Gurney shrugged. “Only the obvious one. Night’s the most dramatic time to cut a power line. But if you want to shoot one of our chickens, you need to do it in the daytime. They’re locked up in the barn at night.”

As Hardwick appeared to be mulling this over, a silence fell—broken by Esti.

“So you guys are figuring Panikos has given you both the same warning—to get off the case because he’s got you in his sights?”

“Something like that,” said Gurney.

“Well, let me ask the big question. How long before he moves from shooting your chickens to …?” She let her voice trail off meaningfully.

“If he really wants us to back off, then our backing off might prevent any further action. If we don’t back off, then further action might come quickly.”

She took a couple of seconds to absorb this. “Okay. What do we do? Or not do?”

“We proceed.” Had Gurney been expressing his intention to refill the saltshaker, his tone could not have been more matter of fact. “We proceed by giving him a compelling reason to kill me. Plus an urgent deadline. We don’t have to pick a location—he’s already picked it.”

“You mean … here, at your house?”

“Yes.”

“How do you imagine he would …?”

“There are lots of possibilities. Best guess? He’ll try to set fire to the house, with me in it. Probably with a remotely detonated incendiary device, like the ones he used at Cooperstown. Then shoot me when I come out.”

She was getting wide-eyed again. “How do you know he’ll go after you first and not Jack? Or even me?”

“With the help of Brian Bork, we can point him in the right direction.”

As Gurney expected, Hardwick objected—reiterating his argument that he’d already established himself as a threat to Panikos, so it would be easy to set himself up as a credible target—but the argument now seemed to lack both foundation and conviction.

The rooster, it seemed, had tilted the game toward Gurney.

All that remained to be discussed were details, responsibilities, and logistics.

An hour later, with a mix of determination and misgiving, they’d agreed on a plan.

Esti, who’d been jotting down notes during the discussion, appeared the least comfortable at its conclusion. When Gurney asked about her concerns, she hesitated. “Maybe … you could just run through the thing one more time? If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind, hell,” growled Hardwick. “Sherlock loves this strategic shit.” He stood up from the table. “While you’re running through it one more time, I’ll be doing something useful, like making the necessary phone calls. We need to get Bork on board ASAP, and we need to make sure SSS has the stuff we need in stock.”