guest. That failing, take the nearest space available. Apply for a search warrant immediately. You have less than two hours before their arrival.” He hung up.
* * *
—
Sykes had the motor running when she got back to the car. In a minute, they were back on the interstate, with the van following. “Did you talk to the boys?” she asked.
“I did.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them that I trust you and that you are an equal member of our team.”
“To whom does the team report?”
“To me.”
“And to whom do you report?”
He hesitated for a moment. “I report directly to God,” he said, finally.
“Oh, good. I’d like to sit in on your next meeting.”
“Trust me, he wouldn’t like you.”
“Because I’m a lesbian?”
“Among other things.”
“What are the other things?”
“Mainly, your tendency to ask too many questions,” he said firmly.
They drove on in silence.
45
Stone was still meeting with Tom Blake and Bill Wright when a small, red light blinked over the door that led to the garage. “She’s here,” Stone said.
They all got to their feet a second before Holly bustled in, carrying shopping bags. “Evening, all,” she said. “Who do I have to beat up to get a drink around here?”
“That would be me,” Stone said, moving to the bar. “But be gentle.”
“Some of that filthy bourbon you drink,” she said.
Stone poured them both one.
“Gentlemen,” Holly said, “I command you to drink an alcoholic beverage.”
“As long as you put it that way,” Tom said. “I’ll try your bourbon, too, Stone.”
“As will I,” Bill said.
The door opened and Claire Dunn entered, carrying more shopping bags. She had become the de facto bodyguard for Holly.
“You’re drinking, too, Claire,” Holly said.
“It’s an order from the top,” Bill said.
Claire dropped her bags. “Can you make a martini, Stone?”
“It’s one of my many virtues,” Stone replied, then reached into a freezer drawer for a bottle he had premixed and poured her one. He dropped two olives stuffed with anchovies into the glass and handed it to her.
Bill raised his glass. “The next administration,” he said, and they all drank.
Holly took the chair next to Stone’s. “If we’re going to talk shop, we’d better do it before the booze kicks in,” she said.
“Tom,” Bill said, “you’re here to fill us in on your end.”
“Fortunately, I have more to report than I would have had a few hours ago,” Tom said. “To sum it up, we’re dealing with a five-man unit of domestic terrorists who have apparently been organized for the express purpose of preventing the president-elect from becoming president. Their leader is a retired Army colonel, Wade Sykes, who resigned from the service under a cloud when he was found to be distributing white-supremacist literature among some of his command. There are four other members residing at his compound in Virginia. We have first names only: Eugene, Earl, Rod, and Jimmy. There are also two others who are not residents there but visit regularly. One of them, unbeknownst to Sykes, is a female special agent of the FBI; the other is an African-American who cooks at the compound and is a member of the CIA.”
“What interest does the CIA have in all this?” Bill asked. “They’re off their turf, aren’t they?”
“I had lunch today with Lance Cabot to ask him just that, but I failed in my mission when lunch was cut short.”
“As lunch with Lance often is,” Stone remarked.
“Since Stone is a special advisor to Lance,” Tom said, “I will ask him to get us an answer to that question.”
“I’ll do my best,” Stone said.
“Thus far, there have been three attempts on the president-elect’s life. All, I’m glad to say, have been unsuccessful. You all know about the Maine incident and last week’s shooting of the dummy in the family quarters of the White House.”
There was a murmur of assent.
“There was also a failed attempt at Ms. Barker’s Georgetown residence, in which our female agent took part as the getaway driver.”
“What have the two operatives at the compound learned?”
“Elizabeth Potter, who is known as Bess Potts at the compound, gleaned sufficient knowledge to foil the Georgetown and White House attacks, but she was not yet a member of the group at the time of the Maine incident. We have not yet had a report from the cook, Leroy Collins, known at the compound as Elroy Hubbard. Sykes does not trust him, apparently because he’s black, but fortunately, he likes the man’s cooking.
“As we speak, Sykes, Bess, and the four other members are on their way to