“It has potential as our target,” said Church, “and the timing is right.”

“If you want to jump to really big crowds, the next couple of mega-events are coming up,” Nikki said. “The biggest is Going Viral, that big beg-a-thon concert to raise money for families hit hardest by last year’s shutdowns. But no one’s throwing stones at that because people right across the electorate were affected. Right, Left, whatever. They expect the concert to raise something like eighty million, between ticket sales, merch, and online donations. And because this is in the South, there’s a high proportion of country artists, though there are R&B and hip-hop, too. A bit of everything.”

“How many people are expected for that?” asked Wilson.

“At the venue? Eighty-five thousand, not counting tailgate parties and all that. Lots of small ancillary events, too. Autograph booths, celebs visiting local families. That kind of thing.”

“When is the concert?” asked Church.

“This weekend,” said Nikki. “It’s all over the news, trending on social media.”

Wilson looked at Church. “Are you thinking that’s the target?”

“It fits the profile for a big-ticket hit,” said Church.

“Right, but the trucks from the Pavilion would barely have time to make it.”

“Barely is not can’t,” said Church. “Reach out to the organizers, call in any markers you have. If we can’t shut it down, then we need to have our people in the venue and with official status. Get Homeland on this as well. You know who to call.”

“On it,” said Wilson, and he left the room at a brisk walk.

Church stared at the long list of other events.

“Walk us through all of it,” he said.

CHAPTER 150

ABOARD THE SOPHIA YIN

FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA

Ghost was fine.

“The big thing, apart from potential infection,” said Jean, “was the pressure on a nerve cluster. Once he wakes up, he’ll be pretty much pain-free. Just be sure he drinks water and eats as much as he can manage.”

“He can manage a lot.”

“Good. A juicy steak will help. All that protein.”

“He’ll love you forever.”

“He’s your dog.”

I smiled. “I can’t thank you enough, Jean.”

“He’s your dog,” she said again. “That makes him family.”

It was an oddly touching thing for her to say.

I nipped out and came back with some truly heroic steaks, which we grilled and ate with steamed vegetables, mashed sweet potato, and wine. I put Ghost’s steak—which looked like it was cut from a woolly mammoth—in the fridge because he was snoring.

Jean and I went up to the sundeck where we watched a line of pelicans coast on the thermals, and we sipped dark Mexican beer. There was a sun tarp angled to block casual observation from the pier, and I had a hat with a floppy brim, a Miami Dolphins T-shirt, and sunglasses. Protective coloration.