While Antifa’s loose conglomeration of independent groups lacked a central authority, a few people—like Dan—had their finger on the pulse of the movement and knew how to rally the different factions when a statement needed to be made.

Today they were going to make a big one.

Far bigger than anyone here but him realized.

And it would happen in—Buzz twisted his wrist—one hour and thirty-five minutes. During the march and chant their temporary leader had mentioned. In all that noise and confusion, he should have ample opportunity to slip on his latex gloves as they got close to Eve Reilly—and if the Antifa people were loud enough, his several back-to-back shots wouldn’t even register at first.

The instant he fired his last round, he’d drop the gun, dive into the throng, and escape through the bedlam as first responders rushed the stage and the Antifa people scattered.

As soon as he was safe in the woods, the lighter in his pocket would melt the gloves. Back at his bike, it wouldn’t take more than forty-five seconds to shed his black attire, stow it in the saddlebag, and continue his ride—in the opposite direction of all the excitement. The clothes could be disposed of in the dumpster behind the mall.

He had it all planned, down to the tiniest detail—and his dry runs had been flawless.

Given all his preparation, the real deal shouldn’t be any different.

And after all was said and done, there would be one less high-profile person undermining their cause.

It was a brilliant plan—with him as the linchpin.

A surge of pride swept over him, and his resolve hardened. He would do this, and do it well.

Best of all, he would walk away, ready to continue the fight. The police may have identified Eve Reilly’s harasser sooner than expected, jeopardizing the cover they’d counted on to mask Antifa involvement, but Dan had a plan to deflect suspicion to Jackson. Had said so in their last text exchange.

There was nothing to worry about as long as he did his part.

Fingers twitching, Buzz again ran his hand over the outlines of the Glock and took a steadying breath.

Soon, baby.

Soon.

24

TWO STEPS into Olivia’s basement office, Brent came to an abrupt halt. No wonder the patrol officers had sent for reinforcements.

A high-end laptop in screensaver mode was open on the desk, a large monitor beside it. Three burner phones were lined up on the faux wood surface, within reaching distance of the swivel chair. A tablet next to the phones was filled with notations in some sort of shorthand. Four filing cabinets lined one wall. A flat-screen TV was tuned to CNN, the sound muted. An oversized map of the United States filled a significant portion of another wall, pins with colored heads stuck in various cities around the country.