“But you need me, and I know how to shoot. I learned, growing up.”
“I don’t have an extra, anyway.”
Lucinda leaned to Dom, upset. “I don’t know why you can’t get somebody in the FBI to help you. They can come with a SWAT team or whatever.”
Ethan interjected, “Yeah, they call for backup, even with Pablo Escobar.”
Dom turned to Lucinda. “Don’t misunderstand. I am going to make a call.”
“To who?” I asked, confused. “I thought we were doing this on our own.”
“It may end up that way, but I have a better plan. We can’t wait for Milo to find us, and I can’t access files about confidential informants, so I don’t know how to reach him.”
“I assumed you could, somehow.”
“No, but this is better. I’m going to call Reilly and say you haven’t turned up. Play dumb, act like I don’t know Wiki flipped.” As he spoke, Dom’s gaze was intense. “I’ll tell him I have your family. I’ll say I heard on the news that Wiki was dead and I think Milo must have killed him.”
I followed his logic, watching Dom grow more animated, as if his undercover days were coming back to him. If I was New Jason, he was Old Dom.
“I’m going to tell him that I have your family by the airport, not here. Then we see what happens.” Dom spread his hands, opening his palms. “If Reilly is clean, he’ll show up, we’ll have backup, and we’ll find another way to lure Milo. If Reilly is dirty, then he’ll call Milo and Milo will show up.”
“You’re going to call him right now?”
“No. We’ll call him from there. I don’t want GPS to give away this location.”
Still upset, Lucinda asked, “Why don’t you call the Philly cops? Have them in place?”
“The locals will never do that without contacting the FBI. They’ll bust us.”
Dom paused. “I figure Milo will come with three guys.”
I thought back to my conversation at the cabin. “George thinks four of his guys are with him.”
“Okay, four.” Dom didn’t miss a beat. “He’ll come to use your family for a bargaining chip. He’ll want to use them to draw you out.”
“I get it.” It was a great plan. “We’re flipping the script.”
“Exactly. We win either way. If Milo shows up, we take him down and contact the Philly cops.”
“Yes, and I’ll testify against him. But Dom, we’re not going back to square one. We busted the conspiracy, so there’s no reason for witness protection. Agreed?”
Ethan turned to Dom expectantly.
Dom hesitated, then a smile spread slowly across his face. “Right. If it works, you’re free.”
“Done.” My gaze found Ethan’s, and I winked. He winked back.
Lucinda only frowned.
* * *
—
After Dom and the others had gone upstairs, I lingered to say goodbye to Lucinda and Ethan. I hugged Ethan, who still felt too thin. If I needed a reminder of why I was going, it was in my arms. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“See you later.”
“You said that before, remember?” Ethan’s young face was drawn, exhausted, and scared.
“Yes, and I came back. So count on it. When this is over, we’ll go get Moonie.” I touched his cheek. “Now, go sit at the table while I talk to Mom, okay?”
“Okay.” Ethan walked away, and Lucinda stepped forward, taking my arm.
“Jason, you can’t do this.” Her eyes were wide with fear, and her fair skin mottled. “This is crazy.”
“No, it’s not. There’s no other way. I haven’t come this far to quit now.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ll be fine. You heard the plan.”
“Stop calling it a plan, it’s not a plan. It’s practically suicide.”
“Shh.” I glanced across the room at Ethan.
“Jason, this isn’t happening because of Gitmo. Like you said, Gitmo is only the ‘but for.’？”
“It is because of Gitmo. ‘But for’ is lawyer bullshit. I got you and Ethan into this mess and I’m going to get you out.”
Lucinda frowned, agonized. “You don’t have to be a hero.”
“I’m not trying to be a hero, I’m trying to solve a problem.” I felt the truth of my words as they left my lips. Maybe a hero was just a guy who solved a problem. A regular dad, trying to fix things for his family. I fixed the water leak, I fixed the plaster. Mr. Fixit, writ large.
“Honey, please—”
“I don’t have time to argue. They’re waiting.” I nodded toward Ethan. “You’re making him worry.”
Tears filled Lucinda’s beautiful eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“You’d better come back to me.” Lucinda kissed me, with more feeling than she had in years.
“Wow,” I said, when she let me go.
It was all I could say.
Chapter Sixty-Two
We drove together in the white van that had first taken us to the house in Delaware, and I felt we had come full circle. We started our nightmare on Coldstream Road and we were going to end it, one way or another, tonight.
We were rumbling around the ragged back of the Philly airport, situated at the southeast end of the city, on the industrial banks of the Delaware. We were one of the few cars on a service road used by UPS, FedEx, and container trucks going to and from the cargo depots. We rode in silence past crane and rigging facilities, empty parking lots for corporate jets, a sheet-metal fabricator, and truck and equipment warehouses.
Dom drove, I was in the passenger seat, and Tig, Skeet, and Richardson were in the back seat. Richardson nodded off, snoring softly, and nobody woke him. I marveled at their calm, wondering if it had been seasoned in Vietnam. I had never been in a war, but I knew what heroes were. They were heroes.
Dom didn’t say much either, but I could read his demeanor. He perched at the edge of the seat, driving inclined over the wheel. His gaze swept the surroundings, but his sight kept returning to the middle distance, maybe even turning inward, into his own past. He knew this dark and dirty terrain, and he emanated excitement like a steady electrical thrumming, as if he were a powerful, professional, machine.
I was in good hands.
I had to pray that was enough.
I wanted all of us to get out of this alive.
* * *
—
We reached a faded sign that read roper crane & rigging and pulled into a large, empty parking lot surrounding a corrugated metal building, about three stories tall. We drove past the building, took a right, and parked in front of a massive crane, which was even taller than the building. Its cab was almost a story high, the undercarriage five feet tall, and its tracks about twenty-five feet long. Black-tarped scaffolding encased the crane, its fabric tattered and torn. An American flag flapped at the top, fraying.
“Everybody out of the pool.” Dom cut the engine. “Tig, the toolbox.”
“Okay,” Tig answered, and we piled out of the van. No motion-detector lights went on, and Dom left the van doors open for light.