low-grade fever because of it.”
Potter felt himself tighten, and then he sighed.
“Look at it from his perspective. He’s a fifteen-year-old who’s been told he’s going to die unless he can get access to an insanely expensive treatment his government doesn’t believe in and won’t pay for. He’s trying to get some control over his life, and refusing meds is his answer.”
Mary tried to stay angry, but then she let it go, appearing more sad than convinced. “I don’t like being away from him like this. Every moment, it’s …”
“Did we have a choice?”
“No,” she said, and her expression hardened. “We didn’t. We don’t. It’s no use wishing we had the money any other way. How’s my doll looking?”
He went to the gun and flipped on the laser sticking out of the barrel. A glowing red dot appeared on the chart three inches above the printed crosshairs.
“Perfect,” he said. “You’re three high at a hundred meters, dead on to three hundred. Two turret clicks and you’re zero at five hundred.”
“I do like precision.”
“It’s everything,” he said, taking her rifle from the vise and setting it aside.
Potter picked up his own rifle. Green custom stock with a nice grip, the gun was also chambered in 6.5mm Creedmoor, but it carried a Leica sniper scope with an illuminated reticle.
When properly sighted in, Potter’s rifle was more than capable of handling a five-hundred-yard shot. He just wanted to make sure it would when the time—
The sat phone blinked and beeped before he could start testing the rifle.
It was a number he recognized, and he answered.
“Peter here,” said a male voice with a slight British accent. “How was the drive?”
“Just beat that storm coming.”
“Any trouble entering the country?”
“None.”
“I told you the passports and veterinarian papers were solid.”
“We didn’t even need them. You going to give us our assignment?”
“It’s all there, in the closet in the back bedroom. Everything you’ll need.”
Mary left the kitchen, heading toward the back bedroom.
Potter stayed where he was. “You’ll deposit the down payment?”
“As soon as you tell me you’re taking the job.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Just the same.”
Mary came back into the kitchen carrying a thick manila envelope. She’d lost several shades of color.
“I’ll call you back,” Potter said, and he clicked off. “What’s the matter?”
“Jesus Christ, Dana,” she said, handing him the envelope. “What the hell are we into now?”
CHAPTER
24
HANDCUFFED AND WEARING an orange prisoner jumpsuit, the only surviving member of Romero’s crew glared at the tabletop as Bree followed Ned Mahoney into an interrogation room at the federal detention facility in Alexandria, Virginia.
I was in an observation booth with U.S. Secret Service agent Lance Reamer and Capitol Police lieutenant Sheldon Lee.
“She still hasn’t said anything?” Special Agent Reamer asked.
“She’s asked for an attorney,” I said.
“Course she did,” Lieutenant Lee said bitterly.
Mahoney and Bree took seats opposite her. She raised her head, saw Bree, and acted as if she’d sniffed something foul. She had spiderweb tattoos on both hands and another climbing the left side of her neck.
“Your prints came up,” Mahoney said, sliding a piece of paper in front of her. “Lupe Morales. Multiple arrests as a juvenile. Four as an adult, for solicitation, drug dealing twice, and abetting an armed robbery. Looks like you did three years in the California Institution for Women at Lompoc for that one.”
“Eighteen months,” Lupe said, and she yawned. “I’ve asked for a lawyer. Twice now.”
“The federal defender’s office has been notified,” Bree said. “In the meantime, you can do yourself a whole lot of good by talking to us.”
She sniffed. “I’ve heard that one before.”
Bree showed no reaction. “The U.S. attorney is preparing to charge you with four counts of kidnapping, three counts of attempted murder, and two counts of firing on police officers in the course of duty. Oh, and co-conspirator in the plot to murder a sitting U.S. senator. I’m thinking life without parole times two, maybe more.”
“If not the federal death penalty,” Mahoney said. “The new administration’s big on taking that road whenever possible. Or hadn’t you heard?”
Lupe sat forward, her upper lip curled. “I’m guilty of nothing but being stupid and going along for a ride I shouldn’t never have been on. Know what I’m saying?”
“No, actually,” Bree said.
“Spell it out,” Mahoney said.
“Check my gun,” she said. “That little Glock? No bullets, and not because I ran out. It’s clean because I’ve never shot it. I didn’t shoot at no one. Never have. Never will. And especially no senator.”
In the booth, I put a call in to the FBI