“How in hell does this make any kind of sense?” I ask. “What if they target the wrong place?”
“That would be a problem,” Max mutters. Jake nods in agreement.
I try to wrap my head around the FBI’s logic. “They’ll hit one and then move on to the other if Brittany isn’t at the first place?”
“It’s not quite that simple,” Jake replies. “Both locations are Luciano family safe houses. There appear to be people at both.”
After pondering this for a long moment, the implications of it scare the shit out of me. “If they target the wrong location, word will reach the other place before the FBI can get there, right?”
They nod soberly.
“The goal is to pick the right spot,” Jake says.
Why not just state the obvious?
“The FBI has quite a bag of tricks in its arsenal,” Max says in a nakedly transparent attempt to soothe me.
“They’ll try to jam communications into or out of the properties to prevent them from contacting one another,” Jake says. “With any luck, nobody will be able to sound the alarm.”
With luck. Jesus. “And if they don’t get lucky?”
“That could be very bad,” Max admits glumly.
“The mob isn’t exactly in the Stone Age when it comes to technology, either,” Jake adds with downcast eyes. “Shutting down their communications isn’t a slam dunk.”
This all sounds much too risky to me. What the hell became of the movie and television cops who have all the right tricks and tools to consistently clobber the bad guys inside of an hour or two? “Use a local SWAT team for one site?” I suggest.
Max shakes his head. “The risk of a leak is too great.”
“Then maybe they should wait,” I argue.
“I don’t think so,” Jake says unhappily, underscoring the reality that they and the FBI feel compelled to play a hand they’d just as soon fold on.
“But,” I murmur while knowing full well that there’s really nowhere to go with the thought. What’s about to happen is out of my hands. These two and the FBI probably know best, but that just builds on my feelings of impotency in the matter of saving my daughter. My idle hands reach for a peanut butter cookie. I chew and wash one down with coffee while battling to steady my nerves.
Jake looks at me levelly. “Look, Tony, there’s no guarantee HRT can get her out safely even if they get the location right the first time.”
It’s a sobering realization. I plant my hands on the edge of the table and push my chair back a couple of feet so I can rest my elbows on my knees. “They’ll go in sometime after midnight?” I ask. That’s how it’s always done on TV and in the movies, hitting the bad guys hard while they sleep, doze, or otherwise go comatose at just the right moment.
“Normally, yes,” Jake replies. “Doctrine is to go during the wee hours.”
“But maybe not tonight,” Max interjects. “We’re not sure we have that kind of time on our hands.”
Jake nods. “That’s right. If the bastards have something planned for tonight, they won’t wait until the wee hours to do it.”
We sit in silence for a long minute while I study my shoelaces. I suspect we’re all consumed with the same thoughts and fears.
Jake and Max are studying me intently when I look up. A silent signal passes between them before they exchange a nod.
Jake slides his chair back, slaps his knees, and stands up. “So, against an explicit FBI directive, we’re thinking that we’ll quietly stake out the second target location.”
“Who’s we?” I ask.
“Me and Max.”
“Just the two of you?” Are they crazy? What the hell can two old cops accomplish alone against a nest of gangsters?
“Maybe with one or two of Ed’s fossils, if we can arrange it,” Jake replies.
“If we can find any of the candy-assed old bastards who haven’t already bugged out to Florida for the winter,” Max adds with the trace of a smile. Despite the direness of the situation, the old bugger is relishing the prospect of chasing after bad guys.
The more I think about them going in on their own, the more aghast I am at the risk they’ll be taking. “Why don’t you take some regular cops with you?”
Jake shrugs uncertainly. “Same security issue as involving a second SWAT team. I’m still smarting over that Giordano prick knowing where we stashed Francesco.”
“Can’t take a chance that Jake’s got a fuckin’ Mafia mole in his backyard,” Max mutters in quiet fury. “If I ever catch the fucker, he’ll get the same treatment the Mafia doles out to snitches. Throat slit and his balls stuffed down his throat.”
I cringe at the visual. The vehemence of the statement and the look of rage on Max’s face startle me. I don’t think it’s an idle threat.
“So, maybe just the two of us,” Jake says softly. The prospect doesn’t seem to sit well with him, yet he and Max are prepared to risk it all on behalf of my daughter.
“I’m coming,” I blurt.
“No!” they reply in unison.
“Yes,” I retort.
Jake settles his hands on the back of his chair and smiles grimly while he stares down at me. “What the hell would you do?”
“I don’t know. Drive? Be an extra set of eyes and ears? Something, damn it!”
They exchange another of their telepathic looks. Max nods. Jake nods back.
“You any good with a gun?” Max asks me.
“Remember Papa’s position on guns?”
“Right,” Jake says with a snort. “So, the answer is no.”
“That’s right,” I admit in frustration.
Max watches the exchange, then turns to Jake. “Shotgun.”
Jake thinks for a long moment before he nods and turns to me with a look of reluctant resignation. “I don’t like this at all.”
“No choice,” Max says.
Jake doesn’t look convinced as he continues to study me. “Involving you may turn out to be the biggest mistake I ever make, but we could use an extra body. If we can’t get a fossil or two organized, I guess you’re in.”
Max reaches over
