The Wrong Man

45

“Tell me, Bruce,” said Randall Manning.

“Nothing’s wrong.” McCabe shrugged. “Just general nerves, I guess.”

“Identify it, Bruce. Tell me specifically.”

Below them, inside the dome, the cleanup was already under way. Shell casings were being collected, dust was being swept, the bulletproof tarp was being pulled down.

McCabe looked at Manning. “It’s the lawyer, Kolarich. The whole thing.”

Manning nodded. “He won’t figure this out in time, Bruce.”

“But he’ll figure it out eventually. He’ll connect us to this. And if we take him out now, isn’t that a red flag? He clearly has his sights trained on us, and suddenly he winds up dead? We thought we had complete anonymity, Randy. There was no way any of this was going to connect to us.”

That was never a certainty in Manning’s mind, or anywhere close to it. He had planned this well and chosen the operatives well, but he had no illusions. He knew that the odds were quite decent that he, personally, would be caught. He’d always told his men that they had to be willing to die for this mission. He preached it to them. McCabe was part of the Circle, of course, but he wasn’t one of the operatives. He did the necessary legal work to get everything set up to put the mission in place. But that was all.

And now things were coming to a head. It wasn’t just an idea now. It was happening.

“I think we’ll get away with it,” said Manning. “And then we’ll lie low and wait for another opportunity. But yes, Bruce, there are risks. Surely this isn’t the first time you’re realizing this?”

McCabe wasn’t dumb. Of course, he had to have been aware of the risks. But he’d placed trust in Manning, perhaps more than Manning had realized. And he hadn’t had to get his hands dirty. He wouldn’t be putting his life on the line on December 7. Maybe it was only now dawning on him what, exactly, they were going to do.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring Bruce here today, to see up close a dry run of the operation.

Or maybe it had been a good thing, in the end. If McCabe was going to go south on them, better that Manning knew that now, not afterward.

“I think we should abort,” said McCabe.

Manning put a hand on McCabe’s shoulder. “Let’s go eat, Bruce. Everyone’s tired and stressed and hungry. Let’s have some turkey and think this over. Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Manning watched his lawyer walk out the door. Then he dialed his cell phone.

“Patrick,” he said, “wait five minutes and then come up to see me.”