“Don’t even think about coming to me. I’m busy. And this witness is not, repeat not, with me. Not even close to me. But he is going to make you the most famous FBI agent in recent history.”

“You know I don’t give a damn about that.”

Kaiser’s telling the truth about this. “I know. But there’s nothing wrong with a little well-deserved acclaim. Especially for someone in trouble with his bosses.”

“You’re right. Thank you. Now, why do I feel like you’re applying Vaseline all of a sudden?”

“Because I have one condition.”

“Oh, shit. What’s that?”

“Before he testifies for you, he testifies for my father. Tomorrow.”

This time the silence lasts so long I think we’ve dropped our connection. But then Kaiser says, “There’s no way in hell we’re going to get a plea deal negotiated by tomorrow. Not in time.”

“This witness is sui generis, John. He can bring down all that remains of the deadliest domestic terror cell in U.S. history. You can sell that. I know you can.”

“Then I’d better get started. I need the guy’s name.”

“Not over the phone.”

“Of course not.”

“Serenity and I are headed to a bar. Say . . . the Corner Bar. You know it?”

“I’ve enjoyed many a scotch there since my confinement in Natchez. Me and my boys also get to steak night there now and again.”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Chapter 46

Quentin Avery had driven his wheelchair down the sidewalk that ran along the bluff from Edelweiss to where the old pecan-shelling plant used to stand. He’d thought of getting Doris to drive him to the meeting, but he knew that Joe Elder would feel safer with no one else around. Too, he’d wanted to feel the wind that raced up the face of the bluff after crossing the whole flat plain of Texas and Louisiana. The first part of his journey had been well lighted, and he’d passed a few lovers strolling along the fence back toward the center of town. But the streetlights grew farther apart out by the old pecan plant site. He was glad to see Elder’s tall silhouette waiting for him when he arrived.

“That you, Quentin?” Joe called.

“It is.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“Edelweiss. Penn Cage’s house down by Silver Street.”

“All that way in your wheelchair?”

“I’ve got good batteries. And I’m not an invalid yet.”

“I didn’t mean that. It’s just late for a . . .”

“A stroll?” Quentin said with a bitter chuckle.

“Yeah.”