That annoyed Brown. “What does that mean?”
“It means shit happens,” Hobbes said. “And sometimes you have to ad-lib. I mean, who knows, a big goddamned storm comes up and we’re blowing off whitecaps on our way in, we might want to ad-lib and take a different approach. That’s all I’m saying.”
Brown felt on edge, and he didn’t know why. His arm throbbed less, but it was waking him up at night. And of course there had to be contingencies in place, but with a situation like this, he wanted specific actions to move like clockwork, the team going in and out like phantoms.
“Those are huge cigarette boats,” Cass said, glued to her binoculars.
Brown shielded his eyes to look toward the big lifts that held the three boats above the water. “It’s a perfect location to take advantage of the eastern shipping lanes. Less than eight miles from the Atlantic. Boats that fast can get twenty miles out in minutes, offload cargo in the middle of the night, and be back quick.”
“There’s another guard,” said Fender, who was also glued to the binoculars. “Three so far. Looks like they’re on constant patrol.”
“And they’ll beef up security for the meeting,” Brown said. “But we are a superior fighting force.”
“Damned straight on that,” Fender said. “If this goes down as planned, they’ll never know what hit them.”
Fender had no sooner said that than his cell phone pinged. Hobbes’s phone buzzed a moment later.
Fender set his binoculars down to check his phone. Hobbes held his fishing pole one-handed to look at his message.
Brown picked up Fender’s binoculars and peered through them at the compound. He’d studied the aerial view of it in the drone footage, but getting eyeballs on the target still had benefits, especially in an amphibious attack.
He lowered the glasses, saw Fender and Hobbes still at their phones.
“Heads up,” Brown said. “Eyes on where we’re going.”
Hobbes looked up. “Sorry-short-term high-dollar employment offer.”
“Same,” Fender said. “Says a team of six total needed.”
Brown grew angry. “You’re needed here. Don’t you believe in what we’re doing?”
“I believe in what we’re doing,” Hobbes said. “But sometimes a man’s gotta eat before he makes the world a better place, which means sometimes he’s got to earn before he makes the world a better place.”
The skin below Brown’s left eye twitched. “Where I come from, desertion in a time of war is a killing offense, Hobbes.”
“Who’s deserting?” Fender said. “If we get the gig, we won’t be gone a month. We’ll be back. Think of it as us going on extended furlough without pay.”
Brown didn’t like it, but he said, “Get us through this phase before you go anywhere. You owe us that.”
After much hesitation, Hobbes said, “Works for me.”
“Me too,” Fender said.
Brown glanced at Cass, who nodded.
“Let’s head home, then,” Brown said. “We’ve got thirty-two hours to-”
“Holy shit!” Hobbes cried, struggling against his bowed fishing pole. “I got a big one hooked! A monster!”
72
AFTER TWO GRINDING and unsuccessful days trying to track Lester Hobbes and Charles Fender, I trudged down Fifth Street, wanting home and family and a break from the pressure that had been building relentlessly.
If Condon was right, politicians were the next targets. Corrupt politicians, but politicians nonetheless, which meant we were trying to stop an assassination.
But the assassination of whom? And how many? At what level?
Federal? Mahoney had alerted U.S. Capitol Hill Police to the increased threat, but without specifics, they couldn’t do much.
State? Municipal?
The truth was we could have been looking at any pol within a hundred and fifty miles of the nation’s capital. As far as limiting the pool to the dishonest, you could kick any azalea in Washington and a corrupt politician would scurry out. The number of potential targets felt overwhelming.
My cell phone beeped with a message from Judith Noble just as I walked up the steps to our home and heard symphonic music blaring.
“Turn the TV down!” Nana Mama shouted.
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I went in, cringing at how loud the music was and sticking my fingers in my ears. Ali sat on the couch staring at images of outer space on the screen and holding the remote away from my grandmother.
“Give it,” I said, putting out my hand.
Ali grimaced but handed it to me. I hit the mute button.
The house mercifully went silent. Nana Mama was trembling, she was so angry. “He would not listen to me. He flat-out defied me.”
“I didn’t want to listen to Jannie crying anymore,” Ali said. “Is that so hard to understand?”
“Jannie’s crying?” I said.
“You better go up and talk to her,” my grandmother said. “She thinks the world’s come to an end.”
I pointed my finger at Ali, said, “You and I are going to have a talk later about respecting your elders. In the meantime, get in the kitchen and do whatever Nana Mama tells you to do, and do it with your lips buttoned tight and your head on straight. Understand, young man?”
Ali’s lower lip began to tremble, but he nodded and got up. “Sorry, Nana Mama,” he mumbled as he walked past her. “I just don’t like hearing her cry.”
“Doesn’t give you the right to be sassing me,” Nana Mama said.
I went upstairs and knocked at Jannie’s door.
“Go away,” Jannie said.
“It’s Dad.”
A few moments later the door opened. Jannie hobbled backward on her crutches, sat down hard on her bed, and burst into tears.
“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” I said, going in and putting my arm around her.
“Look at my foot,” she said, sobbing. “Look at how swollen it got just from, like, a half an hour on a stationary bike with practically no pressure.”
I leaned down and saw the swelling across her midfoot.
“That’s not good,” I said.
“What am I going to do?” Jannie said. “My physical therapist thinks there’s something else wrong in there. She said what we did should not have caused this kind of reaction.”
“Okay,” I said after several moments of thought. “I understand you’re upset. I would be too if I were you.”
“Dad, what if it’s real bad?” she said, starting to cry again. “What if there’s something so bad I can never run again?”
“Whoa, whoa,” I said. “We are not thinking that way at all. Ever. We’ll just take it step by step. Does your PT have a number and a name?”
She nodded and snuggled into my chest. “I have it.”
I rubbed her shoulder and said, “Don’t work yourself up into a state by imagining the worst. Okay? We’ll go see the best foot doctor in the country. I’m sure your coaches know who that is, and we’ll have that doctor take a look and tell us what to do. Okay?”
Jannie nodded and sniffled. “I just don’t want my dream to be over before it’s even started.”
“I don’t either,” I said, and I hugged her tight.
73
NANA MAMA WAS watching Ali sweep the kitchen floor when I walked in.
He looked at me with watery eyes. “Is it true Jannie will never run again?”
“What? No.”
“I keep telling him it’s not true,” Nana Mama said. “But he won’t listen.”
“It’s what Jannie said,” Ali told me.
“She was upset,” I said. “Everyone, calm down. Her foot’s swollen, not rotting off.”
“Ugh,” Ali said, but he smiled.
“Finish your sweeping, you,” Nana Mama said, and then she looked to me. “Thin pork chops fried in a little bacon grease and covered with a fiery compote of onions, applesauce, and sriracha.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “And it smells amazing in here.”
My grandmother smiled, said, “It’s the caramelized onions. Ten minutes? I’ve got the compote made already.”