Taking my cell phone from my inside coat pocket, I start to call Tim, then stop. I’m probably being paranoid, but I don’t want to drive him into an ambush. Shifting my phone to my left hand, I crouch, pull up my left pant leg, and draw my Smith & Wesson Airweight .38 from the ankle holster I’ve worn since December. Then I back against the urinal.

The pistol’s wooden grip is chipped from being hammered against Forrest Knox’s gravestone. Using only my left thumb, I text Tim: Heard something outside rr. Possible threat. Stay inside with girls. I’m locked in.

As I press send, the bathroom door handle turns, then stops.

My hand tightens on my pistol.

Then the door presses against the bolt, testing its resistance.

“Just a minute!” I call, as any man would in a normal situation. “Almost done in here.”

No reply.

Using my left thumb, I text Tim: Call cops.

Out of the pregnant silence comes a muffled voice, barely audible through the thin metal door: “I’ve got a message for you, Mayor. Come out and get it.”

Jesus.

With a shaking hand I text: Threat real!

“A message from who?” I ask.

“You know. Now come out and hear what I got to say. If you keep fucking around in there, your daughter’s gonna walk out of the station, and things are going to get bad real quick. So shake your dick and come on out.”

There’s no way that’s Snake out there, I think, even as I wonder if it could be. John Kaiser is positive that the old Double Eagle has fled to a foreign country. But if it’s not Snake . . . then who? And whoever it is, is he alone?

“Are you coming, Cage? Or do you want your little girl to take the message for you?”

All the saliva has evaporated from my mouth. A strange compulsion pushes me to open the door, but somewhere in my brain burns the certainty that I’ll be shot the moment I expose myself.

My heart lurches when my phone pings in my hand.

Backup on way, reads Tim’s reply. I’m coming to you. Stay put unless you hear shooting. If you do, come out firing, just like I taught you.

Don’t leave the girls! I think, but before I can text those words, the man outside jiggles the handle, then rattles it hard. For a half second I consider firing through the door.

Who would I be killing? What if the guy isn’t armed?

Either way, I can’t stand here while Tim risks his life to protect my child.

Moving to the side of the door, I reach toward the bolt with my left hand, but before my fingers touch metal, the door crashes open, numbing my arm to the elbow.

I see no one.