Now what, O'Mara? Did you forget something?

He got out of his chair, and pushed the b.u.t.ton that operated the solenoid, and then looked down the stairs to see what O'Mara wanted.

Mrs. Evelyn Glover came through the door and smiled up at him.

Jesus H. Christ!

"Am I disturbing anything?"

"No," Matt lied. "I was just about to call you. Come on up."

There was an awkward moment at the head of the stairs, when Matt considered if he had some sort of obligation to kiss her and decided against it.

"I guess I shouldn't have done this, should I?" Evelyn asked.

"Don't be silly, I'm glad to see you. Would you like a drink?"

"Yes. Yes, I would."

"Cognac?"

"Yes, please."

She followed him into the kitchen, and stood close, but somewhat awkwardly, as he found the bottle and a snifter and poured her a drink.

"Aren't you having one?"

"I've got a beer in the living room."

"I owe you an apology," Evelyn said.

"How come?"

"I didn't really believe you when you said you had to work," she said. "I thought you were . . . trying to get rid of me."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Because even as stupid as you are in matters of the heart, you can see where this one is about to get out of control.

"But then, when I happened to drive by and saw the police car parked in front . . ."

"He just left."

As if you didn't know. What have you been doing, Evelyn, circling the block?

"Forgive me?" Evelyn asked coyly.

"There's nothing to forgive."

She had moved close to him, and now there was no question at all that she expected to be kissed.

There was just a momentary flicker of her tongue when he kissed her. She pulled her face away just far enough to be able to look into his eyes and smiled wickedly. He kissed her again, and this time she responded hungrily, her mouth open on his, her body pressing against his.

When she felt him stiffen, she caught his hand, directed it to her breast, and then moved her hand to his groin.

She moved her mouth to his ear, stuck her tongue in, and whispered huskily, pleased, "Well, he's not mad at me, is he?"

"Obviously not," Matt said.

To h.e.l.l with it!

He put his hand under her sweater and moved it up to the fastener on her bra.s.siere.

Marion Claude Wheatley turned the rental car back in to the Hertz people at the airport in plenty of time to qualify for the special rate, but there was, according to the mental defective on duty, 212 miles on the odometer, twelve more than was permitted under the rental agreement. The turn-in booth functionary insisted that Marion would have to pay for the extra miles at twenty-five cents a mile. He was stone deaf to Marion's argument that he'd made the trip fifty times before, and it had never exceeded 130 miles.

It wasn't the three dollars, it was the principle of the matter. Obviously, the odometer in the car was in error, and that was Hertz's fault, not his. Finally, a supervisor was summoned from the airport. He was only minimally brighter than the mental defective at the turn-in booth, but after Marion threatened to turn the entire matter over not only to Hertz management, but also to the Better Business Bureau and the police, he finally backed down, and Marion was able to get in a taxi and go home.

When he got to the house, Marion carefully checked everything, paying particular attention to the powder magazine, to make sure there had been no intruders during his absence.

Then he unpacked the suitcases, and took his soiled linen, bedclothes, and his overalls to the bas.e.m.e.nt, and ran them through the washer, using the ALL COLD and LOW WATER settings. He watched the machine as it went through the various cycles, using the time to make up a list of things he would need in the future.

First of all, he would need batteries, and he made a note to be sure to check the expiration date to be sure that he would be buying the freshest batteries possible for both the detonation mechanism and for the radio transmitter.

He would need more chain, as well. He was very pleased to learn how well the chain had functioned. He would need six lengths of chain, five for the five devices, and one as a reserve. Each length had to be between twenty and twenty-two inches in length.

He would need two 50-yard rolls of duct tape, and two 25-yard rolls of a good quality electrical tape, tape that would have both high electrical and adhesive qualities. He wouldn't need anywhere near even twenty-five yards of electrical tape, but one tended to misplace small rolls of tape, and he would have a spare if that happened. One tended to lose the larger rolls of duct tape less often, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful.

And he would need five pieces of luggage in which to place the devices. As he had driven back from the Pine Barrens, Marion had decided that what had been "AWOL bags" in the Army would be the thing to get. They were of canvas construction, nine or ten inches wide, probably eighteen inches or two feet long, and closed with a zipper.

It would be necessary to get them with bra.s.s, or steel, zippers, not plastic or aluminum. By attaching a wire between a steel or bra.s.s zipper and the antennae of the devices, it would be possible to increase the sensitivity of the radio receivers' antennae.

He would also need an attache case in which to carry the shortwave transmitter. He had seen some for sale in one of the trashy stores along Market Street, east of City Hall. They were supposed to be genuine leather, but Marion doubted that, considering the price they were asking. It didn't matter, really, but there was no sense in buying a genuine leather attache case when one that looked like leather would accomplish the same purpose.

Marion made two more notes, one to remind himself not to buy the AWOL bags all in one place, which might raise questions, and the other to make sure they all were of different colors and, if possible, of slightly different design.

He was finished making up the list a good five minutes before the washing machine completed the last cycle, and he was tempted to just leave the sheets and everything in the machine, and come back later and hang them up to dry, but then decided that the best way to go, doing anything, was to finish one task completely before going on to another.

He waited patiently until the washing machine finally clunked to a final stop, and then removed everything and hung it on a cord stretched across the bas.e.m.e.nt. Things took longer, it seemed like forever, to dry in the bas.e.m.e.nt, but on the other hand, no one had ever stolen anything from the cord in the bas.e.m.e.nt the way things were stolen from the cord in the backyard.

When he came out of the bas.e.m.e.nt, he changed into a suit and tie, and then walked to the 30th Street Station. He wanted to make sure that his memory wouldn't play tricks on him about the general layout of the station, and what was located where. He had been coming to the 30th Street Station since he had been a child, and therefore should know it like the back of his hand. But the operative word there was "should," and it simply made sense to have another careful look, in case changes had been made or there was some other potential problem.

He spent thirty minutes inside the station, including ten minutes he spent at the fast-food counter off the main waiting room, sitting at a dirty little table from which he could look around.

The Vice President would certainly want to march right down the center of the main waiting room, after he rode up the escalator from the train platform.

Unfortunately, there were no rows of lockers on the platform itself, which would have simplified matters a great deal. If there had been lockers, all he would have had to do was wait until the Vice President walked past where he could have concealed one of the devices, and then detonate it.

He consoled himself by thinking that if there had been lockers there, the Secret Service, who were not fools, would almost certainly make sure they didn't contain anything they shouldn't Once the Vice President and his entourage reached the main waiting room level of the station, there were three possible routes to where he would enter his official car. There were east, west, and south entrances.

The logical place would be the east exit, but that did not mean he would use it. There were a number of factors that would be considered by those in charge of the Vice President's movements, and there was just no telling, with any degree of certainty, which one would be used.

All three routes would have to be covered. The east and west routes, conveniently, had rows of lockers. If he placed in each of two lockers on both the east and west routes one device, the lethal zone of the devices would be entirely effective. The south route did not have a row of lockers.

Marion thought that it was entirely likely the Lord was sending him a message via the lockers in the Pine Barrens. In other words, why the symbolism of the lockers if they were not in some way connected with the disintegration of the Vice President?

It was unlikely, following that line of thought, that the Vice President would take the south, locker-less route.

But on the other hand, it was also possible that he was wrong. It was also clear that the Lord expected him to be as thorough as humanly possible. That meant, obviously, that he was going to have to cover the south route, even if the Vice President would probably not use it.

There was, of course, a solution. There was always a solution when doing the Lord's work. One simply had to give it some thought. Often some prayerful thought.

There was a large metal refuse container against the wall in the pa.s.sage between the main waiting room and the doors of the south exit. All he would have to do is put the fifth device in the refuse container. For all he knew-and there was no way to know know without conducting a test-the metal refuse container would produce every bit as much shrapnel as one of the lockers. without conducting a test-the metal refuse container would produce every bit as much shrapnel as one of the lockers.

The only problem, which Marion decided could be solved as he left 30th Street Station, was to make sure the metal refuse container would accept one of the AWOL bags through its opening.

Marion bought one of the last copies of the Sunday edition of The Philadelphia Inquirer The Philadelphia Inquirer on sale at the newsstand. He sat down on one of the benches in the main waiting room and flipped through it for three or four minutes. Then he left the station by the south route, stopping at the metal refuse container to place the newspaper in it. on sale at the newsstand. He sat down on one of the benches in the main waiting room and flipped through it for three or four minutes. Then he left the station by the south route, stopping at the metal refuse container to place the newspaper in it.

He kept the first section. First he opened it and laid it on the opening horizontally, and then tore the paper to mark how wide the opening was. Then he held the paper vertically, and tore it again, this time marking how tall the opening was.

Then he folded the newspaper, tucked it under his arm, and walked out of the station and home.

He had thirty minutes to spare before Masterpiece Theater came on the television.

Magdelana Lanza was waiting for her son Vito on the sidewalk in front of the house on Ritner Street.

"I had to call the plumber," she announced.

"I told you I would go by Sears when I got off work."

"The hot water thing is busted; there was water all over the bas.e.m.e.nt. And the pipes is bad."

"What pipes?"

"What pipes do you think, sonny? The water water pipes is what pipes." pipes is what pipes."

"What do you mean they're bad?"

"They're all clogged up; they got to go. We have to have new pipes."

That sonofab.i.t.c.h of a plumber! What he did was figure he could sell an old woman anything he told her she needed. I'll fix his a.s.s!

"I'll have a look, Mama."

"Don't use the toilet. There's no water; it won't flush."

"Okay, Mama. I'll have a look."

No water, my a.s.s. What can go wrong with pipes? What I'm going to find when I go in the bas.e.m.e.nt is that this sonofab.i.t.c.h has turned the valve off.

Vito went in the house and went to his room and took off the good clothes he had worn to take Tony to the Poconos and put on a pair of khaki trousers and an old pair of shoes.

I got to take a leak. What did you expect? The minute she tells you the toilet won't flush, you have to p.i.s.s so bad your back teeth are floating. you the toilet won't flush, you have to p.i.s.s so bad your back teeth are floating.

He went into the bathroom and looked at the toilet. There was water in the bowl.

Nothing wrong with this toilet. What the h.e.l.l was she talking about?

He voided his bladder, and pulled the chain. Water emptied from the reservoir into the toilet bowl. It flushed. But there was no rush of clean water. The toilet sort of burped, and when he looked down there was hardly any water in the bowl at all, and none was coming in.

Vito dropped to his knees and looked behind the bowl at the valve on the thin copper pipe that fed water to the reservoir, and then put his hand on it.

There was a momentary feeling of triumph.

The f.u.c.king thing's turned off! That sonofab.i.t.c.hing plumber! Wait 'til I get my hands on you, pal!

He turned the valve, opening it fully. No water entered the reservoir. He waited a moment, thinking maybe it would take a second or two to come on, like it took a while for the water to come hot when you turned it on.

Nothing! s.h.i.t!

Three hours ago, I was in a bathroom with a carpet on the floor and a toilet you couldn't even hear flushing or filling, and now look where I am!

Wait a minute! He wouldn't shut it off here, he'd shut it off in the bas.e.m.e.nt, where n.o.body would see. I didn't turn that valve on, I turned it off!

He cranked the valve as far it would go in the opposite direction, and then went down the stairs to the first floor two at a time, and then more carefully down the stairs to the bas.e.m.e.nt, because Mama kept brooms and mops and buckets and stuff like that on the cellar stairs.

His foot slipped on the bas.e.m.e.nt floor, and he only barely kept from falling down. When he finally found the chain hanging from the light switch and got the bare bulb turned on, he saw that the floor was slick wet. Here and there there were little puddles. And it smelled rotten too, not as bad as a backed-up toilet, but bad.

He found the place at the rear of the bas.e.m.e.nt where the water pipes came in through the wall from the water meter out back. And again there was a feeling of triumph.

There's the f.u.c.king valve, and it's off!

It didn't have a handle, like the valve on the toilet upstairs, just a piece of iron sticking up that you needed a wrench, or a pair of pliers, to turn. He turned and started for the front of the bas.e.m.e.nt, where there was sort of a workbench, and where he knew he could find a wrench.

It was then that he saw the water heater had been disconnected, and moved from the concrete blocks on which it normally rested. Both the water and gas pipes connected to it had been disconnected.

He took a good close look.

Well, s.h.i.t, if I was the f.u.c.king plumber, I would disconnect the water heater. How the h.e.l.l would an old lady know whether or not it was really busted? A plumber tells an old lady it's busted, she thinks it's busted.

And then he saw something else out of the ordinary. There were two pieces of pipe, one with a connection on one end, and the other end sawed off, and a second piece, with both ends showing signs of having just been cut, lying on the floor near the water heater. . . .

What the f.u.c.k did he have to do that for?

He picked one piece of pipe up, and confirmed that the connection on one end indeed matched the connection on top of the water heater. Then he took the sawed end, and held it up against the pipe that carried the hot water upstairs.

It matched, like he thought it would. Then he saw where there was a break in the cold water pipe, where the other piece had been cut from. Just to be sure, he picked up the other piece of pipe and held it up to see if it fit. It did. And then for no good reason at all, he put the piece of pipe to his eye and looked through it.

You can hardly see through the sonofab.i.t.c.h! What the f.u.c.k?