"Sweetheart, Madox is tuning up his ELF transmitter, awaiting some sort of message that his four suitcase nukes are where they're supposed to be. Then, an ELF wave will be making its way slowly across the continent, and the Pacific Ocean-or the other way across the Atlantic-until it's picked up by the ELF receivers in those four suitcases." I added, "Millions of people will die, and a radioactive cloud will blow across the planet. The least I can do is try to stop this at its source."

She thought about that, then said, "I'm going with you."

"No, you're going to call out the cavalry and get them to the Custer Hill Club-without a fucking search warrant or probable cause or any of that crap-by telling them truthfully that a Federal agent is on the property and is in danger."

"No-"

"Call Walsh, call Schaeffer, call the local sheriff if you have to, and call Liam Griffith and tell him where he can find John Corey. But give me a thirty-minute head start."

She didn't reply.

I went to the kitchen table and got my act together by loading my two Glock magazines with 9mm rounds and clipping the two BearBanger launchers in my shirt pocket alongside my pen, and finally putting on my new socks, which didn't seem so important any longer. Also, I couldn't think of a use for the air horn, but I took it anyway, in case Rudy's van horn didn't work.

While I was doing this, Kate was banging away at the laptop, and I asked her, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sending an e-mail to Tom Walsh, telling him to contact Doug in LA, and revealing that I was the source of the information."

"Don't send it until you hear from me." I added, "I hope Walsh is checking his e-mail tonight."

"He usually does."

On that subject, the FBI still has only internal, "secured" e-mail, so, as unbelievable as it sounds, Kate could not e-mail Walsh's FBI account, and couldn't reach or copy anyone in the office, such as the after-hours duty agent. Therefore, she was e-mailing to Walsh's personal account, hoping he checked it regularly. And this is a year after 9/11.

I said to her, "Okay, I'll call you on my cell phone when I get close to the Custer Hill Club."

"Hold on. Okay, I sent it to a service. Delayed send for seven P.M." She unplugged the laptop, placed it on the kitchen table, then put on her suede jacket. "Who's driving?"

"Since I'm the only one going, I guess I'll drive."

She put the box of .40-caliber ammo in her purse along with the two magazines, then picked up the laptop and walked to the door. I held her arm and asked her, "Where do you think you're going?"

She reminded me, "You said Madox specifically asked for me, darling. You wanted me to go. So, I'm going."

I informed her, "The situation has changed."

"It certainly has. I've done all I can here." She pointed out, "You put me through two days of shit to get where we are-now, I want to be in on the action. And you're wasting time." She pulled away from me, opened the door, and walked outside. I followed her.

It was dark now and cold. As we walked to the van, I said to Kate, "I appreciate your concern for me, but-"

"This has more to do with me than you, for a change."

"Oh ..."

"I don't work for you. You work for me."

"Well, technically-"

"You drive."

She got in the passenger seat of the van, and I got in the driver's seat and drove toward the main house.

Kate said, "Also, I am concerned about you."

"Thanks."

"You need supervision."

"I don't know-"

"Stop here."

I stopped at Wilma and Ned's house, and Kate said, "Here. Return Wilma's laptop. She has ten minutes before her auction closes."

I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded important, so I took the laptop, got out, and rang the bell.

The door opened, and Wilma stood there. She looked like a Wilma, and I wouldn't want to arm wrestle her for the laptop.

She looked me over, then glanced at the van and saw Kate. She informed me, "I don't want no trouble here."

"Me, neither. Okay, here's your laptop. Thanks."

"What do I say if the husband comes looking for her?"

"Tell the truth." I said to her, "Do me a favor. If we're not back by morning, call Major Hank Schaeffer at the state police headquarters in Ray Brook. Schaeffer. Okay? Tell him John left some stuff for him at the Pond House." I added, "Good luck with the auction."

She glanced at her watch, said, "Oh ... God ... ," and shut the door.

I got back in the van, and off we went.

Kate was loading her two magazines and commented, "This van is gross."

"You think?" I related my brief conversation with Wilma, and Kate responded, "We'll be back before morning."

That was optimistic.

The dashboard clock said 3:10, which may have been wrong. My watch said 6:26, and we'd be fashionably late for cocktails.

I had this sense that somewhere, someplace, another clock was ticking.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

As I drove, I asked Kate, "What did you put in that e-mail to Walsh?"

"I told you."