there isn’t a radio or phone I’d take the chance with.”
“I know of one,” Felix said. “Unfortunately, no courier could deliver it from Moscow in time. However, we may wish to consider splurging if we fail to roust this man tonight.”
Quinn’s face darkened. “It ends tonight. Between us and the Feds, he doesn’t stand a chance. A few hours from now we’ll be celebrating, not ordering extra equipment.” A sudden smile and he turned my way. “Speaking of celebrating, I know a place, has the best suds and deep dish in town.”
“Think I’d be overdressed?”
“Definitely, but you won’t hear me complaining.” He glanced over my head. “How about it, guys? Up for a little postassignment partying?”
Felix arched a brow. “Oh, were we included in that invitation?”
“Of course. Not like Jack would let me take Dee without him.” His gaze shot back to mine. “Is it a date then? Say…midnight?”
“Only if I can buy the first round.”
“Haven’t caught him yet,” Jack said. “Don’t get cocky.”
I looked at him, my smile fading. “It isn’t cockiness, Jack. It’s confidence…and a generous helping of hope.”
He nodded and, for a minute, we all stood in silence. Then Jack jangled his keys.
“Time to go.”
A half hour later we were rounding the corner, the opera house in sight, a crowd at the doors, moving slowly. Jack eyed the crowd, then motioned me aside and took out a cigarette. Earlier he’d grumbled about the habit, calling it the worst a hitman could have. I wasn’t sure I agreed. It certainly came in handy-a convenient excuse for standing around outside without drawing attention to yourself. Unlike that hitman at the jail, Jack could pull it off. No one watching would mistake him for an amateur smoker.
He lit the cigarette, took a drag, then said, “We okay?”
“Sure. Aren’t we?” I stepped to the side, out of the path of an oncoming foursome. “Is something bothering you? Something we missed?”
“Nah.”
His gaze slanted away, as if this wasn’t what he’d meant and he was trying to reword it. After another drag, he looked at me.
“
“Me? Sure. Not having second thoughts about getting involved, if that’s what you mean.”
A small shake of his head, coupled with a look that said he’d never make that mistake. A third drag, then he passed the cigarette to me. He let me inhale, exhale, and waved it off when I offered it back.
“Might not get him,” he said, voice low, though no one was around. “Gonna try. Sure as hell gonna try. But… might not.”
“Like Quinn and I said, we don’t care who does the take-down, us or the Feds. Yes, I’d rather be the one…” I paused. “You mean-This is about that talk outside the motel-Quinn and I going on about getting this guy, making our victory celebration plans.” I felt my gaze harden. Blinked it away. “You’re worried that I’ll get cocky. Overexcited. Overeager. That I’ll screw up.”
“’Course not. You’re a pro-”
“Quinn and I were just blowing off steam, okay? Some of us need to do that. And, yes, I suppose
“I never said-”
“I know we might not get this guy tonight. I know maybe no one will. And I know that if we stand a hope in hell of success, it’s going to take calm, controlled, focused effort. There’s no room for grandstanding, for cowboy bullshit-”
“That’s not-”
“I’m ready, okay? If you think I’m not, then just say so, and I’ll walk away now.”
He looked out over the road and, for one long minute, I was certain he was going to call me on that, tell me to walk away. Could I do it? My heart hammered at the thought, fingers trembling around the cigarette.
“Line’s going down,” he said, waving at the crowd. “Better get inside.”
As we climbed the steps to the new opera house, we were caught in a stream of high-school students-a band or music class-led by a woman talking excitedly about the production to come. I knew why the police hadn’t issued a warning and yet…well, I couldn’t shake the urge to grab that teacher and tell her to get the kids out of here, get as far away as they could.
The truth was, as cruel as it seemed by
If they’d refused to play along and canceled the show, any criminal psychologist could predict the killer’s next move. Ruin his game, and he’d do something worse, as payback. Here, they could monitor every variable and ensure the guests’ safety.
Once inside the doors, we found ourselves funneled into a line through a portable metal detector and a wand-wielding guard.
“My bag?” sniffed a matron at the front. “No, you may
The queue ground to a halt.
“Oh, come on,” I muttered. “They’re not worried about the flask you stuffed in there.”
Jack craned his neck to see around the mob. After a moment, a guard took the woman and her party aside to let others pass though.
“Unbelievable,” huffed a diamond-dripping woman about my age. “It’s opera, not a rap concert.”
“There’s a whole industry getting rich off this terrorism nonsense,” said the gray-haired man at her side. “Did I tell you what happened on my flight to Tokyo last week? They body-searched first-class passengers. First-class! As if any of us…”
He continued to bitch about the injustices visited on the upper classes, but I turned my attention to mentally reexamining Quinn’s blueprints of the opera house. One front entrance, one staff entrance, one delivery door and three fire exits. Easy to guard and, according to Quinn, guarded they were, with no one allowed in or out any way but the front door tonight.
According to Quinn’s source, even staff had needed to pass through those main doors earlier, with the metal detectors and bag search. That would likely be the ruse the killer would use-pretending to work here. With a new business, employees would still be accustomed to seeing unfamiliar faces and wouldn’t question one more. If that was his plan, he’d have found himself out of luck. There had been a manager at the door, ticking off names, and if a new or replacement worker showed up, the Feds had turned him away.
We made it through security without incident. We weren’t armed. Too risky. The Feds would probably have wand-waving agents inside, too. Not having a gun made me uneasy, but I knew the killer wouldn’t have risked bringing one in, either. He wouldn’t need to. A real pro doesn’t need a traditional weapon to do his job.
Once inside, we veered left. Quinn said the Feds were setting up base in a storage room behind the bar, so that’s where I wanted to go first. Get an insider’s feel for security precautions, and we’d see where the holes were.
It took some wrangling, but we found a spot where we could, with the help of listening devices provided by Felix, hear what was going on in the FBI’s control room. We arrived just as they received a call from the front door, about a woman refusing to let them search or scan her evening bag. It could have been the same woman we’d seen, but I suspected they’d been dealing with similar complaints all night.
“I don’t care if she’s the wife of the goddamned president,” a man boomed. “No one gets in without a search and if you can’t handle that, then find someone who can.” He signed off. “Fucking unbelievable. Old bats thinking we’re going to swipe twenty bucks from their handbags, delivery men too lazy to carry boxes to the front door, but if something goes wrong, they’ll be the first to raise a stink, calling the papers to complain that we weren’t doing
