"Just banged up my arm a little. Out late on Bourbon Street."

"That why you look like you haven't slept?"

"I haven't."

"You look rough."

"C'mon, bro, we almost got blown up yesterday. I mean you flew across the parking lot on a door. Neither of us should look good."

Duarte nodded. He wanted to tell him about his visit to Jessup's house in Biloxi, but he didn't want to put Félix in the position of hearing about a crime and not being free to tell anyone. Duarte knew he had gone off the books on this case, and if he was going to get in trouble he didn't want to hurt his friend, too.

Félix didn't seem to care if they pursued any leads today. Instead he looked down at the sheet of paper on the table. "What's that you're working on?"

"Just a flowchart on the case."

"'B.G.' is for Gastlin?"

"Yeah."

Félix smiled. "The two in the corner are for Lina and the colonel?"

Duarte nodded. "You're not the only one who thinks there's something fishy with them."

"What's the 'W.F.' for? White female?" Félix smiled.

Duarte hadn't noticed that the common police designation for a white female was the same as William Floyd's initials. Somehow it made a click in his head, but he couldn't put it together just yet.

Pelly waited just down the street from Colonel Staub's hotel for his boss. He worked his hand, opening and closing his fist. It was a little sore from his fight the night before. He had hit at least three grown men in the mouth. That always led to a sore hand. He could see the entrance to the little bar he had been in the night before.

He was sorry he hadn't been able to get to know the lovely Lina. She had backed him up in the ensuing melee and didn't seem upset by the hair that bulged out of his torn shirt. But he couldn't look at her dark eyes after the incident. He had simply fled, sure he had blown a chance to talk with the interesting self-proclaimed kickboxing champ.

Pelly liked to stay busy and concentrate on work, because when he didn't he realized he was lonely. He had been on few dates where he hadn't paid the girl at the end of the night. The more he thought about the events of the night before, the angrier he got. He wished he could see Lina again. He'd shave down his whole body. Maybe even get a wax if it would help.

From the front window of the diner, he saw his employer walking on the opposite side of the street like he was the king of New Orleans. In Panama, Staub was the undisputed boss, but Pelly doubted the Americans cared much about Panama. And he knew that was what motivated his boss. His idea of revenge made some perverse sense if anyone cared that Panama had been humiliated by the U.S. But now, years after the invasion, the people of Panama relied on the U.S. as much as they ever had. They needed protection and tourism as well as aid in the form of engineers and professionals for all kinds of projects.

Pelly knew it would be difficult to keep the U.S. from figuring out who was involved in an attack like this. Pelly knew it could hurt the country not to mention their own business, but his boss seemed hell-bent on carrying out his plans.

He stood as Staub entered the diner, then stepped over to the table.

Staub said, "Pelly, we should not meet so close to my hotel. I would not want Duarte to see you."

"I thought I'd make the meeting convenient for you."

"While I appreciate your concern, I think we should not come close to the Marriott again. Understand?"

Pelly just nodded.

Staub continued. "Now we have another issue and an opportunity."

Pelly just kept looking at his employer.

Staub continued. "In addition to Duarte, the ATF agent, we should probably take care of the FBI agent on the case."

"Won't that raise questions?"

Staub smiled. "We'll be gone in a day or two. We'll drive to Houston then fly home. We must set it up in such a way that there are no witnesses or that I can give misleading answers."

"What's the FBI agent look like?"

"It's a woman. Haven't you seen her?"

"Only from a great distance. I know Duarte and the DEA man."

"She has dark hair and an athletic build. If I had more time, I'd have some fun with her. She would not do well under the whip. On the other hand, she's not built for it either. Not enough meat."

Pelly felt disappointment that he had grown used to his boss's odd quirks. He had grown callous to many things in the years he had worked for Staub. He asked his boss, "How should I do it?"

Staub gave an evil grin and said, "I may have a simple, fast way to wrap up these two problems."

Pelly nodded. Unhappy, but willing to complete another task that didn't help their business in any way.

40

ALEX DUARTE HAD STARTED THE DAY ON A LIE BY EXPLAINING to Lina Cirillo that his bruised face was the result of running into a door. Félix knew it was from the Cajun Inn explosion and smiled smugly.

Lina just said, "Yeah, sure." Duarte was still trying to figure out which piece of the puzzle she knew.

Félix Baez was still in his own little world, focusing on who had killed his informant in Panama. Colonel Lázaro Staub seemed to have a voice Duarte had heard somewhere, and his English was much better. He wondered what the Panamanian cop knew about Ortíz and if he had chosen to keep quiet.

Lina touched Duarte's arm and said, "We should shut things down on this case. It's not going anywhere."

"No, Lina, you're incorrect. It's going somewhere. I just don't know where it's going."

"You're chasing ghosts. Give it up or…"

"Or what?"

"The bureau might make you give up."

"Why? What the hell does the FBI care about a little dope deal or a dead informant?"

"It's the people associated with the deal who could hurt you."

"Now you have to tell me what's going on."

"Truthfully, I don't know. But the FBI can handle it without the assistance of the Rocket."

She used his nickname like an insult. He fought hard not to mention the radioactive reading from the packing slip. Sure, there were a hundred reasons for it. A previous load of timber or tile in the container or even the pot itself might have some natural radioactivity. But he didn't want to give up his single chip yet.

Colonel Staub wandered over from the elevators and greeted the three U.S. agents. He sat in his usual, stiff upright way and said, "I have several matters to discuss. It would be my pleasure to buy you breakfast at a little café I found several blocks from here. It is truly remarkable." He kept his dark eyes on Lina, with an occasional glance toward Duarte. Then he turned to Félix and said, "You may come, too."

Félix stood up, his long-sleeved shirt tight around his chest. "No, thanks. I gotta make some calls." He turned toward the elevator.

Duarte was going to decline, too, but he knew he'd never have his questions answered by avoiding the solutions. He needed to know what both the colonel and Lina knew. He had to put it all together.

He stood with the colonel and noticed Lina's less-than-thrilled attitude to a free meal and a chance to get some answers from the Panamanian cop.

Duarte hesitated at the front door, noticing the light drizzle for the first time. The weather summed up how he felt right now.

William Ike Floyd woke up and instantly regretted inviting the three men to help him watch the truck. All three were asleep on the floor or couch of the hotel room on the outskirts of Houston, their alternating snores sounding like a manufacturing plant.

The scruffiest of them, Charlie, was supposed to watch the truck until ten in the morning. He had clearly given up, and it wasn't even eight-thirty yet.