Quarry studied the road, the building, access points, and potential problem areas detailed on the plans. Then his attention turned to a set of drawings he'd prepared of a more mechanical nature. He had earned a scholarship to college in mechanical engineering, but the war in Vietnam sent those plans awry when his father demanded he enlist to help fight the communist plague. When he'd gotten back home years later his father was dead, Atlee was his, and attending college just wasn't in the cards.

Yet Quarry could fix anything that had either a motor or moving parts. The guts of any machine, no matter how complicated, easily revealed themselves to his mind in startling simplicity. It had paid dividends at Atlee, for while other farmers had to send out for costly help when equipment broke down, Quarry just fixed it himself, mostly lying on his back, a big wrench in his muscled grip.

Thus he pored over the plans and drawings with an expert's eye, seeing where improvements could be made and disaster avoided. Afterward he ventured downstairs and found Daryl cleaning rifles in the small gunroom off the kitchen.

"Ain't no smell better than gun grease," Daryl said, looking up at his father as he walked in the room.

"So you say."

Daryl's sudden smile faded, perhaps because of the memory of a Patriot pistol being leveled against the base of his skull by the man now standing a few feet from him in a room filled with weapons of singular destruction.

Quarry closed and locked the door and then sat down next to his son and unrolled the set of plans on the floor.

"I've already gone over this with Carlos, but I want you to understand it too, just in case."

"I know," his son said, as he wiped down the barrel of his favorite deer rifle.

Quarry rattled the papers at him. "Now this is important, Daryl, no room for screwing up. Pay attention."

After thirty minutes of back-and-forth, a satisfied Quarry rose and folded up the plans. As he patted them back into a long tube he kept them in he said, "Almost crashed the damn plane I was so broke up about Kurt."

"I know," Daryl replied, a tinge of fear in his voice, for he knew his father was an unpredictable man.

"Would've probably cried if it'd been you. Just wanted you to know that."

"You a good man, Daddy."

"No, I don't think I am," said Quarry as he left the room.

He went up to Gabriel's room and called through the door, "You want to go along with me to see Tippi? I got to stop on the way to visit Fred."

"Yes sir, I will." Gabriel put down his book, slipped on his tennis shoes, and spun his baseball cap backward on his head.

A bit later Quarry and Gabriel edged up in front of the Airstream in Quarry's old Dodge. On the seat between them was a box with a few bottles of Jim Beam and three cartons of unfiltered Camels. After setting the box on the wooden steps going up to the Airstream, Quarry and Gabriel lifted from the bed of the truck two crates containing some kitchen-preserved vegetables, ten ears of plump corn, and twenty apples.

Quarry rapped on the door of the old, dented trailer while the cat-quick Gabriel chased a lizard through the dust until it disappeared underneath the Airstream. The old, wrinkled man opened the door and helped Quarry and Gabriel carry in the provisions.

"Thank you," said the man in his native tongue as he eyed the crates.

"Got more than we need, Fred."

When the Indian had come here, he'd never told Quarry his name, he'd just shown up. After a couple of awkward months Quarry had started calling him Fred and the fellow had never objected. He didn't know what his Indian friends called him, but that was their business, Quarry felt.

The two other Indians were inside. One was asleep on a raggedy couch that had no legs and no springs, allowing the man to sink nearly to the floor. His loud snores indicated this did not bother him in the least. The other man was watching a comedy show on an old fifteen-inch television Quarry had given Fred a few years ago.

They cracked open the Beam, smoked, and talked while Gabriel played with an old mutt that had adopted Fred and his Airstream and sipped on a bottle of Coke Fred had given him.

When Quarry occasionally stumbled over a Koasati word, Gabriel would look up and supply it. Every time he did so, Fred would laugh and offer a sip of Beam to Gabriel in reward.

And each time Quarry would hold up his hand. "When he's a man he can drink, but I wouldn't advise it. Does more bad in the long run than good."

"But you drink, Mr. Sam," Gabriel pointed out. "A lot."

"Don't model yourself after me, son. Aim higher."

Later, they drove on to see Tippi. Quarry let Gabriel read from Pride and Prejudice.

"Kind of boring," the boy pronounced when he'd finished the long passage.

Quarry took the book from him and slipped it in his back pocket. "She don't think so."

Gabriel looked over at Tippi. "You never did tell me what happened to her, Mr. Sam."

"No, I never did."

CHAPTER 25

SEAN HAD TALKED to David Hilal again, catching him out in the parking lot as the man was heading home. Tuck's partner had not had much to add to what he'd already said. Yet he calmly answered each and every query as he leaned against his car and simultaneously read and typed messages on his BlackBerry.

When Sean brought up the issue of the buyout, however, his tone changed. He thrust the BlackBerry in his pocket, folded his arms across his chest, and scowled at Sean.

"What exactly was I supposed to buy him out with? I put all my money into this firm. I'm hocked to the limit. I couldn't even get a loan to buy a car right now."

"He said you made a lowball offer."

"We talked about something like that, but the key is, it was the other way around."

"Him buying you out?"

"That's right. For the lowball offer."

Okay, which one's telling the truth?

"Why would you think of bailing out before the big contract award? Tuck says that would add millions to the value of the firm."

"It absolutely would. If we win it. But it's not a lock. We have proprietary technology that I think is the best out there. That's the reason our prime contractor teamed with us. But we're up against some big players with their own products that are very close in performance and reliability to ours. And the world of government contracting is not done on a level playing field. The big guys skirt the rules, throw the cash around. And because they usually have an inside track they also buy up the most sought-after talent and the little guys get stuck with the scraps. And I don't want to bail out, but I'm running out of money. And if we don't win the contract, the firm will be worth a lot less than the offer he made me. We might have the inside track right now, but like I told you before, the president of the United States' brother-in-law having an affair with Cassandra isn't helping matters. That gets out, we've got problems."

"He said there was nothing between him and Cassandra."

"Really? Then ask him where he stayed when he was down there. I'm sure he'll have some handy excuse."

"You said before you didn't think Tuck would kill his wife, but you don't sound like you love your partner all that much."

"I don't."

"You didn't mention that before."

"Didn't I?"

"I'm a great note-taker. So, no, you didn't."

"Fine. I'm not in the habit of trashing my partner to people I don't even know. But it's hard not to, to tell you the truth."

"Why?"

"Let's just say he's rubbed me the wrong way."

"Care to give an example?"

"Would you believe me if I told you?"

"I've got a very open mind."

Hilal looked off for a few moments before glancing back at Sean. "This is sort of embarrassing, actually."