Schoelen smiled. “Yeah, I know, but I’d like luck on our side as well.” He waved goodbye to Mary and left.
Mary opened a drawer in the bedside cupboard and took out a packet of hair dye. She went into the bathroom, leaving Carlos sitting on the bed. Carlos finished cleaning the rifle and reassembled it. Mary came out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a white towel. There were red streaks on the towel, and the few strands of hair that Carlos could see were a dark red. She looked at him, saying nothing. Carlos wondered how she would react when she realised how she’d been used and that the IRA were being set up to take the blame for the assassination of the President. He smiled. She smiled back. “Bathroom’s free,” she said.
Carlos covered the rifle with the bedcover and went into the bathroom, carrying his wash bag. The sink had a red ring around it where it had been stained by the hair dye. He took out a can of menthol shaving cream and he spread some over his face, lathering it into his stubble and moustache. He used a disposable razor to remove the moustache, and then washed the remaining lather off his face. He looked very different without the facial hair, and by combing his hair in a slightly different fashion his appearance was totally altered. In the bedroom, Mary’s hairdryer kicked into life as Carlos stepped into the shower and soaped himself clean. By the time he showered and towelled himself dry, Mary was sitting in front of the dressing table putting the finishing touches to her hair. “Red suits you,” he said.
She smiled up at him. “Ilich, you said blonde suited me.”
“And it did, Mary. It did.”
He kept a towel wrapped around his broad waist as he picked up a dark pinstripe suit and a brand new white shirt, still in its polythene wrapper. He carried them into the bathroom and changed. “What do you think?” he asked Mary as he walked back into the bedroom.
She looked at him in the mirror. “Good. Every inch a businessman — all you need is a tie. And shoes, of course.”
Carlos selected a red and blue striped tie. “Are you all right, Mary?” he asked as he fastened the tie. “You seem a little apprehensive.”
“When I’m focused on what we’re doing it doesn’t worry me, but sometimes I relax and look at it from a distance, and it scares me,” she said as she combed her hair.
“Fear is good, it keeps you on your toes,” said Carlos. “It is those without fear who make mistakes and get caught.”
Mary turned and nodded. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “What about you, Ilich? Are you scared?”
Carlos shrugged. “A little,” he said. He grinned. “But if you ever tell anyone that I told you so, I’ll have to kill you.” He patted her on her shoulder to show that he was joking. “We must go soon.”
“I know,” she said. “You have the keys to the plane?”
Carlos laughed. “You sound like a doting wife, Mary. Is that how you treated your husband?”
“I suppose it was,” she said, standing up and checking her outfit in the mirror. She had changed into a yellow wrap-around skirt, a white shirt and white pumps.
Carlos sat down on the edge of his bed and broke the rifle down into its main component parts, then wrapped them in a motel towel and placed them in a black leather briefcase. “I’m really impressed with the way you handled Bailey,” he said. “He’s a changed man. Now he actually seems to be looking forward to it. And did you notice how he’s completely lost his stammer?”
Mary shuddered as she picked up her suitcase. “Yes, I noticed. Are you ready?”
Carlos slipped the box of crackers under his arm and picked up his briefcase and suitcase. “Oh yes,” he said. “More than ready.”
The FBI’s Baltimore field office was in a cream-coloured brick building on an industrial park next to Route 1-695. Cole Howard showed Joker into a small interview room, bare-walled with a couple of chairs and a teak veneer table. “Do you want a coffee or something?” asked Howard. He was carrying the bullet-proof vests in a nylon bag and he dropped them on the floor next to the table.
“Yeah, coffee would be good,” answered Joker, sitting down gingerly. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any Famous Grouse, have you?”
“Famous Grouse?” repeated Howard, his brow furrowed.
“It’s a brand of whisky,” said Joker. He moved his shoulder as if it pained him.
“I can get you some painkillers,” said Howard. “Aspirin or Tylenol or something.”
“That’ll have to do, I suppose,” said Joker. “How about a beer to wash them down?” He slouched back in the chair, his eyes closed. Howard stood and watched him for a few seconds, and then went out of the room to where the vending machines were. He realised he’d forgotten to ask how Joker took his coffee, but figured that he could probably do with the sugar, so he chose it sweet and white. When he got back to the room, Joker was still resting, his eyes firmly closed. Howard put the styrofoam cup on the table.
Don Clutesi came into the room carrying three Motorola two-way radios and three pairs of high-power binoculars. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork I had to go through to borrow these,” he complained. “You’d think I was planning to steal them.” He put them on the table next to the coffee.
“Have you got any painkillers?” asked Howard.
“Headache?” asked Clutesi.
Howard shook his head. “They’re for Cramer.”
Clutesi went through his pockets and came up with a small foil packet of four tablets. He tossed them down on the table. “Is he going to be up to it?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” said Joker, opening his eyes. He grunted as he leaned forward and took the packet of painkillers. He broke open the foil pouch, swallowed a couple of the white tablets, and washed them down with the coffee, a look of disgust on his face.
Howard picked up one of the two-way radios and showed Joker how it worked. “This will be operating on the Secret Service frequency, so don’t use it unless you have something urgent to say,” explained Howard. “You’ll be able to listen in to what they’re saying, too.”
Joker nodded. He put the earpiece in his ear and slotted in its jackplug. “I’ve used similar equipment,” he said.
Howard slipped off his jacket. He was wearing a leather holster which he’d clipped to the back of his belt and he removed it, placing it on the table.
“Colt 45?” said Joker. “I thought you guys were switching over to Glocks or Berettas.”
Howard took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “I prefer the Colt. It’s reliable, it does the job.”
“It’s heavy to carry around all day, though,” said Joker. He gestured at the gun. “Do you mind?”
Howard looked at Clutesi and then back to Joker. “Go ahead,” he said. He dropped his shirt on the table and picked up one of the vests. Clutesi helped him fit it while Joker took the magazine out of the gun and checked the mechanism. Joker looked down the sights and weighed the gun in his hands as Howard put his shirt back on and retied his necktie. It was a good fit, and once he’d put his jacket on the vest was barely visible.
“Have you used it?” asked Joker.
“Oh sure, we have regular training with firearms,” said Howard.
Joker shook his head. “No, I meant have you really used it?”
“Sure.”
“Fired it? At someone?”
“Well, yes, I’ve fired it, but only warning shots. If you use a weapon properly, you don’t have to fire it. The threat should be enough.”
Joker laughed bitterly. “Is that what they teach you at the Academy? For fuck’s sake, Cole, a gun has one purpose and one purpose only. To kill people. Anything else is bullshit.”
“So how many people have you killed, Cramer?” asked Clutesi scornfully.
Joker turned around slowly until he was facing Clutesi. The Colt was still in Joker’s hand, and though Clutesi could see that the clip was out, he still paled. Joker looked at the FBI agent, his deep-set eyes like impenetrable black holes either side of his nose. “A few,” said Joker coldly. “Quite a few.” For a moment it appeared that Joker was going to say something else but then he shook his head, put the Colt back in the holster and handed it to Howard. Joker adjusted his jacket and scowled at Clutesi. “Are you sure this is the only jacket you can get?” he asked.