The Overlook

in.”
    “Did you pass Silver Lake yet?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Good. Head up to Silver Lake. Go to the rec center at the bottom of the reservoir.”
    “What’s going on, Lieutenant?”
    “The Kent car’s been located. Hadley and his people are already out there setting up the CP. They’ve requested the investigators on scene.”
    “Hadley? Why’s he there? Why is there a command post?”
    “Hadley’s office got the tip and checked it out before deciding to clue us in. The car is parked in front of a house belonging to a person of interest. They want you on the scene.”
    “‘Person of interest’? What’s that mean?”
    “The house is the residence of a person the OHS has an interest in. Some sort of suspected terrorist sympathizer. I don’t have all the details. Just get there, Harry.”
    “All right. We’re on the way.”
    “Call me and let me know what’s happening. If you need me out there just say the word.”
    Of course, Gandle didn’t really want to leave the office and go to the scene. That would set him back on his daily management duties and paperwork. Bosch closed the phone and tried to pick up speed but the traffic was too thick for him to get anywhere. He filled Ferras in on what little he knew from the phone call.
    “What about the FBI?” Ferras asked.
    “What about them?”
    “Do they know?”
    “I didn’t ask.”
    “What about the meeting at ten?”
    “I guess we’ll worry about that at ten.”
    In ten minutes they finally got to Silver Lake Boulevard and Bosch turned north. This part of the city took its name from the Silver Lake Reservoir which sat in the middle of the largely middle-class neighborhood of bungalows and post-World War Two homes with views of the man-made lake.
    As they approached the recreation center Bosch saw two shiny black SUVs that he recognized as the signature vehicles of the OHS. Apparently, he thought, there was never much trouble getting funding for a unit that supposedly hunted terrorists. There were two patrol cars and a city sanitation truck as well. Bosch parked behind one of the patrol cars and he and Ferras got out.
    There was a group of ten men in black fatigues-also distinctive to the OHS-gathered around the fold-down rear gate of one of the SUVs. Bosch approached them and Ferras trailed a couple of steps behind. Their presence was immediately noticed and the crowd parted and there was Captain Don Hadley sitting on the gate. Bosch had never met him but had seen him often enough on television. He was a large, red-faced man with sandy hair. He was about forty years old and looked like he had been in the gym working out for half of them. His ruddy complexion gave him the look of someone who had overexerted himself or was holding his breath.
    “Bosch?” Hadley asked. “Ferras?”
    “I’m Bosch. This is Ferras.”
    “Fellas, good to have you here. I think we’re going to tie your case up for you in a bow in short order. We’re just waiting on one of my guys to bring the warrant and then we go in.”
    He stood up and signaled to one of his men. Hadley had a definite air of confidence about him.
    “Perez, check on that warrant, will you? I’m tired of waiting. Then check the OP and see what’s happening up there.”
    He then turned back to Bosch and Ferras.
    “Walk with me, men.”
    Hadley headed away from the group and Bosch and Ferras followed. He led them to the back of the sanitation truck so he could talk to them away from the cluster of other men. The captain adopted a command pose, putting his foot up on the back end of the truck and resting his elbow on his knee. Bosch noticed that he carried his sidearm in a leg holster that was strapped around his thick right thigh. Like an Old West gunslinger except he was carrying a semi-automatic. He was chewing gum and not trying to hide it.
    Bosch had heard many stories about Hadley. He now had the feeling that he was about to become part of one.
    “I wanted you men to be here for this,” Hadley said.
    “What exactly is this, Captain?” Bosch replied.
    Hadley clapped his hands together before speaking.
    “We’ve located your Chrysler Three Hundred approximately two and a half blocks from here on a street bordering the reservoir. The plate matches the BOLO and I eyeballed the vehicle myself. It’s the car we’ve been looking for.”
    Bosch nodded. That part was good, he thought. What’s the rest?
    “The vehicle is parked in front of a home owned by a man named Ramin Samir,”