The barrel-chested man has no name identification and a windburned face. Emma thinks he’s probably SWAT. He has a midwestern drawl and farmer’s hands, square-nailed and callused with work.

“We’re sending out a point man to the back.” He touches the map with the blunt tip of a finger. “We need guys here and here in front, but I don’t think we can position them before we make contact. The buildings are real spread out, the trees aren’t bunched, and it’s just too risky.”

“Not enough cover?”

“Correct. My guys are gonna stick out like the proverbial, and you don’t want to scare off your target.”

Cooper nods. “No use baiting him out if we give the game away by leaving your guys exposed. Send one man out jogging or something to reconnoiter, then deploy with first contact.”

“I’ve got a long-range man I can put on the roof.”

“Do that. Have we got someone in the building yet? We need to see when the target collects the letter.”

Paziewski nods. “We can get someone dressed in civvies, high up on the internal steps.”

“Civilian dress, okay, but I want that officer kitted out underneath,” Cooper says. “This guy has killed seven people we know of and I don’t want to get into a hostage rescue situation.”

“Copy that.”

Cooper straightens, checks his watch. “All right, let’s see how it plays. Mail delivery is scheduled in twenty-five minutes. Mr. Paziewski, Mr. Dewey, move your people out.”

Nods all around, men milling in the background head for the exit. Cooper looks like he’s making to leave as well, and Emma still has no idea what she and Bell are supposed to be doing.

“Agent Cooper—”

“Communications station.” Cooper shrugs back into his jacket, already moving. “Officer Medhurst is on comms—ask someone to show you both the way. Take the map with you so you can decipher locations, we’ve got spares.”

“Stay with Medhurst?” Bell asks.

“Yes, and you’ll hear everything that’s going on.” Cooper accepts a radio handset from an agent. “I’ll broadcast when it’s over. Like I said, this could be a waiting game—be patient.”

“Good luck,” Bell says.

“I like to say ‘good hunting.’” Cooper gives them an almost-grin.

“Catch him,” Emma blurts.

Cooper’s eyes are solemn. “I will.”

He nods before walking out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

She knows she should fight it, but Emma has a hopeful feeling.

She and Bell are set up in a dark cupboard of a room with Medhurst, a young, corn-fed-looking guy who handles the switches and dials fluidly. He’s been a good sport about them cramming in here, so long as they stay quiet and don’t touch anything.

There’s a speaker on the desk that relays all the comms traffic. Listening to comms has been like following a radio play. A piece of paper in front of her lists all the actors in this drama: Cooper as CP1, Martino as CP2, all the S-tags for Dewey’s SWAT group, the P-tags for police. She’s paying particular attention to P2, a young guy named Closse on the inside stairwell of the target building, as well as S2, the SWAT jogger wearing a headset that looks like a Walkman. She heard the tension in the officers’ voices when the mail carrier dropped off the letter in Delaney’s old mailbox, felt the same tension.