The Face of Death

and the speakerphone is on. I have filled everyone in on my conversation with Sarah.

'We have a serious problem, sir,' I say. 'Well, a number, actually, but one in particular. Even if we can figure out a way to take down Cabrera without killing him--we don't have a shred of evidence against The Stranger. We don't know who he is. He's never shown Sarah his face. And I'm guessing the footprints at the Kingsley scene belong to Cabrera, not The Stranger.'

'Cabrera might know who he is,' Alan observes.

'True,' I reply. 'But if not, we're in trouble.'

'Deal with what's in front of you,' AD Jones replies.

'Yes, sir.'

'So . . . what? Cabrera is supposed to be the fall guy?'

'Not just the fall guy. The dead fall guy. I'm pretty certain he's sup posed to commit suicide-by-cop. Probably at his house. I'm sure if we kill him we'll find all kinds of evidence that shows us he's our perp.'

'And the cuckoo-bird goes free,' Kirby chimes in. Phone silence as AD Jones ponders this. 'So what's the plan?'

I tell him. He peppers me with questions, ponders it some more, and asks even more questions.

'Approved,' he says, finally. 'But be careful. And Smoky? He killed three agents. Safety of my agents comes first, his safety comes last. You understand what I'm telling you?'

'Yes, sir.'

Of course I do. He's telling me to kill Cabrera if it will save Bureau lives.

'I'll get SWAT together. You get your ass over here and let's get this op on the road.'

'You're fine with Kirby, then, sir?'

'I'm not sure that 'fine' is the right word, but I agree with the plan.'

Kirby is smart enough to keep her mouth shut, but she gives me a big grin and a thumbs-up. She's happy, a child getting the birthday gift she'd asked for.

'See you shortly.' I hang up.

'Since I'm staying here on bodyguard duty,' Callie says, her voice dry, 'I only have one question.'

'What's that, Cal?' Kirby asks.

'Where's the coffeepot?'

Kirby shrugs. 'Bad news on that one, Cal. No coffee here. Besides, it's bad for you. All kinds of chemicals in coffee. Yuck.'

Callie fixes her with an incredulous look. 'How dare you criticize my religious beliefs?'

Joking, as always, but to me her voice sounds strained. I look, really look, and I see that she's gone a little pale. For the first time I think I understand how constant this battle is for her. The pain never ends, and she's fighting it, but it's taking its toll. It's funny, of all the recent terrible things I've seen or read, this is the one that sucker punches me: the idea of Callie being worn down by something.

I walk into the bedroom. Sarah's stopped shaking, but she looks terrible. Whatever she's used to hold herself together over the years has unraveled. She's falling apart. Elaina strokes her hair while Bonnie holds her hand.

I tell them what we're doing. Sarah's eyes come alive. Well, more alive.

'Will it work?' she asks.

'I think so.'

She looks at me then, really looks at me.

'Smoky . . .' Her voice trails off for a moment. 'Whatever happens, don't let him hurt you or anyone else. Even if it means'--her voice cracks--'that it doesn't all work out the way I want it to. I can't be responsible for this anymore. No more. No more.'

'You're not responsible, Sarah. Let it go. It's up to us now.'

She looks away, and that's all she's going to say for now. Bonnie catches my eye and gives me a look.

Be careful, she's saying.

I smile.

'Always.'

Elaina nods at me, bald and wonderful, and turns her inner beauty back to Sarah. If anyone can revive that girl's soul, Elaina can. Kirby appears at the door. 'Ready to rock?' she asks, ever perky. Not really, I think, but let's go.

56

EVERY FBI FIELD OFFICE HAS ITS OWN SWAT TEAM. LIKE POLICE SWAT, they spend every working hour training, unless they're handling an actual situation. They keep themselves on the knife-edge and they look it.

The team leader is an agent named Brady. I don't know Brady's first name. I only know him as Brady. He's in his mid-forties. He keeps his dark hair short and tight, military-style. He's tall, very tall, probably six foot four, with an all-business amiableness to him that is neither friendly nor unfriendly. Shaking hands with him is like shaking hands with a rock.

'This is your show, Agent Barrett,' he says. 'Just tell us what you need.'

We're in the conference room on the floor below my offices. Everyone's present and looking grim. Except for Kirby. She's gazing at the six members of the SWAT team in a hungry way, like they're a bunch of yummy, overly fit hot fudge sundaes.

'Gustavo Cabrera,' I begin, dropping an eight-by-ten photo we'd printed out of him. 'Thirty-eight years old. He lives in a house in the Hollywood Hills. Big place, old place, sitting on four acres of land.'

One of the SWAT members whistles. 'That'll be worth some dough.'

'We have maps of the location, as well as plans for the house.' I drop them onto the table. 'Here's the thing: We need him alive. But we're pretty sure that he's been told to get himself killed. He's probably got a decent arsenal, and I imagine he's supposed to make it look authentic.'

'Swell,' Brady says in a dry voice.

'On top of that, we need it to look authentic too. We don't want to kill Cabrera. But we want The Stranger to think we did.'

'How are we going to do that, exactly? Without getting ourselves shot to hell, I mean?'

'Diversion, boys,' Kirby says, stepping forward. 'Diversion.'

'Who the hell are you?' Brady asks.

'Just a blonde with a gun,' she drawls, in a fair imitation of him.

'No offense, ma'am,' one of the younger members of the SWAT team says, 'but you look about as dangerous as my girlfriend's poodle.'

Kirby grins at the young SWAT officer, and winks. 'Is that right?'

She walks over to him. His nametag says Boone. He's stocky, muscular, and very sure of himself. Classic type-A.

'Check it out, Boone,' she says to him.

It happens in a blur. She slams a fist into Boone's solar plexus. His eyes bug out as he falls to his knees, gasping for air. In the instant it takes the other SWAT team members to react, she's pulled her gun and pointed it quickly at each one, saying: 'Bang, bang, bang, bang--'

'Bang,' Brady says, in time with her. He'd managed to whip out his weapon and point it at Kirby before she'd pointed hers at him. She holds the pose for a moment, considering. Then grins and holsters her weapon. She ignores Boone, who's breathing again and is taking in huge, whooping gasps of air.

'Pretty good, old dude,' she says. 'Guess that's why you're the boss-man, huh?'

He grins back at her. It's like watching two wolves get along.

'Get up, Boone,' he barks. 'And let it go.'

The young SWAT officer struggles to his feet. He shoots Kirby a dark look. She waggles a finger at him.

'Are we done with the testosterone display?' AD Jones asks. 'Both the male and the female version?'

'He started it,' Kirby observes. 'If he'd been nicer, I would have touched him somewhere else.'

Everyone chuckles. Even Boone smiles, against his will. I see Brady appraising Kirby, realizing the same thing I have. Kirby isn't just a good operative. She's command material. In her own haphazard way she's managed to