A/N: Many apologies for letting this lapse for a year. I hit a total writer's block (even though I know where I want to take this) and RL got in the way. I will start my next chapter immediately in hopes of a bit more prompt posting.
As you probably don't recall, in TLWB, Jane returned from exile and he, Lisbon and Cho successfully went after the remnants of the Blake Association. Pike replaced Abbott and Lisbon strong-armed Abbott to change Jane's FBI contract before Pike (and Tork!) got him killed. In this Sequel, they returned to Sacramento via a road trip across the SouthWest, married, traveled to Europe, founded their own detective agency, then ended their detective agency. Recently, Lisbon accepted a position as Assistant Director of the new CIB, soon to become Director if Hightower is elected AG. Jane rotates consulting work between the Sacramento FBI office working on Cho's counter-terrorism team, working for Abbott in DC (still beholden to work cases for 5 years) and the CIB.
After foiling a terrorist plot to take down a plane using a flock of drones, a terrorist succeeded in bombing Sacramento's international airport with a truckload of improvised explosives. Astonishingly, CIA agent Peter Brock aided the terrorist in getting into the US, traveling to Sacramento, and picking up the truck loaded with explosives. Jane figured out that Brock intended to foil the attack using a sniper rifle, but failed because of a fatal car accident. Cho, Jane, and team are in DC trying to identify Brock's accomplices. On the personal front, Jane and Lisbon are undergoing their second IVF attempt to start a family.
Again, my apologies to anyone still interested in this story.
Chapter 27: Cat and Mouse
Andrews Air Force Base, MD, Sunday
Five FBI agents stiffly disembarked and squinted in the sun, now keenly aware of the low priority passenger comfort held on military cargo jets. They'd boarded before dawn in Sacramento and arrived just past noon. An airman led them to a nearby building as the jet taxied away.
Ojara shouldered bags filled with various weapons. Wylie shifted several bags of computer and electronics gear slung over his shoulders. Vega offered a hand and Wylie appreciatively handed her a bag; Hassan took another. Wylie looked around in delight. "Neat," he said with a grin. "I've seen Andrews Air Force Base a zillion times on TV when the President travels. I never expected to be here."
"The East Coast is loaded with military bases," Vega commented. "My dad let me tag along as a kid."
Hassan ventured, "Burner phones. Can't tell anyone about the trip. Military transport. What gives?" The others shrugged, equally in the dark.
Muhammad hurried to catch up. "Is someone calling Cho? My cell's in my carry-on."
"I'll call," Ojara answered. Being older and more experienced than everyone but Cho and Jane, he often took lead in their absence. The airman saluted a sergeant and left. The sergeant handed around an electronic tablet and helped Ojara arrange transportation while the others signed.
Ojara pulled a cell phone from his pocket and selected Cho from the contact list. Cho had them buy burners and enter team numbers in Sacramento. Interestingly, Cho's number was different from his FBI-issued phone. There was no number for Jane.
Muhammad made a face. "It's got to be the case. –Great to get out of California though. I've never been to DC."
"Me neith–"
"–The van's here," Ojara interrupted. "Cho will meet us at our hotel."
Vega blinked in surprise. "We're not at the same one as Cho?"
"No."
Cho, DC
Cho checked the time again, eager to get started. Friday night's attack at the comedy club proved electronic communications were compromised. He'd nixed having his team fly commercial because it could reveal their movements. Cho had been out of the military too long to arrange an off-the-books flight for five agents. Fortunately, friend Alyssa Chay had just gotten out and scouted likely military flights to DC for him, smoothing the way when Mancini called the base CO.
Cho channeled his impatience into reviewing the plan he and Jane devised. Barely a plan. It was imperative to identify Brock's accomplices in the Sacramento airport bombing; this was their best shot. Abbott had worked miracles getting authorization to track phone meta data real-time. Years ago a CIA director was caught lying to Congress about storing the data on citizens – all citizens – in violation of the Constitution. Congress reacted by having phone companies retain the data instead. Government access had to be justified. Proof CIA agent Peter Brock facilitated a terrorist bombing apparently was a compelling argument.
The agents arrived, chose rooms, parked their luggage, and gathered in the suite's common area.
Cho stood. "Let's start."
"Sir – Cho, isn't Jane coming?" Vega asked, looking around.
Jane's image appeared on the laptop on the sofa table. Cho said, "Safer than in person," then launched into the briefing. Jane was accidentally seen leaving an unsigned note to rattle Courtney Wentworth, granddaughter of the influential California senator. Friday's attack at the comedy club confirmed Jane's hunch about her, proved Brock had accomplices, and made it clear they'd murder to cover it up. "Our best chance at nailing the accomplices is," he held up Jane's cell, "this."
Jane spoke up. "They texted a bribe offer and would use my cell to hunt me. We'll use that to trap them."
Vega said sharply, "How, without putting you at risk?"
Half-shrug. "I lost that option when Wentworth made me." Jane scanned the group. "Our carry-ons were searched. The attack proves they're tracking our cell phones. Cho will appear to fly back to Sacramento, leaving me unguarded. I'll accept their bribe to throw the case and flee the US. They'll tail me–"
"–How if you're not carrying that cell anymore?" interrupted Muhammad.
Patiently, "I'm acting as they'd expect. I left my cell in my hotel room since they're obviously tracking it. I called Cho's hotel room with my new burner to 'accidentally' expose that number. I'll travel around making arrangements to flee and Wylie will track the cell phones mirroring my travels. I'll demand a bribe in diamonds. They must leave them where I specify and I must physically pick them up. The temptation to eliminate me will be our chance."
Ojara murmured, "Just enough breadcrumbs to think they're clever by following them."
Wylie looked at Jane, brow creased with doubt. "Millions of signals are handed off between cell towers in a city, many thousands for any one tower. Figuring which numbers are theirs is finding a needle in an ocean of needles. A lot to process real time."
Jane lazily countered, "It's a numbers game, no? I'll lead them on a merry chase around DC. The more trips, the more numbers eliminated, especially if I leave the city a few times." He smirked, both acknowledging and mocking the technology. "Isn't that what computers are good at – sifting billions and billions of things brute-force?"
Cho said sharply to Wylie, "Feasible?"
Uncomfortably, "Not with a laptop, but Stingray..." Wylie's voice trailed off and he frowned in thought.
"What's that?" Cho prompted.
"A surveillance tool. I'll need special authorization and equipment to vacuum up millions of cell numbers, especially in DC." He looked worried. "Violating the privacy of all those elected officials... Wow."
"Abbott got authorization." Cho somehow looked a more serious version of impassive. "Wait." He called Lena Abbott's private phone – which was now being carried by his boss. "I'll need tech support... " The rest was muffled as he turned away.
Jane smiled sunnily, downplaying the concerns "It's our best shot. If it doesn't work I'll think of something else."
Cho returned. "Abbot's arranging for equipment and IT support."
Ojara frowned. "Brock was government. Who can we trust?" Glancing at Jane, "A careless comment could blow the op." He didn't add, And get Jane killed.
Cho's lips twitched. Looking at Wylie, "Dave Hastings said to tell Coyote, 'Hi.'" Wylie's face split in a relieved grin. Cho explained, "Hastings worked the Blake case in Austin. He transferred with Abbott."
"Rather than work for Pik–" Wylie said under his breath.
"–If they're tracking your burner," Vega sharply interrupted, "why can't we carry it around so you're not at risk?"
Jane replied, "They have to see me to bite, to be sure there's no double-cross. We need them convinced eliminating me eliminates their problems."
Hassan, bluntly, "How do we keep them from succeeding?"
Cho answered. "Jane stays in crowds, visible areas, and public transport. They'll avoid collateral damage that would trigger a wider investigation. You four provide protection and back-up." The agents stirred uneasily.
Muhammad's face scrunched in puzzlement as she latched onto a detail. "Why diamonds?"
"I'll ask for ten million," Jane answered. "Money has serial numbers and would weigh a couple hundred pounds. Ten mil is only a few pounds in one- and two-carat diamonds. Easy to smuggle out, valuable worldwide. That'll take time to arrange – or pretend to arrange, giving us more time to travel around DC."
Wylie objected, "Aren't diamonds etched with identifiers?" Ojara nodded his appreciation; the regulation requiring identifiers was imposed to thwart Africa's blood diamond trade.
Jane shook his head. "There's a lot of old, unmarked diamonds."
Ojara frowned. "This works only if they believe you can be bribed. Will they?"
Jane leaned back, expression neutral. "Psychologically inescapable. They're invested in being the good guys. They violated every rule, every value for what they thought was the greater good. And yet they just helped kill a hundred Americans. I have to be the villain–"
Vega interrupted, "–But you're FBI!"
Flatly, "To them I'm a sketchy consultant who worked for a corrupt California bureau. A murderer who finagled a deal with the FBI. And now I work for Texas outsider Abbott who's irritating the DC elites. Everything is at stake – careers, power, freedom. The respect of family and peers. And, of course," he smiled coldly, "the death penalty looms. They'll believe."
Ojara persisted. "What if they're dirty themselves?"
Jane's smile faded. "Better. It's easy for someone dirty to think I'm dirty too."
Cho broke the silence. "I'm booked on a flight to Sacramento tonight. It'll look like Jane's here alone." Hassan nodded. The secrecy now made sense.
Wylie scratched his head and looked at Jane. "When you're trying to stay anonymous?" Jane gestured for him to continue. Nervously, "Anything electronic is dangerous. Store CCTV, ATM's, traffic cams, credit card purchases, cell phone, police cameras in high crime areas. Overseas our drones use satellite images and phone GPS coordinates for targeting. Your burner gives away your location. How can you sleep?"
"I pull the battery before going where I spend the night."
Wylie sighed, still uneasy.
Cho made assignments and dismissed the team. Jane signed off. Wylie called Hastings to arrange the IT equipment. Everything after 'Stingray' was incomprehensible jargon. The rest scattered to buy casual clothes for shadowing Jane undercover.
Cho checked out of his hotel room. At the airport he Fed-X'd his cell phone to Sacramento in case anyone was monitoring its signal. Within an hour he was in line to board a flight. Last in line, Cho grabbed his carry-on, ducked off the boarding bridge, and donned an airport staff jacket and cap. So far as the world knew, Patrick Jane was alone.
Min-Ji, Sacramento, Monday
Min-Ji nervously ripped open the Fed-X envelope and skimmed the paper from Cho. Her relief was bitter. Her former professor and lover had relinquished his parental rights, making it crushingly clear he had no interest in the baby. Or her. But now adoption agencies would work with her. She had three months to find the perfect parents for her baby.
DC
Jane stretched then rose in the luxurious Visualize accommodations. He hurried through his morning routine, frowning as he donned the light-weight bullet proof vest. Cho added it to his carry-on before Visualize staff fetched it from the hotel. The vest fit under his dress shirt and suit jacket well enough, inconspicuous and tolerable though unwelcome. He was brushing his hair when there was a knock at the door.
"Come," he said, stepping out of the en suite bathroom.
"Hi, I'm Meredith – Merry for short." A tall young blond woman dressed in a black pantsuit entered. Her bubbly cheer was a sharp contrast with the other, more reserved Visualize staff. "I'm sorry to interrupt." Jane waved it off. "I'm assigned to get anything you need during your stay. Just press that green button, any time." She motioned to the room's phone.
"Good to know," Jane replied, while taking another swipe at his unruly hair with his brush.
She eyed him, grinning. "That's Virginia humidity for you."
He paused and glanced back at her, "Pardon?"
She smoothed her own short curls. "My hair goes crazy in this humidity. No help for it till winter."
He returned her smile. "Then I won't bother." He winked and tossed the brush onto the counter. She smiled and left.
Dressed and ready, he stretched again to relieve tension and exited to join the river of pedestrians. The capital city was crowded and busy despite the holiday. Power would be wielded, deals made, careers advanced, meetings held, money exchanged, news reported, gossip shared.
Throngs headed toward the metro station, sweeping Jane along. Near the station he paused at a store entrance and inserted the battery into his burner phone. His first stop was a bank for cash and traveler's checks. He passed a tall black man in a custodian's uniform and only belatedly realized it was Ojara. Despite Ojara's height and bulk, service staff tended to be ignored, especially with half the city's population black. Jane's tension eased. A while later he noticed Muhammad, who looked remarkably different dressed in casual summer wear. Jane surreptitiously scanned the people around him but couldn't identify the tail he was certain was there.
In a DC hotel a young Hispanic woman pushed a cleaning cart down the hall and used a key card to open the door. She straightened the room and palmed Jane's cell phone from the dresser, leaving a dusting rag in its place lest a hidden camera might record its absence. She left and ducked into an unoccupied room.
"Cho, Vega. ... There's a message on Jane's cell: 'How much to keep quiet and leave the US? It will be worth your while.' ... Room wasn't tossed but it may have been searched. ... I'm forwarding the message and number now. ... Be back in 30 after I return the phone."
Cho put a chilled soda in front of Wylie and pulled over a chair. "Progress?"
Starting that morning, Wylie's former colleague Dave Hastings trailed Jane in an FBI van equipped with the surveillance equipment. Stingray operated as a bogus mobile cell tower. It recorded numbers for every phone in the area as they automatically linked with this closest and most powerful cell tower. Hastings transmitted the numbers to Wylie real time as the van shadowed Jane's travels.
Wylie glanced over and nodded thanks for the drink. Pointing to blinking green dots on the largest monitor, he said, "That's Ojara and Muhammad. Jane is blue." He pressed a key and red washed over much of the screen. "Red dots are cell phone numbers intercepted by Stingray that haven't been eliminated."
"Lotta red."
Wylie's fingers danced over the keys. "This is what it looked like when we started." Cho snorted softly: The screen was solid red. "A lot but we're winnowing them down."
"Criteria?"
"I keep numbers that track Jane for at least three stops."
"What if they're tag teaming, like us?"
Wylie gulped some soda. "Gotta start somewhere. I'm storing everything. Overnight I'll check for other patterns – switching off every few stops, or one tail in the morning and another the afternoon. The more stops, the better."
Cho nodded. "–Vega found a new text on Jane's cell. I need the location of the phone that sent it." He handed his phone so Wylie could copy the sending number.
"Got it." Wylie frowned. "It's not moving."
"Forward the address to Hassan." Cho turned and called, "Hassan, find the cell used to text Jane. Wylie sent you the address–"
Wylie interjected, peering at a map on screen, "Looks like a metro station. Still stationary."
"Find it and see if there's anything in its call log or messages. Try lifting prints. It's a long shot."
"Stakeout?"
Cho shook his head. "We're stretched too thin. Plant a camera," he waved at Wylie's electronics gear, "but only if won't be discovered. Maybe we'll get lucky."
By day's end Wylie was cautiously optimistic. With enough trips tens of thousands of remaining numbers would be eliminated. Hassan had found the cell phone in a mall men's room near the metro station. The burner phone had empty message and phone logs. He planted the camera but didn't have high hopes since messages on the hidden cell could be accessed remotely. Vega, Ojara and Muhammad straggled in after Jane finished his travels for the day, disabled his burner, and returned to Visualize.
Cho took care he wasn't followed to his meeting with Jane that night. They went over the team's progress, hashed out a response to the text message, and confirmed the details of Jane's travels for the next day.
Cho stood. "This may work."
Jane flashed a grin. "It is working. Another few days and we can take them down."
"Don't get cocky. -How are you contacting Lisbon?"
"I'm using a Visualize land-line to call through the CIB system."
"Good." Cho stood to leave, then paused and turned back, "Keep wearing the vest."
"Under duress."
"Just do it."
Sacramento, Tuesday
Lisbon rose and tossed her phone on the night stand in the early morning light. Rigsby's team was covering the rallies of statewide candidates and he called Monday night, followed by a call in the morning from Madeline Hightower. By both accounts, Monday's political rally was a near disaster. Lisbon pulled her carry-on from the closet and hurriedly tossed in clothes, toiletries, and Glock. She'd be armed as soon as she left the CIB that afternoon.
Last Friday's demonstrations had shaken the governor. At his behest, CIB Director Hightower had Lisbon assign teams to ensure the safety of the incumbents campaigning for statewide offices – governor, lieutenant governor and attorney general. Candidates also had their own security teams and local police provided general security for political events. But state officials felt the public anger after the airport bombing warranted extra precautions. Rigsby's and other teams were assigned to the governor, lieutenant governor and Hightower, who was running to replace AG Gordon.
Saturday's San Francisco rally had gone well enough. A crowd of mixed ages and ethnicities marched across local TV newscasts, demanding greater security after the airport carnage and a recent surge in violent crime. Dubbed the "law-and-order crowd" by the press, they demonstrated peacefully.
Things escalated. On Monday, many of the same people demonstrated peacefully if noisily outside a Sacramento auditorium hours before the rally's official start. Then it all went to hell. Lisbon mulled events as she drove.
Clashes began at nightfall. Masked, black-clad Antifa protestors arrived and baited the demonstrators as authoritarian fascists, harassing them verbally and then with sticks, rocks, and chains. Police in riot gear strove to keep the groups apart and arrested the most violent. Rigsby monitored events from inside as the rally continued while cops doggedly tamped down violence. Molotov cocktails ended any pretense of order, shattering the night and threatening to burn down the building.
Inside, Hightower had just finished speaking. The audience stirred as sirens, shouting, and gunfire were heard above the applause. A party official from Sacramento was thanking the supporters and asking their support.
"Get them out of here." Rigsby ordered as the crowd nervously edged away from the commotion outside the entrance. His team hustled the candidates toward rear exits. SUVs and a police escort waited to whisk them away. Rigsby brought up the rear, following Hightower's rapid dash to safety until –
Hightower yelped in surprise as her scarf snagged on the inside hinges. The doors pressed outward. Hightower fell to her knees. The scarf tightened.
"Dammit! Help me!" Rigsby roared. He grabbed the nearest cop and both shoved against the doors, pushing with desperate strength until –
FREE! Hightower slipped the noose and stumbled away, gasping. Rigsby fell back and the panicking mob burst through the doors, barely contained by the police cordon. Rigsby swept Hightower into the last SUV which sped away to safety. The crowd spilled into the night, scattering as Sacramento cops defused the nascent riot out front.
Lisbon pulled into the CIB garage and shook away her reverie. There were two more months before election day. After Monday's near disaster, she itched to get a first-hand, on-the-ground take.
"Chris, get Senior Agent Rigsby in here, please," Lisbon asked as she strode into her office.
"Hey, Boss," Rigsby greeted a few minutes later. She beckoned him in and waved him to sit. He handed her a sheaf of papers with his left hand. His right wrist was wrapped and cradled in a sling. "I knew you'd want this first thing."
"How's your arm?"
He shrugged. "Sprained. Grace typed the write-up."
She sipped her coffee while skimming the report. Looking up, "It escalated when the Antifa group appeared?"
He nodded. "Demonstrations about the airport bombing and crime were peaceful till then."
"Arrests?"
"SacPD made a handful. Antifa wears masks so the only arrests were those caught during an assault."
"How many rallies before the election?"
"Fifty-four are scheduled by incumbents, another 60-odd by challengers. You'd think it'd be less contentious in a basically one-party state but–"
"–The two with the most votes face off, even if they're from the same party. We're lucky more aren't running statewide. –Any hope this is a one-off?"
Rigsby shook his head. "No. Challengers are accusing incumbents of not caring about public safety. It's a hot issue after the airport bombing."
"Rigs, you're on desk work till your wrist heals. I'll head your team, you sub for me." Glancing at her watch, "I've got a meeting right now. Be back at 11 to go over the work."
Rigsby rose, disappointed but not surprised at being benched.
"Rigs –" He looked back. Softly, "Hightower said you saved her life. Good work."
He flushed slightly and nodded. "Thanks, Boss."
She flew to San Diego with Rigsby's team for that night's rally. It would be a long day. An even longer month.
DC, Wednesday
'Ten million in 1 & 2 karat diamonds for my silence and emigration. Text me when you have them and I'll send the drop point.' Vega double-checked the message and pressed 'send' on Jane's cell. She placed it in the same position at the hotel and left, hurrying back to the team.
The team finished a room service breakfast and gathered around Cho who was staying with the team out of sight. Vega slipped in and found a seat.
"Vega, report."
"I sent instructions for the bribe using Jane's phone. There's no sign anyone's been in his room. When should I check for a reply?"
"Tomorrow. No reason to raise suspicion by an unscheduled visit. Ojara, Muhammad, Hassan?"
The three exchanged glances and Ojara replied for all. "No apparent threats. None of us has positively ID'd a tail although it feels like some faces show up repeatedly."
"Wylie?"
"Jane's trips are helping. We've gone from nearly a million possibilities to three thousand, depending on the criteria."
"Today Jane scouts the drop locations I gave him. Is Hastings set to follow with Stingray?"
Wylie nodded. "Dave – uh, Hastings switches vehicles every day to maintain cover." Wylie brightened. "Traveling farther out should eliminate a lot of numbers."
Ojara spoke up. "Hassan and I picked up plain cars so we can follow. What if they go after Jane now?"
"Jane has an armored FBI SUV with civilian plates. He'll just drive by. Once we have their burner numbers, we go after them on our terms." He looked around. "Everyone clear? Ojara and Vega have first shift. Muhammad and Hassan, second. Go as soon as Wylie has Jane's burner on-screen."
Several miles away at Visualize, Jane was almost ready to leave when surprised by a knock and the door opening.
"Oh! –I'm sorry, I thought you'd left for the day," the Visualize staffer apologized.
Jane smiled at the cheerful the young woman. "I'm just off to a late start, Merry. Don't apologize for doing your job," he teased gently, taking the fresh towels from her hands.
She smiled shyly and said, "I'll straighten and clean later," and fled in a fluster of pinked cheeks and bouncing curls. Jane put the towels on the en suite counter, pocketed wallet and keys and was off.
Jane's day ended ten hours later after visiting the last drop point identified by Cho.
Sacramento, Thursday
Lisbon stepped out of the bathroom and got her cell from the bedside table. She was functional but hardly rested from four hours' sleep after flying back from San Diego after yesterday's rally. "Lisbon. ... When? ... " She strode into the living room and clicked on the news. Cameras panned the alley outside the plastic tape cordoning the crime scene. Five lumps covered by plastic sheeting hid the gore but... "Rigs, you said three victims? ... Dismembered?! God. ... I'll be in shortly." She glanced at the clock and frowned. She'd intended to get the early test monitoring the IVF transfer but the horrific murders took precedence. So much for a quiet day.
She listened to the news as she drove. The media endlessly belabored the same scant information: Two dead female teens stabbed and bludgeoned; one older male teen stabbed, bludgeoned and dismembered near a dance club in a barrio. Identities wouldn't be released until families were notified. LAPD declined to speculate about possible rape or the perpetrators, but the media noted fresh MS-13 gang graffiti nearby.
The CIB worked with local PDs on MS-13 cases since the gang was active across California. Lisbon spent the day monitoring progress on the case while catching up on work Rigsby wasn't authorized to handle for her. With a population and area as big as many nations, violent crime occurred daily somewhere in California. But she worried about the sheer brutality of the latest LA murders.
Bad became worse. Via conference call, LAPD's liaison briefed Lisbon and the CIB agents who covered gang activity. Tipped off, LAPD arrested one of the perpetrators, gang member Juan Lopez. Lopez's rap sheet showed he had repeatedly returned to the US illegally after being deported. He was a suspect in three other violent assaults, drug possession, and multiple burglaries. San Diego PD had released him three days earlier under state sanctuary laws despite an ICE detainer request. The murders could have been avoided, if only. She ground her teeth in frustration at the illogic, at the unnecessary cost in human life.
Back in her office, Lisbon dropped wearily into her chair. The state was already on edge after the bombing, forest fires, the coming Santa Ana winds. And election season. Friday she'd cover a rally in Bakersfield; Saturday, LA. She picked up her phone and ordered additional teams for the candidates.
Visualize, DC, Friday
Jane closed and locked the door, carefully balancing a cup and saucer. After setting the tea on the bedside table, he toed off his shoes, shed the bullet-proof vest, then sank onto the bed with a sigh. This was the last day of trekking around DC. Vega had texted the drop point to Brock's accomplices. The captured cell phone numbers were winnowed down to several dozen whose movements suspiciously mirrored his travels. After Wylie and the team eliminated numbers linked to names and addresses – not burners - just four were left. Two almost perfectly shadowed his travels all week. They were the best bets for being owned by those who helped Brock stage a terrorist attack that unintentionally succeeded, all because of a car accident.
Abbott would provide extra back-up for the take down. All they had was a few burner numbers and the offer of a bribe for an unspecified deed. They needed more, a lot more, to charge and convict. Jane licked his lips. We need a murder attempt for proof! Geez, when did I become such a mark? That's what I get for hanging around cops... Cho's team plus Abbott's agents would stake out the drop point and catch them in the act. They wanted to get at least two suspects (if there even were more than two) to leverage confessions.
Jane shuddered and set it aside. Too damn many unknowns. We will get the accomplices. He grimaced, remembering the bombing. A hundred dead, hundreds injured, families mourning. We need to pull this off. And Wentworth's granddaughter? Whatever her role, she'll get hers too.
Jane took a final sip and set cup and saucer aside. He pulled the land-line phone over, dialed, and scooted back to lean against the headboard. It was mid-afternoon in California.
"Assistant Director Lisbon, please. ... Rigs?" he frowned. "I asked for– ... Oh. Um, sorry about your wrist. It's just a sprain though? ... Where is Lisbon? ... No message. I'll call her there." He disconnected and dialed again. "Hello, Teresa. ... I heard. Nothing urgent, just wanted to talk if you have a few minutes. ... So how's election season going? ... Phht. Politicians! How long will Rigs be out? ... Good. ... Are you doing all right? ... You'll know soon. – Take-down is Saturday. I'll call Sunday unless I'm on a plane home. ... Love you too.
One, maybe two more days. God, hope it worked this time. Can't wait to get home.
