“I’d be happy to,” he said. He followed her out to the SUV and helped her carry her rifle, the smaller hard-sided case containing pistols, and the packs of loaded magazines in the back door and into the safe room. She had disassembled the drone so it would fit into its carrying case with its controls, so it was just another box with a handle. There was another carrying case full of surveillance cameras and transmitters.

When everything was inside the room, they set each firearm on the work table in the center of the room.

Art picked up a pistol and sniffed it. “I’ll get Danny to start cleaning these, and the rifle too. What do you want me to do with the electronics and stuff?”

“Better leave them alone,” said Leah. “They’re all boxed, and that padding keeps them safer.”

“You home for good?”

“Probably just for a while. I need to do some homework.”

“Just let me know if you need help.”

“I will,” she said. “Thanks.” She looked at the weapons on the table. “Oh, yeah. Tell Danny or anybody else you have cleaning guns to wear surgical gloves and not to forget to wipe all the surfaces with a cloth after they’re oiled. Make sure he checks the chambers before he gets started.”

“Of course. I’ll check them myself.”

“Thanks, Art. I drove all night last night, so I’m going home for some sleep. I’ll be in officially tomorrow morning.”

* * *

Charles Duquesne’s cab driver took him from Los Angeles International Airport to the 467 LLC office on Wilshire Boulevard. A young man in a suit, clearly one of the 467 LLC employees, was already in the doorway when the vehicle pulled up at the curb. The man opened the rear door of the car to let Charlie out, and then shut it and hurried to open the door of the building.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the man said. “I’m Dale Winters.”

Charlie smiled. “Hi, Dale,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” Charlie was comfortable with who he was and how he fit into the universe. He was exactly like all the friends he’d known growing up, the boys from old, wealthy families who went to the same few prep schools in New England and then met each other again in the same few colleges. Now they were older, and had assumed adult roles in their families, but they were not much changed from the hearty, smiling boys they had been at school. Charlie had been taught that he was a superior being, as a thoroughbred horse was superior. His superiority didn’t convey any more responsibility than a horse’s did. His smile was not at all the sign of an emotion or a mood. It was a reward to be bestowed on people who were of use.