7

“YOU HAVE TO PROMISE ME,” Nolan said. “If you have even the slightest suspicion that Ilkovic knows what you’re trying to do, get away from there.”

They were hurrying through the police building’s parking garage.

“There’ll be unmarked cars two blocks in every direction,” Nolan said. “That’s as far back as we can put them and still hope to give you backup. For God sake, don’t take any chances. Drive straight to where we’ll be waiting for him.”

“I still don’t like this,” McCoy said. “Endangering a civilian.”

“I’m volunteering,” Coltrane said.

“But it isn’t bureau policy,” McCoy said. “I don’t have time to clear this with my superiors. I want to go on record – this isn’t sanctioned by the FBI.”

“I’m glad you told me that.” Coltrane stopped where he’d parked his car. “For a while, I was beginning to think I’d misjudged you, that you weren’t the self-serving jerk I first thought you were.”

McCoy’s eyes widened.

Coltrane turned to Jennifer. “Take Sergeant Nolan and the SWAT team to Packard’s house. Explain the layout. They won’t have time to size up everything on their own before I get back there.”

“I hope to heaven Ilkovic doesn’t move against you before then,” Jennifer said. “Be careful.”

“Count on it.” Coltrane kissed her. “Just keep reminding yourself – by tonight, this will all be over.”

Hugging herself, Jennifer glanced toward the police cars in the garage. “I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be safe.”

Nolan handed him a walkie-talkie. “Take this. Just in case. If you need backup in a hurry, it won’t matter if Ilkovic can overhear.”

Coltrane was setting out from downtown Los Angeles. When he glanced at the Saturn’s dashboard clock and saw that the time was 1:31, he realized that he had less than an hour to get to the valley. All he could do was hope that the Golden State Freeway wouldn’t be congested.

His thoughts in a frenzy, he accessed the freeway, relieved when he saw that traffic was moving easily. Now that he was on his own, he couldn’t get over his eagerness. Instead of being afraid, he was filled with anticipation. For a moment, it puzzled him.

Do you miss dodging bullets in places like Bosnia and Chechyna so much that you can’t wait to put yourself in danger again?

What I can’t wait for is this to end. In fact, I’m going to make sure it ends.

I’m going to kill him.

There, Coltrane thought. I’ve put it in words again.

What he had screamed after seeing the videotape of what Ilkovic had done to his grandparents was exactly what he hoped to do. Nolan and McCoy had seemed to think that he was exaggerating, that he was merely venting his rage. They had cautioned him about losing control. They had warned him about taking the law into his hands, and he had told them yes, that he was sorry for overreacting.

It had all been a lie. He couldn’t recall ever having been so seized by an emotion. Not fear. He was absolutely released from fear. The rage within him as he watched the tape of what Ilkovic had done to his grandparents negated his fear. It made him feel liberated. Eager? He was so eager that he trembled. For what Ilkovic had done to Daniel, Greg, and his grandparents, he was going to make Ilkovic pay. He was going to trick Ilkovic into following him. He was going to make Ilkovic think he had taken Coltrane by surprise. He was going to see the big smile on Ilkovic’s face, then the frown of confusion when Ilkovic realized that Coltrane had caught him by surprise.

8

IT WASN’T UNTIL COLTRANE HEARD THE ROAR OF ARRIVING AND departing jets that he realized Everlasting Gardens was near the commotion of the Burbank airport.

As he steered through the cemetery’s entrance, he became viscerally aware of entering Ilkovic’s territory. The hairs on his neck bristled like antenna, his survival instincts possessing him. To get even with Ilkovic, he warned himself, he had to be as cautious as he had ever been in any of the war zones he had photographed. He couldn’t take anything for granted.

Driving past tombstones, noticing mourners gathered around a casket at an open grave site, seeing groundskeepers trimming hedges and mowing grass, he wondered if Nolan had kept his end of the bargain. He thought about the officers who had come here to check the cemetery in preparation for tomorrow’s surveillance. What if some of them hadn’t left? What if Ilkovic had seen them and snuck away and Coltrane was wasting his time? Or what if they had left and it was Ilkovic who was pretending to be one of those mourners?

One thing was certain: Coltrane couldn’t make it obvious that he was searching the area. The result would be the same as if Ilkovic realized that there were police officers in the area. He would suspect a trap and leave. It had to seem the most natural thing in the world that Coltrane would be at this cemetery today, and Coltrane knew exactly what his reason for coming here would be. He followed a lane around the treed cemetery, eventually coming back to where he had entered, making it seem that he was trying to orient himself, which was actually the truth. He passed a solemn-looking building that resembled a church but that didn’t have any symbols and would be suitable for services in any religion. Or perhaps it’s a mausoleum, Coltrane thought. When he felt that the movement was natural, he glanced around, appearing to assess his surroundings, all the while alert for anyone who paid attention to him. No one did.

His muscles tight, Coltrane stopped at a building that reminded him of a cottage. It had sheds and a three-stall garage in back, the open doors revealing large riding lawn mowers and other maintenance equipment. He locked his car and again glanced around in apparent assessment of his surroundings – still no one unusual. Sprinklers watered a section of the cemetery, casting a fragrance in his direction. As a jet roared overhead, he opened a screen door and knocked on a wooden one.

He knocked again, then studied a sign that read OFFICE HOURS: 9-5. He tried the knob. The door wasn’t locked. Easing it open, he peered into a compact, well-lit office and asked, “Anybody here?”

Apparently not.

“Hello?” he called.

What in God’s name am I doing? he thought. For all I know, Ilkovic is in there. He stepped quickly back into the sunlit air, only to jolt against someone.

He spun, startled.

It wasn’t Ilkovic. The dignified gray-haired man was tall and thin. He wore a somber suit and touched Coltrane’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Coltrane tried not to seem uneasy. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I just stepped out of the office for a moment. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, I’m looking for a grave site.”

The somber man nodded. “It’s always wise to plan ahead. Step into my office and I’ll explain our services.”

“Excuse me?” Coltrane suddenly realized that he had misunderstood, that the man was actually asking him if he had come here to buy a grave site. “No, what I meant was, a friend of mine is going to be buried here tomorrow.”

“Ah.” The man now realized that he had misunderstood.

“I can’t come to the burial,” Coltrane said, “but I thought, if I found out where his plot was, I could drop by later and pay my respects without having to ask someone from his family to come and show me where he is.”

“Of course,” the man said. “Please accept my condolences about your friend.”

“Thank you,” Coltrane said. “Believe me, it wasn’t his time.”

“If you’ll tell me what your friend’s name is…” The man started toward his office.

“Daniel Gibson.”

“Oh.” The man stopped.

“Is something the matter?”

“Not at all. But I don’t need to look up your friend’s name in my records. Earlier this morning, someone else asked me where his plot is. I distinctly remember the location.”