elbow, ring finger.
"You'll have to lose them afterward," Eliot said. "They'll search you for sure at Beck's house. You'll have to stop at a men's room or something and get rid of them." We rehearsed endlessly in the motel lot. We laid out the road in miniature. By midnight we were as solid as we were ever going to get. We figured we would need all of eight seconds, beginning to end.
"You have the critical decision," Duffy said to me. "It's your call. If there's anything wrong when the Toyota is coming at you, anything at all, then you abort and you watch it go on by. We'll clean it up somehow. But you'll be firing three live rounds in a public place and I don't want any stray pedestrians getting hit, or cyclists, or joggers. You'll have less than a second to decide."
"Understood," I said, although I really didn't see any easy way of cleaning it up if it had already gotten that far. Then Eliot took a last couple of phone calls and confirmed they had a college security cruiser on loan and were putting a plausible old Nissan Maxima behind the mall's flagship department store. The Maxima had been impounded from a small-time marijuana grower in New York State. They still had tough drug laws down there. They were putting phony Massachusetts plates on it and filling it with the kind of junk a department store sales lady might be expected to haul around with her.
"Bed now," Duffy called. "Big day tomorrow." That was the end of day ten.
Duffy brought doughnuts and coffee to my room for breakfast on day eleven, early. Her and me, alone. We went through the whole thing, one last time. She showed me photographs of the agent she had inserted fifty-nine days ago. She was a blonde thirty- year-old who had gotten a clerk's job with Bizarre Bazaar using the name Teresa Daniel.
Teresa Daniel was petite and looked resourceful. I looked hard at the pictures and memorized her features, but it was another woman's face I was seeing in my mind.
"I'm assuming she's still alive," Duffy said. "I have to." I said nothing.
"Try hard to get hired," she said. "We checked your recent history, the same way Beck might. You come out pretty vague. Plenty missing that would worry me, but I don't think it would worry him." I gave the photographs back to her.
"I'm a shoo-in," I said. "The illusion reinforces itself. He's left shorthanded and he's under attack, all at the same time. But I'm not going to try too hard. In fact I'm going to come across a little reluctant. I think anything else would seem phony."
"OK," she said. "You've got seven objectives, of which numbers one, two, and three are, take a lot of care. We can assume these are extremely dangerous people." I nodded. "We can do more than assume it. If Quinn's involved, we can absolutely guarantee it."
"So act accordingly," she said. "Gloves off, from the start."
"Yes," I said. I put my arm across my chest and started massaging my left shoulder with my right hand. Then I stopped myself, surprised. An army psychiatrist once told me that type of unconscious gesture represents feelings of vulnerability. It's defensive. It's about covering up and hiding. It's the first step toward curling yourself into a ball on the floor.
Duffy must have read the same books, because she picked up on it and looked straight at me.
"You're scared of Quinn, aren't you?" she said.
"I'm not scared of anybody," I said. "But certainly I preferred it when he was dead."
"We can cancel," she said.
I shook my head. "I'd like the chance to find him, believe me."
"What went wrong with the arrest?" I shook my head again.
"I won't talk about that," I said.
She was quiet for a beat. But she didn't push it. Just looked away and paused and looked back and started up with the briefing again. Quiet voice, efficient diction.
"Objective number four is find my agent," she said. "And bring her back to me." I nodded.
"Five, bring me solid evidence I can use to nail Beck."
"OK," I said.
She paused again. Just a beat. "Six, find
"You'll have to lose them afterward," Eliot said. "They'll search you for sure at Beck's house. You'll have to stop at a men's room or something and get rid of them." We rehearsed endlessly in the motel lot. We laid out the road in miniature. By midnight we were as solid as we were ever going to get. We figured we would need all of eight seconds, beginning to end.
"You have the critical decision," Duffy said to me. "It's your call. If there's anything wrong when the Toyota is coming at you, anything at all, then you abort and you watch it go on by. We'll clean it up somehow. But you'll be firing three live rounds in a public place and I don't want any stray pedestrians getting hit, or cyclists, or joggers. You'll have less than a second to decide."
"Understood," I said, although I really didn't see any easy way of cleaning it up if it had already gotten that far. Then Eliot took a last couple of phone calls and confirmed they had a college security cruiser on loan and were putting a plausible old Nissan Maxima behind the mall's flagship department store. The Maxima had been impounded from a small-time marijuana grower in New York State. They still had tough drug laws down there. They were putting phony Massachusetts plates on it and filling it with the kind of junk a department store sales lady might be expected to haul around with her.
"Bed now," Duffy called. "Big day tomorrow." That was the end of day ten.
Duffy brought doughnuts and coffee to my room for breakfast on day eleven, early. Her and me, alone. We went through the whole thing, one last time. She showed me photographs of the agent she had inserted fifty-nine days ago. She was a blonde thirty- year-old who had gotten a clerk's job with Bizarre Bazaar using the name Teresa Daniel.
Teresa Daniel was petite and looked resourceful. I looked hard at the pictures and memorized her features, but it was another woman's face I was seeing in my mind.
"I'm assuming she's still alive," Duffy said. "I have to." I said nothing.
"Try hard to get hired," she said. "We checked your recent history, the same way Beck might. You come out pretty vague. Plenty missing that would worry me, but I don't think it would worry him." I gave the photographs back to her.
"I'm a shoo-in," I said. "The illusion reinforces itself. He's left shorthanded and he's under attack, all at the same time. But I'm not going to try too hard. In fact I'm going to come across a little reluctant. I think anything else would seem phony."
"OK," she said. "You've got seven objectives, of which numbers one, two, and three are, take a lot of care. We can assume these are extremely dangerous people." I nodded. "We can do more than assume it. If Quinn's involved, we can absolutely guarantee it."
"So act accordingly," she said. "Gloves off, from the start."
"Yes," I said. I put my arm across my chest and started massaging my left shoulder with my right hand. Then I stopped myself, surprised. An army psychiatrist once told me that type of unconscious gesture represents feelings of vulnerability. It's defensive. It's about covering up and hiding. It's the first step toward curling yourself into a ball on the floor.
Duffy must have read the same books, because she picked up on it and looked straight at me.
"You're scared of Quinn, aren't you?" she said.
"I'm not scared of anybody," I said. "But certainly I preferred it when he was dead."
"We can cancel," she said.
I shook my head. "I'd like the chance to find him, believe me."
"What went wrong with the arrest?" I shook my head again.
"I won't talk about that," I said.
She was quiet for a beat. But she didn't push it. Just looked away and paused and looked back and started up with the briefing again. Quiet voice, efficient diction.
"Objective number four is find my agent," she said. "And bring her back to me." I nodded.
"Five, bring me solid evidence I can use to nail Beck."
"OK," I said.
She paused again. Just a beat. "Six, find
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