They picked up McRyan as he pulled out of the parking ramp, all of them well familiar with the Explorer. McRyan made the short trek over to the Pub, parking in his usual spot in back. They watched him go in the back door from their perch across the street. Another van simultaneously pulled into the parking lot on West Seventh, across the street from the front. Shortly after McRyan had gone in, Kennedy pulled in, followed by Lich, Riley, and Rockford.
Bouchard shook his head, snorting. “Man, these guys do like to drink.”
“That they do,” Viper replied. “Of course, at a bar owned by ex-cops, I doubt the real ones are paying full price.”
“Probably not.”
Viper picked up the radio and called to the other van, “Kraft, head in and give us an eyeball.”
“Copy that.”
Mac, Sally, Riley, Rock, and Lich were standing in the middle of the bar, each with a Heineken, talking about the case and how life would be a little dull going back to routine homicide work.
“You say that now, Riles, but I stood here a few weeks ago, and you sure looked like you wanted to go back to mundane police work then,” Mac said, playing along.
“That was then, this is now.”
“Isn’t that a movie title or something?” Rock asked.
Just then, on cue, Uncle Shamus showed up.
“Shamus,” Riley said, “to what do we owe the honor?”
“I need to borrow my nephew for a few minutes, but in the meantime, next round is on me.” The bartender instantly appeared with another order.
“God, I love this family,” Riley said as he put down his empty and grabbed the full Heineken sitting opened for him on the bar.
“I’ll be right back,” Mac said to everyone and followed Shamus upstairs.
Uncle Shamus had a large corner office in the back of the second floor. On the outside of the door it said, “OFFICE OF THE PROPRIETOR.” Every McRyan who had filled that role over the years had used the office. It was an impressive room, with high ceilings, crown moldings, polished wood floors, tasteful furniture and a one hundred-year-old oak desk the size of a dining room table. In front of the desk were two old high-backed, burgundy, leather chairs. Sitting casually in one of them was Lyman Hisle, nattily attired in a gray Italian three-piece suit, a perfect Windsor knot in his black silk tie, even at this late hour. He was sipping an Irish whiskey, neat, when Shamus and Mac walked in.
“Lyman, thank you for coming. I know this seems a little odd.” They shook hands and shared a smile.
“I was intrigued when Shamus called. Am I to assume that you don’t want others to know of this?”
Mac nodded.
“So, pray tell, how can I be of assistance?”
“This is off the record in my direction, and yours. I need some information.”
“About PTA, Shamus says.”
“You were on the board?”
“I was.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Time mostly. PTA has a very active and involved board, and I couldn’t give it the time and attention it needed and deserved,” Lyman responded, shifting in his chair to look directly at Mac, one leg over the other, “So, tell me, why would one of St. Paul’s finest need to know anything about PTA?”
“I’ll tell you why in a minute.”
“Very well.”
“Tell me about the power structure over there.”
“Ted Lindsay is the president and CEO. We brought him in a number of years ago. He’s done a fabulous job.”
“Where’d you get him from?”
“He was the chief operating officer at Fillmore Electronics, a competitor. He was there two, three years, I think, and did good work. Before that he worked for the government. He was a spook sort of. He held numerous positions in the NSA, then the CIA, where he was deputy director of Operations before he left and went to make his fortune in private industry.” Lyman took a sip of his drink.
“He seems to have done well for PTA.”
“Sure has. Since 9/11, bad as it sounds, the company has exploded, no pun intended. There’s been a renewed emphasis on intelligence gathering. The equipment necessary for that is one of the company’s better areas. Even better, Lindsay’s connections in the government are amazing. He has friends, contacts-hell, spies-everywhere.” Lyman put his drink on the desk and counted on his fingers. “He knows when the military, NSA or CIA contracts are coming up before anyone else, what the budget is going to be and who the key decision maker will be. He’ll know what he needs to know about the person who has decision-making authority and what buttons to push in that direction.”
“I heard he knows everyone in D.C.,” Mac added.
Lyman agreed, “His contacts in Congress are impressive and he’s been an aggressive campaign contributor.” Lyman creased a smile, shook his head a little, and said, the admiration showing, “If Ted goes after something, he gets it.”
Mac, interested, said, “You said spies?”
“Yeah. I mean, he knows people all over the place with information. I wouldn’t doubt he’s spreading a little money around, which is illegal, but he’s a former pro, with a staff of former pros. For them stuff like that is second nature.”
“Staff of former pros?”
“Yeah.” Lyman said, sipping the last of his drink. “PTA has a security staff that is the size and has the budget of a small army. Old habits die hard, I guess. Lindsay’s paranoid and a nut about security.”
“This security detail, how big?”
“Oh, he’s got a couple hundred on staff, spread over all of the facilities. Not to mention the equipment. Hell, they use the same stuff they sell to the government.”
“Who runs the security?”
“Webb Alt.”
“What’s his story?” Mac asked.
“Former spook-although you wouldn’t necessarily know it to look at him.” Lyman scratched his head, “He isn’t particularly impressive physically, but people are scared to death of the guy. He’s got a bunch of his old cronies from CIA and NSA on staff here in town.”
“Lindsay,” Mac asked, shifting gears, “I imagine he’s made himself quite a fortune.”
“He has, although not as big as he’d like.”
“Why?”
“Oh, he thought he should be paid like Jack Welch. The board disagreed. We were sensitive to executive pay before it became a trend. So, there was some bitching.”
“Did he threaten to leave?”
“Oh, I don’t know if it was that bad for him. There were some whispers, but nothing ever came of it. We upped his pay a little more and threw in a few more options, and the whole thing seemed to blow over. He has it pretty good at PTA. A few more years, and he’ll retire with a $100 million in the bank, plus the potential of more with stock options. Not bad when most of your career was in government service.” Lyman held his glass out and Shamus refreshed his drink. “So, Mac, what’s this all about?”
“In a minute,” Mac said, momentarily filibustering. “Has there every been any financial issues or problems with PTA that you’re aware of?”
“No,” Lyman replied, shaking his head, “As a board, we went over those books very carefully. Always have. We were very active and not a rubber stamp, something that bothers Lindsay from time to time. The SEC, the company auditors-the board never found any improprieties. PTA’s books balance, always have. It’s why the stock is such a winner.”
“Tell me about James Stephens.”
“Came to PTA with Lindsay. He’d been in government service as well, at Treasury and then at the CIA. He left the CIA with Lindsay and went to Fillmore. In fact, Lindsay brought five or six upper-level executives over when he came. It was a shame, that car accident.”
“What about Jamie Jones, the most recent CFO?
“I don’t really know much about her. She was well regarded and very well liked by Stephens.” Lyman furrowed his brow, “Mac, what in the hell is this all about?”
“Let me tell you a little story, and you tell me what you think.” Mac related his theory.
Lyman didn’t react much, sitting back in the chair, his hands forming a steeple under his chin. When Mac finished, Lyman took a long drink, looked away for a moment, and then took another long drink. “Christ, Mac,” he said after a minute, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What do you make of it?”
“Pretty thin. You couldn’t go into court with it, as I’m sure your girlfriend has told you.”
“I know it’s thin, but is it possible?”
“Well…” Lyman exhaled and looked down, almost sad, “Nothing would surprise me anymore.”
“If I’m right, any chance this is going on at PTA without Lindsay knowing about it?”
“No.” Lyman replied, shaking his head. “Lindsay knows everything that goes on at that company. Like I said, he’s serious about security.” Lyman scratched his chin, looked at the ceiling, “I’m certain offices are wired. There are video cameras everywhere that you can see, and I’m sure many you can’t. You have to use a personal code to make copies; all e-mail and Internet usage is monitored. Not randomly, constantly. I’m sure somebody eavesdrops on phone conversations.” He paused a moment and then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, “So, if PTA did this, Mac, Ted Lindsay not only knows about it, he ordered it.”
“Interesting,” Mac replied, stroking his chin.
Lyman cut him short, “But you know what your problem is?”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll never find what you’re looking for.”
Mac snorted.
“You don’t believe me?”
“There’s always a way.”
Lyman shook his head. “If Ted Lindsay did this, he would have taken care of all loose ends. He would have left nothing behind. If they did this, they’ll have anticipated your every move and covered all of their tracks.”
“There’s always something.”
Lyman snorted. “I have great admiration for your abilities and those of your imbibing friends downstairs. You know that.” He squinted and slowly shook his head, “But I have no idea how you get at PTA on what you have. I mean, think about it. You have not one piece of physical evidence, do you?”
“Not yet.”
“Then good luck finding it.”
“Jesus Christ, Lyman, you act as if these guys are infallible.”
“They’re pros is what I’m saying, Michael. If they did this, they did it without leaving a trace of physical evidence. I mean, where is your evidence? All you have is a theory at this point, and that wouldn’t cut it. Most judges would never let you get to the courtroom with that and if you did, you’d go down quick and easy anyway. I’m talking an elementary defense here. Your girlfriend would tell you that. Shit, you know that. You went to law school.”
“Lyman, we haven’t started even looking yet.”
“If they did this, they have a huge head start on you to cover their tracks.” Lyman started ticking his fingers off again. “If they did Jones, they blame Knapp, reasonable doubt. If they did Daniels, they have the senator, reasonable doubt. You think they might have done Johnson, but it sure looked like he committed suicide, reasonable doubt. Knapp? You’ve got family members of the victims with plenty of motive, reasonable doubt. The only way you get them is if you can find a smoking gun. Ted Lindsay’s too good at this sort of thing to leave something like that behind.”
The three men went silent. Lyman had given Mac a lot to think about. If PTA had the juice to kill Jones, Daniels, and the senator, they had the resources and people to accomplish it. They’d have the resources and people to stymie them if they tried to go after the books, to look for some financial irregularity, which was the only reasonable supposition as to why to take out Jones. If the auditors, board, SEC, or anyone else didn’t find it, how would Mac? What resources would have to be expended to get at the records? What damage would their pursuit do to the department? Would the department even let them go after PTA? Mac’s theory looked good when he was mind mapping. But the devil is in the details. How could he go after PTA, without knowing what he was looking for?
The enormity of the task hit Mac. He got up and walked to the back window and looked down at the back parking lot. You think you’re so fucking smart.
Uncle Shamus, sensing what Mac was thinking, ended the silence, “What are you going to do?”
Good question. But Mac had never backed down from anything in his life, and he wasn’t about to now. “Lyman, with all due respect for your view of Ted Lindsay and company, first thing tomorrow I’m going to start taking a look at PTA and a second look at Jones, Daniels, and the senator.” Mac hoped he wouldn’t be alone. He would have to convince Riles and the others if he was going to have any chance.
“You have any idea what you’re looking for?” Lyman said.
“No. The only thing I can think of is a financial issue of some sort. Why else take out Jones. But…”
“But what,” Lyman asked.
Mac met his eyes and held them.
“I’m thinking Jones was killed because she found something they didn’t want her to find. Maybe she left it behind or maybe she shared it with Daniels, so maybe that’s where we look.”
“Well, good luck to you. But one thing,” Lyman asked.
“What’s that?”
“If you do find anything that harms the company, you let me know. That’s the quid pro quo I want for speaking with you tonight,” Lyman stated. “I want to know. There are thousands of employees at PTA. If you’re right, Lindsay ordered it. That could literally kill the company. So, I need to know so I can inform those who remain on the board. I may be gone from there, but I care about the company. Its health is important to this city.”
“Fair enough.”
“Mac, why don’t you get back to the bar?” Uncle Shamus suggested.
“Yeah, okay. Shamus, I need to use Patrick’s Room.”
“Go ahead.”
“I need to get going as well,” Lyman added and gave Mac one last look. “I’ll hear from you?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck,” Lyman said as he shook Mac’s hand. Shamus opened the door and patted Mac on the back as he walked out. Lyman would wait a few minutes and leave on his own down the back steps.
Kraft had loitered thirty or so feet away from the door to the office. With his back to the wall, he alternately watched the door, a couple of attractive thirtyish women sitting at the bar, and a Wolves game up on the TV.
As he put his beer up to his lips, the door opened and McRyan came out, with his uncle closing the door behind him. But he also noted legs sitting in a chair. Kraft decided not to follow and waited to see who the other person was. Five minutes later, Lyman Hisle exited the office.
Mac came back down to find Sally listening to Riley, Rock, and Lich talk about Sheila Bradley and her two big assets.
“I’m telling you, they were the size of cantaloupes,” Riley was saying, cupping his hands in front of his chest. Obviously the drinks were feeling good as Riles was revving up. “Mac, am I lying?”
Mac looked at Sally, who just smiled. “No, you aren’t. I want all you guys to join me in the basement for a minute, I want to show you something.”
“What’s that?” Rock asked.
“Just come down. Rounds on me,” Mac replied neutrally. He grabbed five beers off the bar and turned for the backstairs, joined by everyone. In the basement was the Pub game room with dartboards, pool tables and a few video games. A couple of big screens added a sports flavor, the Wild game playing in the background. Behind the stairs was a hallway. In the hallway was a built in cabinet in the wall. Mac slid open the middle drawer, reached under the ledge and popped a latch. The cabinet, a remnant from the bygone era of prohibition, was the hidden door to Patrick’s Room.
Patrick’s Room was a conference room, that during prohibition was a place one could get a drink and socialize without fear of trouble with the authorities, as the place was owned by the authorities. Despite its legendary history, Patrick’s room was now simply a well-furnished conference room with a white board, conference table, couch, and a TV/DVD, which was used for bartender and waitress training for dram shop liability. Shamus often made it available for cop poker games and Texas Hold’em tournaments. Once inside, everyone grabbed a seat at the conference table.
“So, what’s this all about?” Lich asked.
“I want you guys to hear me out on something.”
“Which is?” Rock asked suspiciously, noting Mac’s tone.
“You ever hear of Bristol, Ohio?”
Riley furrowed his brow, “No. Should I?”
“Hometown of Jamie Jones. She graduated from high school there, 1987.”
“I appreciate the local color. So what?”
“Let me ask another question. Who was killed the same night as Jones?”
“Claire Daniels,” Riles replied. “But Mac, what does that have to do with-”
“She graduated from Bristol, Ohio, high school in 1987.”
The room went quiet. Mac suddenly had everyone’s attention.
“How big a town is Bristol?” Lich asked after a minute.
“Oh, about 1,214 people. Pretty steady for the last twenty or so years,” Mac replied. “The graduating class for Daniels and Jones was forty-two students.”
“How’d you come up with this?” asked Rock.
Mac related how he came to the discovery, Jones missing on the wall at Knapp’s place, looking at Jones’s file, finding the yearbook at Daniels’s, making a couple of phone calls.
“So, you’re suggesting that the senator didn’t kill Daniels?” Lich asked. “Are you suggesting that we didn’t have that right? That we rung up an innocent man.” Lich was concerned.
“I’m suggesting it’s possible.”
“Counselor, you buying the stuff your boy’s selling?” Lich queried, still in disbelief.
“Yeah,” said Kennedy. “I wish he was wrong, and you guys are the detectives, but I think he’s onto something.”
“Come on, Mac, isn’t it possible that all we have here is a coincidence,” Riles pleaded. “I mean you’re talking about your signature case. You’re going to tear that down on nothing more than a couple of facts that might fit together sideways. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’ll grant you that it’s a little out there,” said Mac, “but Knapp was keeping his headlines. He was taping the news programs. He builds this monument to his work. Everything’s there, except this one thing-”
“-Jones.” Riley finished, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Exactly. Nothing about Jones.” Mac pushed further. “Don’t you find that odd? Aren’t you the least bit curious about that?”
“So, he didn’t keep clippings of one murder. Maybe it was all part of his grand plan. Guy was crazier than a shit-house mouse, Mac,” Rock snarled. “You read the file. Wouldn’t you agree that the details of all the murders, including Jones, match up perfectly?”
“Yeah, with the exception of one thing.”
“Which is?”
“Jones! She doesn’t fit with the other victims,” Mac asserted. “Think about it, Rock. In all the time we were following Knapp, did he ever once, just once, go downtown?”
“Nope.”
“That’s right. He kept to the University Avenue area. How would he have run into Jones?”
“Who knows. Maybe she bumped into him at some bar or restaurant. We weren’t on him then. He stalks her, takes her down-a new experience or something,” Rock argued, his conviction waning.
“She doesn’t fit the profile, Rock,” Mac kept on. “If I’m right, if you wanted to cover the reason to kill Jones, what better way than to make her death look just like another serial killing. We look in the direction of the serial killer because that’s where the evidence points.” Mac crossed his arms. “If I’m right, whoever did this got exactly what they wanted.”
“But, Mac, few, if any, of the details about what Knapp was doing to the women leaked. We managed that. The only thing the media had solid was the balloon.” Riley added, a skeptical tone remaining in his voice. “So, how do they get all the details right?”
“Come on,” Mac growled. “It didn’t leak to the media, fine. But it could easily leak to someone else, intentionally or by accident. We aren’t the damned CIA around here. Shit leaks all the fuckin’ time. Point being, it’s entirely possible somebody could have copied the murders.” Mac sipped his beer, and tacked in another direction. “Of course, we could have tried to ask Knapp about this. We could have asked him about Jones and watched him go blank, deny it, but we can’t do that now, can we? That’s kind of convenient, don’t you think?”
Riley, catching Mac’s drift, said, “You think Knapp’s assassination yesterday had something to do with this?”
“Possibly,” Mac replied. “I checked in with the guys looking at that. The theory is the shooter was on the third level of the Vincent Ramp, right?”
“That’s right,” Rock replied.
“Surveillance cameras show nobody up there. In fact, nobody on any of the ramp levels.”
“Bad surveillance system?” Lich asked.
“I asked. It’s okay, nothing special,” Mac replied. “But there’s another thing.”
“Which is?”
“Ballistics. The bullet was for a Russian sniper rifle,” Mac let it hang in the air.
“They’re sure?” Lich asked quietly.
“They are,” Mac answered, then to Rock and Riley, “Anybody with any of the families from Russia, have Russian or Soviet military background, have access to a Russian sniper rifle, have a background indicating they would be good with a sniper rifle? Oh, and then have that rifle available when there’s two hours notice of when we’re walking Knapp into court and then be able to get away without a trace, not be picked by surveillance cameras?”
Both just shook their heads.
But Lich wasn’t buying it-at least not yet. “So, fine, Mac,” Lich asked, “You think something is amiss with Jones. But what about Daniels? I was with you when we interviewed the senator. He admitted everything we needed. Frankly, he came off as guilty to me, and to Peters too. So, now you’re saying the senator didn’t kill Daniels?”
“I’m saying it’s possible. Dick, I know this sounds like revisionist history, but I never completely believed the senator did Daniels. It didn’t make sense.” Mac shrugged, “On the evidence we had, we did what we had to do. But the case always bothered me.”
“Why?” Rock asked.
“Politicians, especially ones like Senator Johnson, leave themselves a way out of every situation. Escapability, deniability-it’s in their DNA. They don’t put themselves in a position like the senator did-if he did. Murder? There’s just no escape from that. Even the suggestion of it is a career killer, just ask Gary Condit. Even if Daniels threatened to expose their little affair to his wife or someone else, that’s a manageable situation, happens to politicians all the time. It’s not a situation to kill over, certainly not with all the evidence left behind pointing at him.”
“But if the senator didn’t do it, who did?” Riles asked. “On that case, you had no forced entry and a witness having Johnson leaving around the time of estimated death. I mean that’s pretty solid. What evidence do you have that someone else did this?”
“One thing that never came out was a witness I found about the time of the senator’s hearing. I got a call from a guy named Paul Blomberg.” Mac related the story of the alley pick up behind Daniels’ place the night of her murder.
“This is news to me. Why didn’t it ever came out?” Rock asked.
“We never had to disclose it because the prosecution never went any further. It would have been an issue at trial.”
“So, the senator doesn’t kill Daniels. We prosecuted the wrong man, and he commits suicide over it! Shit, shit, shit!” Lich said, shaking his head, disturbed over the thought. He kicked a chair. “Damn it.”
“If he did commit suicide, Dick,” Sally said. “Maybe he didn’t.”
Lich, skepticism in his voice, “What? Now you’re saying the senator didn’t commit suicide? I mean I was out there. I saw what you saw.”
“Dick, do you know what the senator’s blood alcohol was at the time of his death?” Mac asked.
“No, I don’t, but I suppose your going to tell me.”
“This afternoon, when I was working all of this out, I spoke with Rick Hansen, the Wright County Sheriff. Remember him?”
Lich nodded.
Mac continued. “Hansen told me the senator’s blood alcohol was.32 percent at the time of death.”
“Whoa,” Riley blurted.
“Exactly,” Mac replied, “At the senator’s weight.32 and you’re smoked, passed out, not getting up on any stool to hang yourself.”
“Not impossible either, Mac,” Rock added with a laugh, a little levity. “I mean, there were a couple of guys in here last night that might have pushed to that level, and they were still standing.”
“Could they have climbed a barstool?” Mac asked, not laughing.
“I doubt it.” Rock answered quietly.
“Exactly. I bet ninety-nine times out of a hundred, a person that loaded passes out long before doing anything, let alone hanging yourself. Besides, if you proclaim your innocence as strongly as the senator and Lyman Hisle did, do you commit suicide that same night? Before going to trial?”
“So, somebody killed the senator? Made it look like a suicide?” Lich asked.
“Possibly,” Mac replied. “Follow it all the way out, Dick. If you have the ability to take out Daniels and Jones in the same night, what’s taking out the senator a few nights later? It’s November, and there are few if any people at the lake. Not to mention the fact that his cabin was isolated and hidden, thick pine trees everywhere. Remember?”
Lich nodded, starting to buy it.
“It was the perfect place to stage a suicide.” Mac finished and slammed his beer. He’d shot his wad. But it was comforting to him that an uncomfortable silence overtook the room. The boys were thinking about it. What he’d just told them made some sense.
Riley spoke first, lightly shaking his head, pinching the top of his nose, “Christ, Mac.”
“What can I say?”
“You sold me,” Riley replied.
“Yeah?” Mac was a little surprised. “What about everyone else?”
Rock and Lich nodded as well.
“I don’t suppose you have a suspect in mind,” Rock inquired.
“I do, but it’s total speculation at this point.”
“As if this whole thing isn’t?” Rock replied with a rueful chuckle. “Hell, you’ve gone this far, boy. Don’t stop now.”
What the hell, Mac thought. “This is not one person acting alone here. Not possible. Whoever did this, if you assume I’m right, had to have money, resources, and people to do this.”
“Agreed,” Riles said. “If you’re right, this is some sort of coordinated effort, and there are some very skilled people-professionals-at work here.”
“So, cut to the chase, Mac. Who do you think it is?” Lich asked.
“I don’t have a person.”
“Mac?” Lich was getting impatient.
“PTA.”
Jaws went agape.
“Holy shit, Mac,” Riley finally replied, shaking his head. Rock let out a slow whistle.
“What makes you think that?” Lich asked.
“This is where it gets a little thin.”
“Ohhhhhh, this is where it gets thin,” Riley said, a huge smile on his face, causing them all to laugh.
Mac smiled and kept going. “Jones was the CFO at PTA. She took over for a guy who died last year. Stephens was his name. He’d been there a long time, died in a car accident on Shepard Road. Nothing hinky about that. I talked to one of the patrol guys on the scene. It was a one-car accident that happened in a snow storm around the time of the state hockey tournament.”
Everyone nodded at that, remembering the storm-over a foot of snow.
Mac moved on. “I don’t know. Maybe Jones stumbles across some financial issue that Stephens had managed to bury. PTA naturally wants her to keep it quiet, continue to cover it up. She balks.”
“Yeah,” Sally added. “She has nasty visions of Enron. She’s the next incarnation of Sharon Watkins.”
“And she knows Claire Daniels,” Riles said, finishing and picking up on the train of thought.
“That’s right,” Mac added nodding. “I’m guessing Jones talks to Daniels. PTA gets wind of it, realizing they won’t be able to control her.” Mac tossed his beer bottle into the garbage. “PTA has the money. Maybe they have the resources and the people as well.”
Everyone took it all in for a moment, the gravity of what Mac had just laid out for them.
“Anyone else know about this?” Riles asked quietly, leaning back.
“Nope, just everyone in this room and one other person, wholly unaffiliated with the department that we can trust,” Mac answered.
“So, where does that leave us?” Lich asked.
“On the trail of an assassin,” Mac replied.
“Should we be telling the chief?” Rock asked.
“With what we got? No way. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t touch this with a ten-foot poll, nor should he.” Riles shook his head. “No. We have to protect the department. We keep this to ourselves until we find something concrete. If we do, then we can think about going to the chief.”
“And, if we don’t,” Rock added, “Nobody’s the wiser.”
“So, what’s next?” Lich asked.
“We stay covert,” Mac replied calmly. “We don’t tell anyone what we know or think.”
“And?” Sally asked.
“The chief has given us all a few days off,” Mac replied. “And I have some ideas of what I’d like to do with the time.”