A Safe House

23

Harley Quince sat in an easy chair in a hotel room in Rockland with his leg propped up on an ottoman. He got out a throwaway cell phone and dialed the number of another throwaway cell phone in area code 202.

“I can’t talk,” a male voice said.

“Can you listen?”

“Not long.”

“Here’s where we are: I stole a boat the other night and got close in to the house, like before, and put half a dozen rounds through that window, except they didn’t go through. It was different glass than before, much tougher. I was using armor-piercing ammo.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I took a round in a leg, and it needed treatment. I used a phony name in the ER. I can hobble around, but only that. I’m going to need a day or two before I can move fast enough to work. Got that?”

“I don’t like it, but I got it.”

“There’s nobody I can trust to do this, so we’ll just have to wait. I’ll call you back when I’ve got a plan.”

“Okay, bye.” He hung up.

Harley took another opioid and lay back and napped.

“Wallace? Are you all right? You’re red as a beet!”

“Thank you, Senator” — he couldn’t remember the man’s name — “I’m just fine.”

“If you say so,” the man said, then walked across the Senate cloakroom and went to his seat. The quorum call bell rang, and Slade went that way, too, swearing under his breath, and taking deep breaths to get his blood pressure down. It didn’t work.

Ed Rawls sat on his front porch in a cushioned chair and regarded the fresh faces that sat, cross-legged, on the floor. God, he thought, was I ever that young?

“Mr. Rawls,” one of them said.

“Call me Ed. I’ll call you dummy.”

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to position yourself between us and them. I mean, we’ve got automatic weapons here.”

“You’re not supposed to shoot me, dummy,” Ed growled. “I’m going to be lying on my belly in my boat over there, and when my head pops up, you damn sure better be aiming elsewhere.”

“Why don’t you give us a clear field of fire, and let us take them out?”

“Can you remember as far back as last night, dummy?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“You had a clear field of fire, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did you hit?”

“A boat. Several times.”

“And yet, the guy driving the boat was okay to visit an ER and get himself some stitches, antibiotics, and painkillers. Did you forget that he was supposed to be too dead to care about that?”

“It was dark.”

“That’s why you’ve been issued night goggles, dummy. They didn’t think to do that last night, but then I wasn’t running the show last night. Tonight will be another story, and you will not miss!”

“No, sir.”

“Look around you, son. Do you see any cover for you between here and my boat?”

“No, sir.”

“That means, by firing from my boat, I’ll be fifty yards closer to the target than you will. Are you beginning to get the picture?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’m not entirely certain you are, but if you can just remember not to shoot me, I’ll be content. I am one sensational shot, but I don’t shoot well when my hair has been recently parted.”

“No, sir.”

“Okay, let’s run through it again.”

“Yes, sir.”

They ran through it again.