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Department, which was housed in a tan brick building with some shrubs growing along the front. The entrance was down at the end of the building, facing a parking lot to the side.
    When Stark went inside, he found a burly young man sitting behind a counter at a console that included a radio and a computer. He wore the same sort of uniform that Stark had seen on Chief Charles Cobb the day before. The dispatcher swiveled his chair around to face Stark and asked, “Help you, mister?”
    Now that Stark had a better look at the young man, he realized the dispatcher had Down syndrome. He said, “The chief doesn’t happen to be here, does he?”
    â€œNope. Just me. Officer Raymond Brady. Who’re you? I don’t know you, do I?”
    Stark smiled and said, “No, I don’t live here in Fuego. I’m just visiting. My name’s Stark.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Mr. Stark. What can I do for you?”
    â€œYou’re the dispatcher?”
    â€œThat’s right. Do you have a crime to report, or an accident, something like that?”
    Stark shook his head. “No, what I’d really like to do is talk to the chief.”
    â€œGive me your cell phone number. I’ll see if I can get in touch with him and tell him to give you a call.”
    That seemed reasonable to Stark. He couldn’t very well claim this was an emergency and insist that Officer Brady call the chief on the radio right this minute. For all Stark knew, there was absolutely nothing threatening going on in Fuego this morning. It was just a hunch on his part that something might be wrong.
    But given the fact that 150 Islamic terrorists had been locked up in Hell’s Gate a few days earlier, and now there was a sudden influx into town of men who might be Middle Eastern . . .
    Well, it didn’t take a genius to see that something might be up.
    Stark took a business card from a plastic holder on the counter, turned it over, wrote down his name and cell phone number on the back, and handed it to Raymond Brady.
    â€œThe chief can get hold of me at this number anytime.”
    â€œMaybe you should tell me what this is about, so I can pass it along to the chief,” Raymond suggested.
    Stark hesitated, but only for a second. Raymond seemed competent and sharp as a tack.
    â€œI’m a little worried because there seems to be a lot of strangers in town.”
    â€œ You’re a stranger in town,” Raymond pointed out. “You said so yourself.”
    â€œThat’s true, but I think the ones I’m talking about might be looking to cause some trouble.” Stark thought about the fact that Alexis Devereaux and Phillip Hamil were both in town, too, and went on, “I think there’s going to be some sort of protest demonstration about those new prisoners out at Hell’s Gate.”
    â€œThe terrorists, you mean.”
    â€œYeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were TV crews here later.”
    â€œFuego’s gonna be on TV?” Raymond asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe.”
    â€œThat would be something.”
    â€œBut maybe not something good,” Stark said. “Anyway, that’s what I want to talk to the chief about. I was going to suggest that he be on the alert for some sort of disturbance.”
    â€œChief Cobb’s always on the alert for trouble,” Raymond said with a note of pride and admiration in his voice. “And I’m his number one lookout.”
    â€œI’m sure you are. If you’ll give him my number . . .”
    â€œI will,” the young man promised.
    Stark smiled again, nodded, and said, “Thanks.” He went back out to his pickup, hoping that it wouldn’t be long before the chief got in touch with him.
    As he started to pull out of the parking lot, he hesitated again, then turned left instead of right, back toward the motel. There was nothing he needed from there right now, and even though he