'I thought so, though I suggest next time you bring a firearm. Carrying anything larger than a pocket knife is a felony.'
'But not a handgun?' Richmond said.
'No, sir.'
'Lord bless the NRA,' Richmond said.
The deputy took a swallow of coffee, then replaced the cup on top of the thermos. He was wearing a wedding band. He could not have been more than twenty-six. Richmond wondered if he came up here to slack off in secret or to contemplate the universe. Was he deciding whether to leave his wife or wistfully remembering how they used to come up here at night to make out? Richmond tried to guess how far ahead this young man had planned his life. To the next day? To the next promotion? To his first or next child?
'I'm Wayne Richmond, by the way,' the man said.
'Andy Belmont,' the deputy said. He extended his hand, then withdrew it when he remembered the bundle of eggs. 'Pleased to meet you.'
'Likewise,' Richmond replied. 'I walk here often, but I haven't seen you here before.'
'I was transferred from Southwest Station last week,' Deputy Belmont told him. 'I thought it would be a good idea to familiarize myself with the area in case I'm ever called up here.'
'Good thinking,' Richmond said. 'Tell me, Deputy, is this the start or end of your shift?'
'The end,' the deputy said. 'I get the morning babysitting chores so my wife can go to work. Then her mother relieves me so I can go to sleep.'
'Really? It must be difficult, working different hours like that.'
The deputy smiled. 'I don't know. It sort of makes us appreciate the time you do have together.'
'I guess that would be true,' Richmond said. He looked down at the young man's exposed lap. All he had to do was empty the windbreaker sleeve and grab the radio from the deputy's left shoulder. It was within easy reach, by the window. Deputy Belmont would die where he sat.
The deputy put his thermos in the cup holder between the seats. He turned his headlights back on. 'Have a good day, sir, and don't forget about the knife.'
Richmond had bent forward to talk to the deputy. He straightened so that his waist was even with the window. 'Thanks. I won't.'
He stood back. The deputy waved as he started down the path. Richmond nodded after him. And with his fingers tightening around the snake's neck, he twisted it in a complete circle. The snake, which had begun wriggling again, trembled for a moment and then was still. Richmond shook the sleeve lightly. The snake did not move. He dumped it from the sleeve and jumped back.
The snake hit the ground and lay there. It was dead.
Richmond left it for the crows, then turned and started back toward the ledge.
The day had begun better than Richmond could have imagined. Two snakes were dead, and he had spared a deputy. Three lives had been his. More, if he counted the wife and child.
To risk or not, to kill or not. Choice was the heart of control, control was the engine of power, and power was the key to a rewarding life. Wayne Richmond did not know how rewarding the rest of his life would be. But this day, at least, had begun very well indeed.
TWENTY-THREE
Washington, B.C. Tuesday, 9:44 a.m.
Darrell McCaskey was not what his FBI coworkers would have described as 'badge heavy.' He did not bully suspects, subordinates, or anyone else. But when he wanted results, he usually got them. He was earnest. And if the earnestness failed to register, there were always his squared shoulders, unyielding eyes, and commanding manner.
McCaskey was dressed in a leather jacket instead of his usual tweedy blazer. He felt the battered old bomber jacket looked street-smart, a little more intimidating. He arrived at the Russell Senate Office Building and showed his Op-Center ID to the security guard. McCaskey instructed the young woman not to call ahead. He wanted to send
