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“Yes.”
“Good. Here’s the deal. We’re going to send you back to the house like nothing happened, with one exception. You’re going to have a sheet of C4 strapped to your groin, and I’m going to have the detonator. If at any moment I think you’re giving us up, I’ll blow your balls off and leave you there on the floor to bleed to death. Any questions?”
The man swallowed hard and shook his head.
“Good.” Rapp turned to Coleman. “Put the sheet in his underwear and secure it. Marcus, is the jacket ready?”
“In a second.”
Rapp looked Dave in the eye and said, “You have my word. If you cooperate, I’ll let you live.”
It took Coleman a little more than a minute to rig the plastic explosives. Rapp took a second to go over the layout of his house and then told the men in detail how they would proceed. After a quick communications check, they piled into the Crown Victoria and were off. Rapp, Coleman, and Stroble were in the back seat, and Hackett was in the front. The van followed behind at a discreet distance. Coleman and his men all carried suppressed MP-5 submachine guns. Rapp had only his trusted Beretta 92F with three extra fifteen-round clips. On the way to the house, they received status reports from the helicopter. Everything was as expected. One man standing post on the front porch, a second on the back deck, and two more inside, presumably at the kitchen table.
As they turned off the county road and onto the street that would take them to the house, Rapp told the driver to douse the lights and stop. Next, he yanked the plastic cover off the dome light and pulled the bulb. Turning to Stroble, he said, “Once he turns into the driveway, stay low in the back seat. I’ll tell you when to move.” Rapp tapped the driver on the shoulder with the tip of his silencer. “If they ask what took so long, tell them they had to make a fresh pot of coffee for you. And then ask them immediately where the girl is.”
Rapp nodded for Coleman to get out of the car. As the door opened, the driver asked, “Are you going in shooting?”
“If they reach for their weapons, they’re as good as dead. It’s up to them. Just drop your ass to the floor as soon as it starts, and you’ll be fine.” The driver shook his head, and Rapp asked, “What?”
“They’ll reach for their weapons.”
“Then they’re dead.” With that Rapp, Coleman, and Hackett got out of the car and began jogging down the road. Rapp led the way. The lots in the neighborhood were all similar. They were pretty narrow with one hundred to two hundred feet of shoreline, and they ran around five hundred feet deep. Each lot was separated by a line of trees and bushes for extra privacy. Two houses before his, Rapp turned off the road and cut through his neighbor’s yard. Without the moon, it was extremely dark. When they reached the line of trees, Rapp found a small footpath and crossed into the next yard. The men ran in a crouch now. When they reached the next line of trees, they dropped to a knee. Rapp pulled down the lip mike on his headset and asked for one more status report from the chopper. They reported that the situation was unchanged.
Rapp grabbed Hackett around the neck and pulled him close. Pointing toward the water and whispering in his ear, he said, “About twenty feet before the cliff, there’s a path that leads from Harry’s yard to mine.”
“Who’s Harry?”
“He’s my neighbor. Don’t worry about him. He’s eighty-one and as deaf as a door. Now, listen. These two guys standing post are dead. We don’t have time to dick around with them. We don’t have cuffs, and we don’t have enough people to cover our asses. When I give the word, I want you to pop your man in the head. You got any problems with that?”
Hackett was unfazed by the question. It would not be the first time he had taken a man’s life. He didn’t blink or show the slightest sign of tension. He uttered his simple one-word reply. “No.”
“Good.” Rapp slapped his arm. “Get moving.”
Hackett moved silently into the darkness. Rapp spoke to Stroble over the radio. “Dan, get him moving.” He waited a second and said, “Marcus, I want continuous updates once he’s inside the house.”
CONAN O’BRIEN WAS on the tube. Jeff Duser stretched his arms above his head and let out a long yawn. He hadn’t had enough sleep as of late. Too much work and no play. When he brought his hands down, he said, “Where the fuck is Polk?” The other man sitting at Rapp’s kitchen table didn’t bother to answer his boss’s question. Duser stood and looked out the window onto the back deck. One of his men was pacing back and forth trying to stay warm. Looking around the kitchen, he said, “I can’t believe this guy doesn’t even have a bag of chips around here.”
The man at the table looked up from his game of solitaire. “Maybe he’s healthy.”
“What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?” snarled Duser.
The man shrugged his shoulders. “Chips are full of bad stuff.”
“Pedro, I’ve been eating chips my whole life. I’m thirty-five years old, and I’ve got a washboard stomach.”
“Yeah, but what do your arteries look like?”
“My arteries are fine.” Duser wasn’t in the mood for one of Pedro’s health lectures. He walked to the front of the house and checked the porch. His man was out there, but there was no sign of Polk. Mumbling to himself, Duser asked, “How long does it take to get coffee and sandwiches?”
Turning, he looked up the stairs and thought about the finelooking piece of ass who was sleeping in one of the rooms. Duser thought about what the Professor had said to him about the girl. It didn’t make any sense, but he didn’t know if it was worth the risk of pissing the man off. He had paid them a lot of money in the last few months, and Duser was sure there would be more to come.
Duser’s cell phone rang, and he grabbed it from the case on his hip. “Hello.”
“It’s me. How is everything?”
“Fine. We’re just waiting for Polk to get back with some coffee and food.”
“How long has he been gone?”
