“No. Whatever direction they try to send me off in will be a feint, but it will show me to look in another direction. You and I need to keep pounding the pavement on this. It’s just getting good.”

Andy and Catherine began climbing back up the embankment to their car.

Andy said, “I need to file a story, you know. I’m not an investigative reporter. My editor wants the news, and he wants it now.”

Catherine said, “File what you know, but not what you suspect. Don’t mention CIA being here at all, but mention Babbitt’s ties to the IC.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, Andy. When I file a story, we’ll do it together. Trust me, it will be worth the wait.”

Andy smiled as he climbed.

31

It was just past four a.m. when Gentry pulled his gray Ford Escort into the parking lot of the Easy Market on Rhode Island. He was careful to park in the same spot as he did the last time he visited this store, and just as careful to pull his red ball cap down low and to walk where the cameras could not get a look at his face.

The same heavyset young woman with the lazy eye greeted him as soon as he came in the door. “Hey, baby. How’s your night goin’?”

“It’s goin’,” he said. He held his right arm down tight against his parka, as much to hide the tear and the little stain of blood that he’d been unable to clean off as to put a small amount of direct pressure on his painful wound.

“You must work nights, too,” she said, but she’d already turned her head back to the little TV behind the counter.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

He headed to a back aisle and found a small section with simple first aid items. He picked up an ACE bandage and two rolls of gauze, some tape, and a single off-brand bottle of antiseptic. He then stepped back to the cooler, where he hefted a six-pack of beer off a shelf.

LaShondra called out to him. “Oh, I see. You need you some beer for a big party over at your place. Suppose my invite got lost in the mail, is that it?”

Court smiled, then he scooped up a can of ravioli, a loaf of white bread, and a candy bar, and he brought his food and beer up to the register along with the first aid. He fished some bills out of his jacket with his left hand. “Nah. No party.”

“Mm-hm.” She said it in a playfully suspicious tone.

Court hoped she would be too occupied with her TV show to pay any attention to the other items he’d brought to the counter.

“Oh, baby, you done hurt yourself?”

So much for that.

“No.”

“Then what’s all this for?”

“Just stocking up on my first aid kit. Going camping this weekend.”