“But it’s a pretty shaky funnel. And the container the funnel goes into—maybe it’s got holes in it?”

“What holes?”

“Let’s say your funnel works: Panikos hears the promotion ads on Sunday, believes the bullshit, believes you know his secret, believes Jack and I are out of the picture—auto accident or whatever—believes it would be a good idea to eliminate you, comes here to do it … when? Sunday night? Monday morning?”

“My bet would be on Sunday night.”

“Okay. Let’s say he comes after you Sunday night. Maybe sneaking through the woods on foot, maybe on an ATV. Maybe with firebombs, maybe with a gun, maybe both. You with me?”

Gurney nodded.

“And our defense against this is what? Cameras in the fields? Cameras in the woods? Transmitters sending images back here to the house? Jack with a Glock, me with a SIG, you with that little Beretta of yours? Am I getting this right?”

He nodded again.

“I haven’t left out anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like calling in the cavalry to save our asses! Have you and Jack forgotten what happened in Cooperstown? Three huge houses incinerated, seven people dead, one head missing. You have amnesia?”

“No need for the cavalry, babe,” interrupted Hardwick, coming back in from the patio, grinning. “Just a good positive attitude and the best infrared surveillance equipment on the market. I just got us a short-term rental contract on everything we need. Plus total cooperation from our buddies at RAM-TV. So Davey boy’s batshit plan to sucker the leopard into attacking the lamb might actually work.”

She was looking at him like he was crazy.

He turned to Gurney and went on, as though he’d been asked to elaborate. “Scranton Surveillance and Survival will have everything ready for pickup tomorrow afternoon at four.”

“Meaning you’ll be getting back here around the time it’s getting dark,” said Gurney. “Not a great time to be setting stuff up in the woods.”

“No matter. We’ll have early Sunday morning to deploy everything. And then get ourselves in position. Bork’s producer told me they’ll start running the promos during the Sunday-morning talk shows, then all day, right into the late-night news.”

“They’ll do it?” Esti’s tone was sour. “Just like that?”

“Just like that, babe.”

“They really don’t care that it’s all made-up nonsense?”

Hardwick’s grin became positively incandescent. “Not one goddamn bit. Why should they? Bork loves the feeling of crisis the whole thing generates.”

Esti nodded slightly—the gesture conveying more resignation than agreement.

“By the way, Davey,” said Hardwick, “I’d get that dead chicken out of the mudroom sink if I were you. Fucking thing really stinks.”

“Right. I’ll take care of that. But first—I’m glad you reminded me—we’ve got a little add-on for the RAM-TV announcements. An unfortunate auto accident.”

Chapter 52

Florence in Flames