Ike didn't waste any time and pointed the small pistol at the other Charlie as he retreated, this time aiming for his body. He fired once and was shocked to realize he had missed him altogether. He took a second to breathe and then carefully aimed the pistol at the man who was now cowering in the corner of the van.

"Please, Ike, don't."

The plea had no effect on Ike. He squeezed the trigger again, this time striking the man directly in the forehead. He flopped onto the still form of the other man.

Ike turned his attention to the oldest Charlie, who had raced around the side of the van.

Ike didn't mind chasing him because he realized now that killing people gave him a rush. He took one last look at the two bodies in the back of the Ryder truck, then took his first step in search of the terrified man.

Lina said, "If we assume Floyd was in Lafayette with the man who talked to the mechanic, then we have a starting point."

Duarte nodded as he listened.

She wished she had been able to predict William Floyd's disappearance. Lina had met him several times and still talked to the white supremacist by phone once or twice a year as part of her intelligence duties. She knew how important Floyd had been in the past and how the bureau had screwed up by not listening to him. Now it looked like he had once again gotten involved in something big.

Lina said, "You guys know Jessup is dead."

Félix nodded and Duarte said, "I went to talk to him last night, but was too late."

The DEA man jumped up. "You were there last night?" He paused and composed himself. "I thought you said you were going today."

Duarte shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I went last night."

Lina knew not to ask any details. She knew the straitlaced ATF man had nothing to do with his death.

Duarte looked at Lina and said, "Can we expect any help from the FBI on our little investigation?"

"Not officially. Meg Ruley is the rising star. If someone thinks we're working opposite her, they won't return my calls."

"What will people at the bureau think happened?"

"Right now, only that there was a radioactive hit in New Orleans. They might even think it was an error. I can see them using this as training or to show off to some senator. No telling. I think if they were really concerned, I'd be in more trouble."

"Could we get the phone tolls?"

"Yeah, sure, except if we tried to get Floyd's. Anything to do with him would be flagged."

Duarte looked at her and said, "How'd he get to be an FBI source?"

Lina wanted to tell him the truth, but her training kicked in and she said, "It's a long story."

Lázaro Staub simmered on the entire drive from New Orleans, through Lafayette on toward Houston. He wanted no record of air travel, and they had time before the physics professor they had hired was ready. This was one of the times he was happy that Pelly spoke so sparingly. He sighed, thinking about how much fun he could've had. He had been so close to running a blade across Lina Cirillo's lovely throat. All he had to do was flip the blade open and make the swipe. The look in her eyes as her life dripped out of her would have been priceless. He had killed only one other woman like that, a prostitute in Colón who had tried to pass information about his operation on to the authorities. Unfortunately for her, he was the authority to whom she had tried to pass on the information. He had done it in the office of the National Police only because he loved the idea of this woman thinking she was doing her civic duty and having her throat slashed at the desk of the officer in charge.

That had turned into a tricky business, with too many rumors flying. Pelly had been with him then and had gotten rid of the body. Along with a good-sized rug that was in the office at the time. Staub let out the rumor that Pelly had killed a girl who had called him a monkey. Not only was it completely plausible, but it enhanced his enforcer's reputation, not that the hairy young man's reputation needed any enhancement.

Staub glanced over at Pelly. He had seemed down since he had missed the ATF agent and Lina in the car earlier in the day. He had not shaved obsessively like he usually did, and now he looked like something out of a cheap horror movie with his thick, curling black hair working its way up his cheeks almost to his eyes and down his neck to his chest.

Staub said, "You know, Pelly."

"Yes, boss?"

"I may have been hard on you about missing Duarte. It was rainy, and he is quick."

Pelly kept driving silently.

"You are a big help to me."

"Thank you, boss. But…"

"Go ahead, Pelly."

"Are you sure we should go ahead with this? I mean with the whole plan."

"I know you worry that there is no bottom line to this, Pelly. By picking this target we get some satisfaction, and William Floyd and his group will get all the blame. You'll see. In a year, business will be better than ever, and the Americans will be looking under every rock for terrorists."

Pelly nodded. "Maybe I see some value in it, boss."

Staub patted him on the shoulder. In time, everyone did what he told them to.

William "Ike" Floyd hesitated by the front of the Ryder truck. He had made sure the two men in the back were dead, and he was proud of his marksmanship. He felt like a badass now. He thought he'd catch the older Charlie hustling down the canal or back out the access road that led to the highway near his hotel, but he'd been wrong. Ten minutes of searching the area proved that the low brush was a lot thicker than he had originally thought and now he had a missing man on his hands. A missing witness.

He had run out after him, but was surprised to find no trace, not even a trail of the scruffy old racist.

He weighed the value of searching for him right now and leaving a truck with two bodies on the side of the road, or disposing of the truck and then having to dispose of the third man later.

He spit and said, "Shit," as he walked to the rear of the Ryder rental and pulled down the rear door.

He had already thrown an old piece of string with a washer tied to it to see how deep the water was. He had plenty of room.

He jumped in the cab and started the truck, working it parallel to the water. He turned the wheel, threw the truck in low gear, revved the engine and then took his foot off the break as he flopped out onto the sandy edge of the access road.

The truck slid off the edge and turned sideways as it hit the water and floated away from the shore.

Ike smiled, thinking it couldn't have gone into the water better. Then his smile faded as he realized it was still floating. The big box on the rear was a well-sealed, giant flotation device.

He watched as the truck lolled around in the dark, slightly smelly water. There was no current or flow to the canal. The water around the bright yellow truck bubbled, and it tilted one way, then the other, but didn't sink.

Ike started to panic, wondering what he could do to fix this. The bomb was safely tucked into the Ford pickup, and he was ready to drive off to find the missing man, but he couldn't leave this mess to attract the attention of the first plane or helicopter that wandered by. Not to mention whatever vehicles traveled the isolated access road.

Then the truck shifted and belched. The cab pointed further down and then started to sink. Slowly, like a crippled ocean liner at first, then in a great glop of escaping air, it disappeared underwater.