HEY, DID YOU guys see that armored car story last night?” Nakazawa asked.

     Johnson swiveled his chair around so he could see Nakazawa. “You mean where everyone blacked out for twenty minutes?”

     “That’s the second time in two weeks!” Nakazawa exclaimed. “How can they do that without gassing everybody and wearing masks?”

     “I was wondering if it’s somehow tied in with our rash of fender benders,” Schofield said, as he stood in the doorway to his office. “All of them blacked out too -- if only for a few seconds.”

     “Yeah,” Johnson said, “but everyone within a ten-block radius passed out in Denver and San Fran. Our guys blacked out on an individual basis for the most part.”

     “Check with them again,” Schofield suggested. “See if there are any similarities between our drivers’ accounts just before they blacked out. There’s gotta be a reason others nearby weren’t affected.”

     Johnson looked straight at Schofield. “You do realize, of course, you’re inviting the FBI to come in and take over our investigation.”

     “It’s only a matter of time before they classify our perp as a terrorist, and then we’ll be turning everything over to Homeland Security anyway,” Schofield said.

     “It’s your call,” Johnson shrugged.

     “If someone’s got the ability to drop drivers at will, they prob’ly should be classified as terrorists, don’t you think?” Schofield mused. “Just to be on the safe side, canvass the neighborhood around each fender bender site to see if any other unexplained blackouts occurred.”

     Johnson got up to leave. “I’m on it, boss.”