Lucy looked at Gloom.

"No idea," Gloom said. "Okay, you directing, me on camera, Nash, Karen, and Doc on stunts."

"And J.T.," Lucy said.

"Plus Bryce."

"No," Lucy said.

"That'll be the giveaway," Gloom said. "Unless you're going to tell Bryce that we're not really shooting the last stunts, he's going to throw a fit. And then if he knows you're not shooting the stunts, he's gonna throw a fit. So basically, he throws a fit-"

"Oh, hell," Lucy said.

"-And everybody will know in five minutes."

"Bryce then, but not Aether."

"Would Althea be the young lady in Blow Me Down?" LaFavre said.

"Uh," Lucy said, not sure what he was talking about.

"Yes," Gloom said.

"Very talented.' LaFavre reached into his jacket and pulled out a card, which he gave to Lucy. "Should anything untoward happen this evening, you can reach me at that number."

"Thank you," she said, even more confused.

"And should you need assistance at any time afterward," he said, his voice kind, "I will be at your service."

"Thank you," she said, really confused now but even more touched. "Uh, Major LaFavre, do you know something I don't know?"

"We take care of our own, my dear." He looked up at Pepper, who was still hanging on to his cap. "Would you like to return to base camp, young lady?"

"Yes, please," Pepper said. "It's very windy."

"Yes, it is," Lucy said, looking out over the river.

"I'll tell everybody else to stay in base camp tonight," Gloom said, as LaFavre tipped his hat and started down the bridge with Pepper on his shoulders. "Pack up now so we can get out of here early tomorrow."

"That's good," Lucy said and thought, Where is J. T.? And what had happened that he'd sent his best friend to watch out for her?

"You okay?" Gloom said.

"Nope," Lucy said and followed LaFavre off the bridge.

Wilder saw a light glow directly ahead, which went out after a few seconds. Finnegan and his damn cigar. Stupid. As he moved through the chilly water, watching out for gators and other nasty critters, he hoped the asshole was enjoying his smoke.

I hen he froze.

There was someone or something else out here. He couldn't say how he knew that, but he for damn sure knew it. The last time he'd felt this, he'd been on his way to Baghdad International when he'd ordered the driver of his Up-Armor Humvee to slam on the brakes. Fifty feet short of an improvised explosive device waiting to blow them to hell.

Wilder's nostrils flared as he slowly looked left, then right, searching. He caught a faint whiff of Finnegan's cigar.

Darkness was for predators. That had been true of every place around the globe Wilder had ever gone. But was this predator human or animal?

Movement to his right. Wilder had the stock of the MP-5 tight into his shoulder, the weapon just above the black mirror of the water's surface. A ripple, a wake, something moving. Wilder slowly let the air out of his lungs as he spotted the small dark spots of the alligator's snout and eyes. Not far away and moving south, just like him. Finnegan was drawing the predators in.

Wilder continued forward, the submachine gun at the ready.

He had halved the distance to Finnegan, but the going was slow. He could clearly see the red glow of the tip of Finnegan's cigar. Who was he waiting for? Nash?

He glanced right. The damn gator was keeping pace.

But so was something else. Wilder blinked as he swiveled his head back to the front and then went a quarter turn back right. What the hell? A dark blob was farther away than the gator, also in the water, moving in a line toward Finnegan. Wilder strained to see through the goggles. Not another gator.

Shit. A man, head covered just like his was. Nash? Pepper's ghost? Whoever it was, he was much closer to the damn Irishman than Wilder was. He pressed forward as his mind churned. Was Nash making his own move on Finnegan? Or was it the CIA? Had Crawford lied and the Agency was going to bring in Finnegan and squeeze him?

That didn't make sense. Fuck, nothing had made sense since that first night on the bridge except for the all-too-brief interludes with Lucy. That and Pepper; she made sense, too, in her own way, more than all the adults around her.

Mission focus. Or else there wouldn't be another interlude with Lucy or conversation with Pepper.

The fucking gator was still keeping pace. Wilder knew he wouldn't make it to Finnegan before the other person did. Hell, it was going to be a close race beating the gator there.

He almost felt sorry for Finnegan. But he never slowed for a moment.

Tyler glanced to his left rear. Gator. He smiled, wondering if it was his one-eyed buddy. He could feed the fat Irishman to her. There'd be enough food there for all her babies.

The glow of the cigar was like a beacon. Dumb fuck. The ground was sloping up now and Tyler could move faster. He wasn't worried about the old man spotting him-without night-vision goggles there was no chance.

Tyler reached the embankment, less than five feet from the Irishman, and paused. He drew the High Standard.22 pistol and quietly drew back the slide, chambering a round.

Then he paused and looked back to the north. He could see the V in the water from the gator's wake, coming this way. But beyond it was something else. Someone else. Close to the gator and closing. Which meant he had less than two minutes.

Tyler sprinted up the embankment, weapon at the ready, and drew a bead on the Irishman, who must have heard something because he spun about, sliding his fat ass off the hood of the car.

"Who goes there? That you, Connor? I don't know why you needed to meet-"

Tyler fired, the small round hitting the old man in the kneecap. The Irishman made a surprised sound and the leg went out, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Johnnie-boy!" the Irishman screamed. "Peter!"

This was not a time for subtlety. Smash and grab.

Tyler ran up to the writhing figure and aimed. He put a round through the man's other kneecap and the Irishman screamed again.

"Who the fuck are you?" he gasped through clenched teeth.

"Your security's dead. Scream all you want. No one's coming."

Tyler realized that wasn't quite true, but he figured whoever else was coming through the water wasn't there to help the Irishman, either.

Tyler holstered the pistol and drew his knife. He put his knee on the Irishman's chest. He placed the tip of the knife against the man's left eyeball. "Lie and lose it. And that's just the start, old man, so make it easy." With his right hand, he reached into the old man's coat and retrieved his cell phone.

"Listen," the Irishman gasped. Tyler noted that there was no longer a hint of brogue. Just a heavy dose of fear. "Listen, we can deal. We can-"

"Two things. The container number and the coordinates where you're supposed to meet Letsky."

"I'll cut you in." The Irishman's face was gray with pain and terror. "I'll make you a partner-"

"You want to be my partner?" Tyler asked with a chuckle. "You want to cut me in, but you and that bitch pilot are cutting everybody out. How's that gonna work?"

"You need me," the Irishman argued desperately. "Without me, the deal doesn't-"

"There's been a change," Tyler said and slapped him on the side of the face with the flat side of the knife, getting his attention, as he put the point less than a quarter inch from the old man's eye. "Coordinates and container number."

"Fuck you."

"Wrong answer," Tyler said and pressed down with the knife.

Wilder stopped when he heard the second scream. Every damn thing in the swamp for a long way around had to have heard that scream. There was no brogue to it, but he had no doubt from whose throat it had emanated. And he knew the other stalker knew he was coming. He'd seen that pause at the base of the embankment. He'd also heard the cry for Johnnie-boy and Peter. With no response.