'You think she's ready for it?'
The Special Ops deputy chief hesitated, recalling how Marashenko let her emotions get the best of her when Lightstone foiled her plan.
'No, I really don't,' he conceded finally, 'but she's damned close. If we make the transfer now, the guys in Bravo would give her a bad time, but they'd also bring her along. Three months max, she'd belong there.'
'Then let her earn it straight, like anybody else,' Halahan decided. 'We're going to start Charlie Team on this game, and she's an integral part of that team. End of discussion.'
'Fair enough. But we still haven't decided what to do with Bravo.'
'What do you think about putting Bravo out on the perimeter on a standby basis… without telling anyone — and especially not Boggs or anyone on Charlie Team, because this is supposed to be a confidence-building situation, not the other way around,' Halahan suggested. 'That way they'd be close in case Charlie Team accidentally knocks over a beehive at that Seventh Seal compound, or Boggs gets them into something a little too complicated with his duck-poaching congressman.'
Freddy Moore considered the proposition for a few moments.
'Not a bad idea,' he finally admitted. 'But what about Bravo Team? Do we tell them what's going on?'
'No way.' Halahan shook his head emphatically. 'If we do, they'll just start poking around and causing all kinds of grief, especially if they link up with Boggs and he gives them an earful about Smallsreed. We're better off just putting them out there and nailing them down with a project that keeps them busy and distracted.'
'So what do we tell them?' Moore asked reasonably. 'Those guys will spot a bullshit story a mile off, especially if it looks like we're giving them a paid vacation.'
The contemplative look on David Halahan's face suddenly gave way to a satisfied smile.
'Oh-oh,' Moore groaned. 'Why do I get the feeling Bravo Team's not going to like this?'
'Just off the top of your head,' Halahan suggested cheerfully, 'where's the last place our friends from the Mexican Mafia in Nogales would expect the federal government to run a sting operation on hot snakes and red- kneed tarantulas?'
The smile that blossomed on Freddy Moore's face easily eclipsed that of his boss, then quickly dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter.
'What about the snakes?' he gasped when he finally could speak again.
'What about them?'
'You think they'll be able to handle the cold okay?' Moore asked as he wiped the tears from his eyes. 'I hear it gets damn chilly in Oregon in the winter.'
Halahan shrugged. 'I don't see why not. As long as the warehouse doesn't get too cold, I assume they — and I imagine the tarantulas, too, for that matter — would just stay kind of sluggish. Unless, of course, the agents running the operation foolishly turned up the heat for their own comfort. In that case I suspect the entire team would need to stay alert pretty much around the clock, watching out for escaping poisonous snakes and very large spiders.'
'You really think that'll keep them sufficiently occupied so they don't start poking around and spot Charlie Team?'
'I certainly hope so.' Halahan's smile faded, and he tapped at his desk pensively. 'Between setting up the warehouse, rigging a communications system, establishing their covers, putting out some ads and feelers, making a few purchases and sales from some of the legitimate dealers, and maintaining a reasonable stock of illicit specimens — which reminds me, do we have any good sources?'
'Well, I know the guys in Newark are sitting on a bunch of hot stuff they pulled out of the back of a shipping container an Australian importer abandoned a few weeks ago. About a hundred specimens total,' Moore responded. 'Mostly African and South America vipers as I recall. Gaboons, Bushmasters, Puff and Mountain Adders, Fer-de- lances, some Bamboo and Russell's Vipers from China, and I think even a pair of Death Adders and a few Brown, Black, and Tiger Snakes from Australia.'
'Are the Australian ones poisonous?'
'Oh yeah, definitely.'
'Good. That's exactly the kind of thing these Mexican Mafia characters deal in. Exotic and deadly. How about the spiders? Can we get some of them, too?'
'Come to think of it, I heard Miami's still trying to get the Zoo Association to take that last batch of red-knees they seized off their hands.'
'How many did they get?'
'Something in the neighborhood of 750 total.'
Halahan blinked. 'Seven hundred and fifty red-kneed tarantulas?'
'Naw, only about half of them are the genuine article. The rest are either red-legged, or plain old browns… along with a dozen baby caiman crocs as a bonus,' Moore added. 'You want to hear a heart-wrenching sob story, call Jennifer up and ask her what she thinks about feeding those damned things.'
'What in the world do you feed 750 tarantulas and a dozen baby crocodiles?'
'Mice, crickets, and chunks of chicken, according to her. Apparently it's not so much what you feed them as how,' Moore explained. 'I understand that quick reflexes help tremendously… especially with the tarantulas because they fling needle-sharp little hairs into their prey-or at anything they're pissed at. I'm sure Jennifer would be more than happy to give you all the gory details, but I wouldn't call her right before lunch.'
'Special Agent Jennifer Granstrom.' The Special Operations branch chief's eyes began to gleam. 'Don't we owe her for something?'
'The Miami Office has been nice to us occasionally in the past,' Moore conceded hesitantly.
'That's what I was thinking.' Halahan nodded thoughtfully. 'But how in the world would you ship 750 tarantulas from a federal law enforcement office in Miami to a warehouse in Loggerhead City, Oregon, without anyone on the outside knowing what's going on?'
'Beats me.' A grin of awareness began to light up Moore's face. 'But I'm willing to bet you a steak dinner at the restaurant of your choice that Jennifer either knows how, right off the top of her head, or she'll figure it out in three minutes flat.'
'Why don't you give her a call — after lunch,' Halahan suggested with a benevolent smile on his face. 'Tell her to get the whole batch ready to ship to Oregon, posthaste, along with — what? — all the necessary terrariums, heating elements, and other assorted supplies she's got on hand. Our treat.'
'The crocs, too?'
'Oh, hell yes. How can we impress the Mexican Mafia if we don't go all out?'
'David,' Freddy Moore's tone bordered on reverent, 'remind me every now and then, if you don't mind, to never, ever, piss you off.'
'Basic principles of people management.' The Special Operations Branch chief shrugged modestly. 'If you can't gain the attention of your employees with the standard motivational techniques, try a different approach.'
'On second thought, you're not going to need to remind me.' Moore shuddered as he tried to imagine several hundred snakes, tarantulas, and crocs all in one warehouse.
'Glad to hear it.' David Halahan smiled pleasantly, and then went on. 'So you call Jennifer, and then make arrangements with Newark for, oh, say two or three dozen miscellaneous snakes — be sure to include that death adder, and a few of those Australian brown, black, and tiger snakes — along with, say, a two-month supply of mice, crickets, chicken, freezers, holding cages, and the like. I think that should keep everybody on Bravo Team extremely busy, focused, and out of trouble, with the possible exception of — '
'Lightstone?'
Halahan nodded.
'So what are we going to do with him? Ship him down to Nogales to start working on his cover?'
'Not a chance.' The Special Ops chief dismissed that option immediately. 'I want him there, too, just in case we do run into some problems with Charlie Team or Boggs. Lightstone may be a little difficult to control at times, but he's also pretty damned useful when things turn to shit.'
'So…?'
'So, while Charlie Team scopes out the militants and everyone else on Bravo Team tries to work out accommodations for seven hundred giant tarantulas, twelve baby crocodiles, and two or three dozen poisonous
