Lina touched Duarte's arm and said, "We should shut things down on this case. It's not going anywhere."
"No, Lina, you're incorrect. It's going somewhere. I just don't know where it's going."
"You're chasing ghosts. Give it up or…"
"Or what?"
"The bureau might make you give up."
"Why? What the hell does the FBI care about a little dope deal or a dead informant?"
"It's the people associated with the deal who could hurt you."
"Now you have to tell me what's going on."
"Truthfully, I don't know. But the FBI can handle it without the assistance of the Rocket."
She used his nickname like an insult. He fought hard not to mention the radioactive reading from the packing slip. Sure, there were a hundred reasons for it. A previous load of timber or tile in the container or even the pot itself might have some natural radioactivity. But he didn't want to give up his single chip yet.
Colonel Staub wandered over from the elevators and greeted the three U.S. agents. He sat in his usual, stiff upright way and said, "I have several matters to discuss. It would be my pleasure to buy you breakfast at a little café I found several blocks from here. It is truly remarkable." He kept his dark eyes on Lina, with an occasional glance toward Duarte. Then he turned to Félix and said, "You may come, too."
Félix stood up, his long-sleeved shirt tight around his chest. "No, thanks. I gotta make some calls." He turned toward the elevator.
Duarte was going to decline, too, but he knew he'd never have his questions answered by avoiding the solutions. He needed to know what both the colonel and Lina knew. He had to put it all together.
He stood with the colonel and noticed Lina's less-than-thrilled attitude to a free meal and a chance to get some answers from the Panamanian cop.
Duarte hesitated at the front door, noticing the light drizzle for the first time. The weather summed up how he felt right now.
William Ike Floyd woke up and instantly regretted inviting the three men to help him watch the truck. All three were asleep on the floor or couch of the hotel room on the outskirts of Houston, their alternating snores sounding like a manufacturing plant.
The scruffiest of them, Charlie, was supposed to watch the truck until ten in the morning. He had clearly given up, and it wasn't even eight-thirty yet.
Ike knew there was a risk to having these guys here, but he'd made it clear that his cargo had no value and that they'd get paid when they were done with the mission. He didn't go into details on anything other than that they were to stand guard and that if he met with a Panamanian they were to act tough in case he needed them to. Right now he was more afraid of Mr. Ortíz than he was of three beaten-down white supremacists who had never been accepted into any of the white-power organizations-not even the Klan, and they accepted anybody, as long as you were white. The oldest Charlie claimed he had been a member of the Klan in Daytona but judged by his description it was not any Klavern officially recognized by the national Klan organizations.
He looked over the sprawled bodies, all shirtless and one only in his underwear, and thought, This is the most unattractive group I've ever seen. None of the men were what someone would call in shape. Charles, the youngest, had big arms, but his stomach had no definition. All were pretty hairy, not like Pelly but still with more than he liked. And most important, all of them were over sixteen. A definite turnoff. He could make exceptions, but it had a lot to do with how old someone looked.
He sat up in bed, then stood and shouted, "Hey, guys."
They all stirred, but no one jumped.
"Hey, get up."
Charlie, the oldest of the three, wiped his eyes and said, "Yo, dude, what's the problem?"
"The problem is that I let you guys stay here to help me keep track of the truck."
One of the others peeked out the window. "What's the problem? It's still there."
Ike looked over the group and realized he may have created another problem. He hoped he could handle this one by himself.
Pelly answered his phone on the first ring. He had noticed the light rain start to pick up, but it had not impeded his view of the alley where Colonel Staub was supposed to lead the FBI agent and Duarte. Pelly had his pistol and knew they'd be boxed in the narrow roadway with high walls on each side.
"Yes?" he answered the small cell phone.
"We'll be walking your way in a minute."
"Got it." He slapped the phone shut. Right now the alley was vacant. He could even try running them down with the car. That would make the colonel's explanation to the police more plausible.
On the street behind him, he had noticed a group of six small children and two women. He dismissed it as a preschool class. They were looking in the wide window of an antique-doll shop he had spotted when he'd pulled in the edge of the alley.
A large black man in a blue jumpsuit stepped out of a door in the alley and tossed a bag into a Dumpster recessed next to the wall. He left the door open as he disappeared back inside.
Pelly saw a pedestrian at the far end of the alley and realized it was the colonel with the two targets just behind him. He could tell one of them was a woman with dark hair. It was Duarte he had to watch out for.
Alice Brainard had been in front of her computer all morning. She loved doing research on things she knew very little about. It was a form of discovery, and she liked to discover stuff. If this had been the 1500s and she were a man, she would have been on one of Columbus's ships, or maybe one of the Spanish conquistadors'. She didn't agree with how they had treated the native people of Florida, but she liked their adventurous spirit.
She had been on her Dell looking into the role of the Department of Energy and their Radiological Assistance Program. She realized that Jeff Jacobus, the best-looking firefighter she knew, had said that a lot of things gave off radiation, but she had no idea how many things were considered radioactive. Maybe she was jumping at nothing. Alex didn't want to raise a fuss about it just yet. He'd said it would get too many people involved in something that probably wasn't an issue in their investigation. He had already complained of getting sidetracked and about how the Panamanian cop and the FBI agent, Lina, seemed to have their own agenda and disappeared frequently.
Along with the Internet, Alice made use of her considerable library. She hated to throw out books, especially reference books. Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything provided one insight on radioactivity. Hans Geiger, the inventor of the Geiger counter, was also known as a Nazi sympathizer who turned in many of his Jewish colleagues. What a creep.
On the Internet she read an essay about nuclear weapons and the former Soviet republics. Then she read about how they might slip one into the U.S.
She knew what she had to do. But first she was going to call Alex.
Duarte and Lina stepped out of the hotel, and the rain hit them immediately. The canopy that they were told had blown away in hurricane Katrina would have kept them dry. He was a little annoyed that Staub had kept them waiting while he made a call.
Duarte turned as Staub stepped through the door. "The café, it is down an alley two blocks."
Duarte noticed the twitch in his left eye was working overtime.
The colonel held out his hand like he was showing them into a ballroom, then started walking at a fast clip. Duarte and Lina fell in just behind him.