Edge

and wanted to shoot anything that moved, and Maree—when she wasn’t hysterical—was more concerned about boyfriend trouble than professional killers.
    “I warned you about that sister, Corte. You know,you get tired of this job, you should think about doing some kind of Dr. Phil show.”
    Then I said, “I’m going into position.”
    He gave me one of his looks. It was a container of a dozen messages that I read instinctively. Freddy, whom I’d met years ago under unusual circumstances, was the only person in the world I could be partnered with in operations like this. Of the two of us, I’m the strategist—I pick the moves—and he’s the tactician, figuring out how to implement my choices.
    In terms of games, I decide rock . . . and Freddy makes the fist.
    I trekked through a long weedy gully, bordered by a thick stand of trees to my right, the smelly canal beyond and, on the left, grass and piles of machinery. At the end, under cover of the sad foliage, I set up a Big Ear unit—a twelve-inch parabolic dish that was an ultrasensitive microphone—and slipped on a headset. I turned this toward the warehouse, aiming the device below the window, which had purposely been left open.
    I focused beyond the warehouse and noted in the middle of our property two civilian vehicles up on blocks. A Chevy sedan and a Dodge van, rusty and covered with graffiti, some of which I myself had helped spray on a few years ago.
    Alone now, feeling very alone, I looked around once more, as a trickle of excitement and anticipation danced down my spine.
    Fear too, of course.
    As Abe Fallow had told me and I told my protégés, you have to be afraid in this business. If you don’t get scared, you can’t be effective.
    Ten minutes passed, a long, long ten minutes.
    “Team One to Command Post,” a voice clattered through our earphones. “Got some movement north.”
    “Command Post to One. Go ahead.”
    “Be advised. Unknown person moving slow. Dark clothing, male probably. Gone from sight now. He’s in grid eighteen.”
    “Weapon?”
    “Not obvious.”
    I strained, leaning forward to look where the subject had been spotted—the opposite side of the property from where I was. After a moment of staring at blond and green weeds, I too noted some motion. The subject was moving furtively from a dead end road toward the warehouse.
    “I’ve got him,” the woman agent said. “No weapon. Doesn’t appear to be Loving.”
    “Probably the partner,” I radioed, “but he’s not alone. Loving’ll be here too.”
    The others called in, reporting what they saw—or, mostly, didn’t see—from their respective positions. The figure tentatively approaching the warehouse had stopped.
    Then a whisper: “Team Two. He’s noticed the Dodge, he’s interested in it.”
    I kept quiet. I’d be getting the details as soon as they were verified. It was inefficient to waste time by asking professionals for more information. It was like urging, “Be careful” as you’re moving in for a takedown. I wiped my hands on my slacks.
    “This is Team One. He’s on the move again. Slow.”
    “Team Two. Copy that. He’s real interested inthe Dodge.” One of the agents asked, “Any equipment in there?”
    “No,” Freddy said. “It’s clean. Let him poke around. . . . Team Four, you see anything more? Any sign of Loving?”
    “Negative.”
    “Three?”
    “Negative.”
    Then: “This is Team Two. The partner’s getting closer . . . hand in pocket . . . looking behind him . . . has something in his hand. A mobile.”
    I pulled out my Alpen 10x32 Long Eye binoculars and scanned the area but couldn’t see him.
    Working on calming my breathing—which was shallow and fast. I tried thinking one of my mantras. Rock, paper, scissors. Rock, paper, scissors.
    It was then that I heard: Snap.
    Directly behind me.
    I froze and turned my head slowly.
    Holding his silenced pistol steadily on me, Henry Loving glanced down briefly, his mouth curling with faint disappointment at not having avoided the dry branch he’d just stepped on.

Chapter 12
    LOVING NOTED A bit of body armor protruding from beneath my jacket. He lifted his gun and aimed at my exposed neck.
    Then his pale left hand moved slightly, delivering instructions.
    I stood. I was to remove the radio mike bud from one ear and the listening device earpiece from the other. And to pull my weapon from the holster with thumb and index finger.
    I complied with all of his requests,