflated.“You could say that, sir,” he replied.“New York can be a dangerous place if you’re dropping in for the first time.”

A slight smile showed in the corners of Mr. High’s mouth.“I think it would be pretty hard to upset a woman like Ms. Mira Anthony from Collinsville, considering that the NYPD found out from their colleagues there that she died six years ago. Since then, she’s been resting peacefully and undisturbed in the cemetery of her hometown, which she never even left while she was alive.”

“The woman’s papers were forged,” Decker asserted.“She was living under the dead woman’s name.”

“Okay,” Cotton said.“This is a case for the FBI, but since when does the G-Team deal with fake IDs?”

Mr. High gestured dismissively.“We’re beyond that. Your former associates at the NYPD, Special Agent Cotton, found out even more before we took the case out of their hands. For example, our deceased woman was actually Laura Robinski— a freelance a