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“Just stay out of trouble, Matthew.” He looked at Byrth. “You do realize you’re running with dangerous company, Jim?”
Byrth smiled.
“I’ll take my chances,” he said as he stood up. “Thanks again for your hospitality, Jason.”
Washington leaned back in his chair as he watched Payne lead the Texas Ranger across Homicide. Payne stopped at an unoccupied desk and used the phone to call Corporal Rapier.
That Byrth is an interesting man, Washington thought.
But there was something in his eyes when he said, “I want this guy bad.”
What could that be about?
Or am I projecting something on him that’s not really there?
Because I also really want this doer bad.
Corporal Kerry Rapier was at his electronic control console when Sergeant Payne and Sergeant Byrth entered the Executive Command Center on the third floor.
“Hey, Matt!” Rapier said. “So you’re coming to play with my toys?”
“I’ll let you play with them, Kerry. We’ll just watch.” He looked to Byrth. “Sergeant Jim Byrth, this is Corporal Kerry Rapier.”
The big Texan held The Hat in the crook of his left arm as he nearly crushed the right paw of the tiny blue shirt.
“Pleasure,” Byrth said with a nod.
When they had finished, and Rapier was flexing his hand to get the blood flowing again, Rapier said, “You’re not from around here, are you, Sergeant?”
Payne said, “Jim’s a sergeant with the Texas Rangers.”
Byrth shifted The Hat under his arm and looked around the room. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Corporal?”
Rapier grinned.
“Glad you noticed,” he said. Then, with a tone that showed professional pride, he began: “We have one of the finest command centers in the country-”
“For which we have you in part to thank, Jim,” Payne interrupted.
“How so?”
“Your tax dollars. The fine folks in Washington sent us all kinds of federal funds to ramp up for the protection of the Democrats’ national convention here.”
“How damned kind of them,” Byrth said dryly.
Rapier went on officiously: “We have approximately four million dollars invested in all of the electronics. That is just in this room and what’s on the roof. There’s another couple million worth of commo equipment-cameras to radios-in the field. We can accommodate fifty-two officers at these conference tables, and another forty in the seating along the walls.”
“Tha
t’s one helluva crowd,” Byrth said.
Rapier nodded. “That’s capacity, from Philly cops to the feds. We generally run with maybe half that many people, all Philly cops. The Secret Service, FBI, and DHS have their own war rooms in Philly, of course.”
“Of course,” Byrth said, shaking his head.
Rapier waved at the banks of frameless flat-screen TVs. They were dark.
“Sixty-inch high-definition LCDs, nine to a bank, with the capability of up to twenty-seven unique video feeds. We can have live feeds from all sorts of unclassified and classified sources, everything from our helos in the sky down to the bomb squad robots. All absolutely secure.”
