Part 43 (1/2)

She nodded again. ”The Second Amendment is clear.”

”Take it to the Supreme Court,” I said. ”Don't bother me with it.”

”People have the right to bear arms.”

”Drug dealers don't,” I said. ”I never saw an amendment that says it's OK to fire automatic weapons in the middle of a crowded neighborhood. Using bullets that go through brick walls, one after the other. And through innocent bystanders, one after the other. Babies and children.”

She said nothing.

”You ever seen a bullet hit a baby?” I said. ”It doesn't slide right in, like a hypodermic needle. It crushes its way through, like a bludgeon. Crus.h.i.+ng and tearing.”

She said nothing.

”Never tell a soldier that guns are fun,” I said.

”The law is clear,” she said.

”So join the NRA,” I said. ”I'm happy right here in the real world.”

”He's my husband.”

”You said he deserved to go to prison.”

”Yes,” she said. ”But he doesn't deserve to die.”

”You think?”

”He's my husband,” she said again.

”How does he make the sales?” I asked.

”He uses I-95,” she said. ”He cuts the centers out of the cheap rugs and rolls the guns in them. Like tubes, or cylinders. Drives them to Boston or New Haven. People meet him there.”

I nodded. Remembered the stray carpet fibers I had seen around.

”He's my husband,” Elizabeth said.

I nodded again. ”If he's got the sense not to stand right next to Quinn he might be OK.”

”Promise me he'll be OK. Then I'll leave. With Richard.”

”I can't promise,” I said.

”Then we're staying.”

I said nothing.

”It was never a voluntary a.s.sociation, you know,” she said. ”With Xavier, I mean. You really need to understand that.”

She moved to the window and gazed down at Richard. He was heaving the last ammunition case out of the Cadillac.

”There was coercion,” she said.

”Yes, I figured that out,” I said.

”He kidnapped my son.”

”I know,” I said.

Then she moved again and looked straight at me.

”What did he do to you?” she asked.

I saw Kohl twice more that day as she prepared her end of the mission. She was doing everything right. She was like a chess player. She never did anything without looking two moves ahead. She knew the judge advocate she asked to monitor the transaction would have to recuse himself from the subsequent court-martial, so she picked one she knew the prosecutors hated. It would be one less obstacle later. She had a photographer standing by to make a visual record. She had timed the drive out to Quinn's Virginia house. The file I had given her at the start now filled two cardboard boxes. The second time I saw her she was carrying them. They were stacked one on top of the other and her biceps were straining against their weight.

”How is Gorowski holding up?” I asked her.

”Not good,” she said. ”But he'll be out of the woods tomorrow.”

”You're going to be famous.”

”I hope not,” she said. ”This should stay cla.s.sified forever.”

”Famous in the cla.s.sified world,” I said. ”Plenty of people see that stuff.”

”So I guess I should ask for my performance review,” she said. ”Day after tomorrow, maybe.”

”We should have dinner tonight,” I said. ”We should go out. Like a celebration. Best place we can find. I'll buy.”

”I thought you were on food stamps.”

”I've been saving up.”

”You've had plenty of opportunity. It's been a long case.”

”Slow as mola.s.ses,” I said. ”That's your only problem, Kohl. You're thorough, but you're slow.”

She smiled again and hitched the boxes higher.

”You should have agreed to date me,” she said. ”Then I could have shown you how slow can be better than fast.”

She carried the boxes away and I met her two hours later at a restaurant in town. It was an upmarket place so I had showered and put a clean uniform on. She showed up wearing a black dress. Not the same one as before. No dots on it. Just sheer black. It was very flattering, not that she needed the help. She looked about eighteen.

”Great,” I said. ”They're going to think you're dining with your dad.”

”My uncle, maybe,” she said. ”My dad's younger brother.”