He took a quick deep breath and complied as the officer passed a wand over his body, stopping near his right wrist.
“Pull back the sleeve of your shirt, please, so I can have a look.”
Felk hesitated, trying to remember, trying to calculate the risk.
“Are you refusing, sir? I need you to pull back your sleeve.”
“Oh, no, sorry. No.”
Felk rolled back his sleeve immediately, angry at himself for forgetting his watch.
“There you go,” the officer said. “Sir, go back through, put the watch on a tray to be scanned and come back.”
Felk did everything successfully and went to the end of the conveyor to collect his luggage and laptop where another officer was waiting.
“Is this your computer, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Could you put it aside here, and turn it on for me?”
“Yes.”
Felk had taken steps to remove everything incriminating on all the drives when he was on the train. He’d stored the videos online in email accounts. Nothing was on the laptop drives.
He’d also erased his history.
The officer used tongs and a patch of cloth to chemically swab the computer. Then he put the sample in a microwave-oven-size machine to determine if Felk had been handling explosive compounds.
Then it hit him.
He’d forgotten about the guns and ammo Dillon had shown him at the cottage. He’d washed his hands, but was it enough not to set off any alarms?
Damn it.
Casually putting on his belt, Felk tried to read the face of the screening officer studying the swab results on the screen.
This could be it.
He swallowed hard. He could flee, but they had his photo. He couldn’t believe that it could be over. Just like that. His body tensed. He thought of Clay, the other men, and begged fate for a break.
“You’re good, sir,” the officer said.
Felk nodded with a smile, his tension melting as he collected his things and headed to his gate, just like any other passenger at any other airport at any other time. No one could have imagined what he and his men had done, or what they were going to do.
Ninety minutes later, the thrust of his Air Canada Airbus A319 pushed him back into aisle seat number 23C. As the jetliner climbed and leveled, he savored a measure of relief.
That he’d gotten through without any problem told him that the team was clear. They’d gotten away from Ramapo cleanly. The FBI had nothing on them. Felk was on track to the next step of the operation at five hundred and fifty miles an hour. He lowered his seat and closed his eyes.
As he fell asleep he was haunted by the face of the eyewitness.
The supermarket clerk.
Nothing.
Lisa Palmer’s two-story frame house was at the edge of Rego Park.
Mature maple trees lined the sidewalks of her block, shading the small, neatly clipped front yards of the postwar homes. Most were fenced and displayed small signs alerting potential intruders to their security systems. A few front doors were fortified with ornate steel.
It was a pretty neighborhood of fourth- and fifth-generation Irish, Italian, Russian and Jewish immigrants that had evolved to include new Albanian, Korean, Colombian and Iranian Americans.
After everything that had happened, seeing her home again was balm.
Lisa and the kids took it all in from the back of Vicky Chan’s FBI car after it had rolled off Queens Boulevard, on to Sixty-third, then down their street.
They’d left their Manhattan hotel earlier that afternoon.
“What lovely gardens.” Dr. Sullivan was in the front passenger seat.
“People take care of things here. It’s a good neighborhood,” Lisa said.
“My GPS is wonky,” Chan said, confirming the address. “It’s 87-87?”
“Yes, not much farther.”
“Can Mallory come over for a sleepover?” Taylor asked.
“Not for a few days, hon.”
“Can I go over to Jason’s?” Ethan asked.
“No, sweetheart. I’d like you to stay home until we get back to normal.”
“When will that be, Mom?”
“As soon as I can make it happen.”
Rita Camino and Agent Eve Watson were already waiting at Lisa’s house and came out to help with the bags.
“Go check out the kitchen,” Rita said after hugging the kids.
Ethan and Taylor rushed off, then shouted back, “Cake!”
The words Welcome Home! were inscribed in blue on the white icing.
“Chocolate, your favorite,” Rita said. “I got Burt in the bakery to make it. I told him it was for my aunt Louise’s release from the hospital.”
“Thank you.” Lisa hugged Rita. “You’re the best.”
“Just want to help out by sweetening things.” Rita smiled.
After chatting over cake and coffee, Lisa gave Dr. Sullivan and Agent Chan a tour of her home, starting upstairs with the three small neat bedrooms—hers, Taylor’s and Ethan’s—and a full bathroom. Then down to the finished basement. It had a guest room and smaller bathroom, which they’d once planned on turning into an apartment for additional income.
Chan left her bag on the bed. The plan was for her to bunk in the guest room, to stay with Lisa and the children for as long as Lisa wanted. In a private moment, Lisa tapped Chan’s sidearm under her T-shirt.
“Vicky, please keep that concealed as much as possible, for the children and me. I’ve seen enough of guns.”
“I was thinking the very same thing.” Chan touched Lisa’s shoulder before she and Watson went outside to check Lisa’s doors, windows and her security system.
Dr. Sullivan went upstairs to talk with Ethan and Taylor, who were showing off their rooms. Rita, the eternal saint, insisted on cleaning up in the kitchen while Lisa grabbed her bag and went to her office alcove off the living room to make some calls.
First, she checked her messages.
