"Join the party," she said, as she stepped out of the doorway so he could see her other guest.

As Félix stepped inside, Staub stood up. "There is plenty of room. I have another commitment. I am sorry. I was just saying my goodbyes. I will be leaving New Orleans soon to return to Panama."

Lina turned and said, "It's been a pleasure to work with you."

Even Félix added, "Yeah, you were a big help." He had to add, "In Panama."

Staub nodded and shook Félix's hand, then turned and gave Lina a kiss on the forehead.

He said, "I'm sure I'll see you again, soon."

Alex Duarte stood next to his hotel door with his pistol raised when he jerked it open. A man dressed in a sport coat and a woman in a business suit stood completely unfazed by Duarte's actions.

Even with the SIG-Sauer trained on them, the very attractive woman, in her late thirties, said, "Are you done?"

Duarte stood straight and lowered the gun slightly.

The woman made a show of slowly reaching into her giant purse and pulling out a black ID case and letting it fall open. "Meg Ruley, FBI."

He looked at the ID and lowered the SIG-Sauer.

The woman continued, "This is Tom McLaughlin with the Department of Energy."

Duarte said, "This is about the particle spectrum, right?"

"You're pretty smart," said the female FBI agent. Then added, "For an ATF agent."

Duarte didn't bite.

The woman said, "May we come inside and talk to you about this?"

"Do I have a choice?"

She just smiled, and that told Duarte everything he needed to know about her. She was a veteran, knew her stuff and didn't waste words when she didn't need to. In short, she was the real deal.

He stepped aside and watched her as she led in the taller man from the Department of Energy. Even in a drab FBI business suit, this woman was attractive. She had neat, brown hair and a body that said she wasn't afraid to work out. The way she moved told Duarte she was confident and that he was about to be thumped by a very competent agent from another Department of Justice agency.

Once they were in the room, the man said, "Those were most unusual readings from the sample." He had a light Southern accent. His glasses obscured heavy lids over brown eyes.

"In what way?"

"It was enriched U-235."

Duarte stared, hoping not to have to admit his ignorance.

The man picked up on it. "Fissionable uranium. Weapons grade."

"A bomb?"

He held up his hands. "Possibly a dirty bomb. We don't believe that a drug smuggler would have the technical capacity to arm and detonate an actual warhead. We still need a lot of info."

"Who is 'we'?"

The man and Agent Ruley from the FBI exchanged glances, and she said, "NEST."

"NEST?"

"Nuclear Emergency Search Team."

He looked back at the man. "And you work for the DOE?"

"And Lawrence Livermore Labs."

"This is serious."

"Could be. We can't take any chances."

Duarte remained silent.

Then the FBI agent, Meg Ruley, said, "It took a little time to track you down through the ICE idiot in the Port of Palm Beach, then your friend, Ms. Brainard."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, just in debriefing with our guys in West Palm. They all knew you and said you were okay. I was contacted to find out just what the hell is going on. As I understand it, we have an agent here, too, and someone dropped the ball."

Duarte tried to assess the woman's intent, but, being a seasoned veteran who was also smart, she gave no sign of her intentions.

Then Agent Ruley said, "I know the container had pot in it, but it had something else, too." She looked directly at Duarte. "What was it?"

He said honestly, "I wish I knew."

William "Ike" Floyd had all three of his new assistants out of the hotel room. That was a start. The younger of the three, Chuck, had left a few hours before and was just walking back to the other men standing by the big Ryder rental truck.

Ike said, "We're going to have to go our separate ways."

Charlie said, "Why? I thought we was helping you?"

"Turns out you guys have no skills."

The youngest of them, the one that had just rejoined them, said, "That's bullshit; we got plenty of skills."

"Like what?"

"Didn't you even notice me drive back in that Ford F-150?" He pointed across the parking lot of the Jacinto Arms toward the big, two-door truck with a long bed and full camper top. He added, "I got that so we could sleep in the back if we needed."

"It's set up with beds?"

"Not yet. But I wanted to show you I got skills. I can start any car in the world. As long as someone leaves the door open and a key hidden someplace simple like under the bumper or in the glove compartment, I can start the fucking vehicle." He slapped a high five with his two buddies.

Ike just stared at the scruffy younger man. What the hell was he bragging about? These idiots were really starting to embarrass him. He didn't think he could let Mr. Ortíz even meet them.

Ike just looked at them, hoping they'd take the hint and go to their newly stolen pickup and disappear.

Charlie said, "You been pullin' our chain since you met us."

"How you figure?" Ike didn't like being called a liar.

"You ain't on no big-time mission. You're probably moving some furniture or paper. You're full of shit."

Ike flinched slightly. He didn't like these rednecks thinking they were better than him. It really bothered him that they thought he was lying. He was hesitant to show them the package in the truck, then he thought he knew what would do the trick and also give him a reason to show off to a big dog like President Jessup.

Ike smiled and said, "I'll tell you what."

"What?"

"You know who Forrest Jessup is, right?"

"Oh hell, yeah. He's the dang president of the National Army of White Americans."

"Would you know his voice?"

"Maybe. I'd definitely know a fake from what he says."

Ike smiled wider. "I can call him."

"Bullshit."

"I'll prove it. I need a pay phone."

"Use your cell."

"Nope. Don't want my cell traced to his phone. Can't trace a pay phone."

He spotted one across the street under the front cover of a small convenience store called Santa Anna's Pit Stop. He marched across the street with the three errant racists in line behind him. He could hear Charlie telling his buddies that Ike was full of shit. He'd show them.

He dug his small sheet with phone numbers on it from his wallet. He looked at Charlie and said, "I need a couple more quarters."

Between the three other men, they had nine more quarters, and Ike realized they had been panhandling at some point. They looked less and less like the examples he wanted white people to set.

He dialed the number, then started feeding in quarters like the electronic operator instructed. After three rings he heard an answering machine pick up. "You have reached Forrest Jessup's house. Leave a message." He started to leave his name, then hung up. He had wanted to give the head man an update so he would be proud of the work Ike had done. He also wanted to show these idiots that he really did know Mr. Jessup.

Charlie said, "What about it?"

"Not home."

"That's handy."

Ike nodded. "It doesn't matter. I don't need your help anymore."

Charlie said, "But this big ole Ryder truck is gonna attract a lot of attention. You might need someone to watch it. Because if someone is watching it, they won't fuck with it."

Ike understood the threat. He was even a little surprised this guy could phrase it so well. Then he realized his biggest problem. It was too visible. Everyone knew that a Ryder truck carried the bomb in Oklahoma City. Maybe he did need a lower-profile vehicle.