Gone Tomorrow

challenges in the world.”
    “They made it personal. They sent me that DVD.”
    “Which was tactical. If you react, they win.”
    “No, if I react, they lose.”
    “This isn’t the Wild West.”
    “You got that right. This is the timid West. We need to roll the clock back.”
    “Do you even know where they are?”
    Springfield glanced at me.
    I said, “I’m working on a couple of ideas.”
    “Do you still have an open channel of communication?”
    “She hasn’t called me since the DVD.”
    “Since she set you up, you mean.”
    “But I think she’s going to call again.”
    “Why?”
    “Because she wants to.”
    “She might win. One false step, and you’re her prisoner. You’ll end up telling her what she wants to know.”
    I asked him, “How many times have you flown commercial since September eleventh?”
    He said, “Hundreds.”
    “And I bet every single time some small corner of your mind was hoping there were hijackers on board. So you could see them marching up the aisle, so you could jump up and beat the shit out of them. Or die trying.”
    Sansom inclined his head and his mouth turned down in a rueful little smile. The first I had seen from him for a long time.
    “You’re right,” he said. “Every single time.”
    “Why?”
    “I would want to protect the airplane.”
    “And you would want to unload your frustrations. And burn off your hate. I know I would. I liked the Twin Towers. I liked the way the world used to be. You know, before. I have no political skills. I’m not a diplomat or a strategist. I know my weaknesses, and I know my strengths. So all in all for a guy like me the chance to meet an active Al Qaeda cell seems pretty much like all my birthdays and Christmases rolled into one.”
    “You’re crazy. This is not a thing to be done alone.”
    “What’s the alternative?”
    “Homeland Security will find them eventually. Then they’ll put something together. NYPD, FBI, SWAT teams, equipment, hundreds of guys.”
    “A huge operation with lots of disparate components.”
    “But carefully planned.”
    “You been on operations like that before?”
    “Couple of times.”
    “How did they work out for you?”
    Sansom didn’t answer.
    I said, “Alone is always better.”
    “Maybe not,” Springfield said. “We checked on Homeland Security’s computer algorithm. The Hoths brought a large party with them.”
    “How many?”
    “Nineteen men.”

Chapter 68
    I finished my breakfast . The coffee pot was empty. So I finished my eight-dollar bottle of water and lobbed it end over end toward the trash can. It struck the rim with a hollow plastic sound and bounced out and rolled away across the carpet. Not a good sign, if I were superstitious. But I’m not.
    “Total of nineteen men,” I said. “Four left the country already and two are walking wounded with broken jaws and elbows. That leaves thirteen on active service.”
    Sansom said, “Broken jaws and elbows? How did that happen?”
    “They were out looking for me. They might be hot shit in the hills with grenade launchers, but scuffling on the street seems not to be their main strength.”
    “Did you write on their foreheads?”
    “One of them. Why?”
    “The FBI got a call from the Bellevue emergency room. Two unidentified foreigners were dumped there after a beating. One of them had writing on his forehead.”
    “Punishment,” I said. “The Hoths must have been displeased with their performance. So they gave them up, to encourage the others.”
    “Ruthless people.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “Secure rooms in the hospital. Because one of them was there before. Some previous emergency at Penn Station. He’s not saying anything. The FBI is trying to work out who the hell he is.”
    “What’s taking them so long? I wrote Lila’s name on his head. I wrote, Lila, call me . How many people named Lila is the Bureau interested in right now?”
    Sansom shook his head. “Give them some credit. The part with the name had been skinned off with a knife.”
    I stepped over and opened the second bottle of eight-dollar water. Took a sip. It tasted good. But no better than two-dollar water. Or free water, from the tap.
    “Thirteen people,” I said.
    “Plus the Hoths themselves,” Springfield said.
    “OK, fifteen.”
    “Suicide mission.”
    “We’re all going to die,” I said. “The only questions are how and when.”
    “We can’t actively help you,” Sansom said. “You understand that, right? This