“So you went for a walk, checking out the cars. Why? Going to hot-wire one, get the hell out of here?”
“Hell, no. Wouldn’t want to miss the party.”
“You lie about everything. I haven’t heard a straight word come out of that mouth yet. No wonder your boy thinks you’re a shiftless asshole. There’s nothing to you but treachery.”
Thorn could feel a warm ribbon of blood unrolling down his chest. “Okay. Just this once I’ll tell you the truth.”
“I doubt it. But let’s hear.”
“Tire iron. In the trunk of the VW. So Sugar can protect himself when he and Wally are alone. That’s all.”
“One lie after another.” Pauly removed the pry bar.
Thorn drew a long breath. “I’m turning around.”
Pauly didn’t reply.
Thorn kept his arms raised as he turned to face Pauly.
“Get going,” Pauly said. “Move it.”
Thorn wiped the blood from his throat and cut a glance back at Sugarman’s Honda. There’d be no showdown tonight. Maybe he could bring it off tomorrow. Or the day after. There was still time.
Still plenty of time, he thought, as he led the way back to the bedroom.
THIRTY-SEVEN
WHEN MARTA BUSTLED IN TUESDAY morning, Frank was already at his desk.
She came to the open door, stuck her head inside. “Oh, no, what’s happened now?”
He reassured her that all was well, then got up and came out to the waiting room while Marta slipped her purse into a drawer and sat down in her chair and flipped on the computer.
“Need an early start. Lots to do. Tonight’s the drill.”
“The power plant?”
Frank stood in the doorway of his office. “Yep, tonight.”
“What happened? It’s scheduled for Friday, no?”
“It’s time I started calling the shots. With everyone in panic mode, maybe somebody slips up.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know who. That’s the point. Shake the tree, see what falls. The tree’s been shaking me too long.”
“You can do this? Change the date? You don’t need permission from these people, the NRC lady, Sheen?”
“She’s been informed.”
“So I should call the others, your SWAT group?”
“Tell them we’ll meet at the armory at three,” Frank said. “I need to run a couple of errands this morning. I’ll be out for a while.”
“You’ll visit Billy Dean? He’s at Jackson Memorial, room 403.”
“He’s first on my list.”
“Then?”
“You’ve got to know everything, don’t you?”
“This makes me bad?”
“I’m going to see Ms. McIvey, tell her in person about the drill.”
“You want to see her face.”
“You got it.”
“She won’t like it. You taking charge.”
“And here I thought I was in charge all the time.”
“You were wrong.”
Frank had to smile. “You’ve only met her once, fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“She thinks she’s the boss of everything. She won’t like this change. You tell me later if I’m wrong.”
Marta wasn’t wrong, but it took him a few hours before he confirmed it.
* * *
The National Infrastructure Protection Center was housed in the same downtown office building as the Department of Homeland Security. Sheffield parked in their lot, took the employee elevator to the eighth floor, found the office. A pleasant view of the north fork of the Miami River over the shoulder of the middle-aged black lady at the reception desk. The nameplate on her blouse said she was Portia Jackson-Hibber. The name familiar.
She was typing at her computer and didn’t look up when Frank walked in and she didn’t look up when he held out his ID. Even clearing his throat got no reaction.
“Excuse me.”
That slowed down her typing, but her eyes never left the screen. “Yes?”
He gave his name and his title, and that slowed her typing to a crawl.
“Here to see, Ms. McIvey.”
Finally she ceased. The magic words. “She’s in a staff meeting.” Portia was staring at Frank, cocking her head to the side, a cold appraisal as if sizing him for a straitjacket.
“This is somewhat urgent.”
“Only somewhat?”
Frank felt the blood heating his face. An angry flush. He was in a hurry to get to the SWAT meeting before three. It was already after noon. He’d spent too long with Billy Dean. The guy still gung ho after two surgeries, with another scheduled for later that day. Still some cleaning out of bullet fragments left to do, then another operation in a week to repair the last of the damage.