He scuffed around along the narrow, gravel walkway to the spot on the north side where Alexander Burke had filmed his good-bye message for Lola. The windblown salted air had begun stinging the moistness in his eyes, as he gazed out at the steel-gray water. His thoughts were a swirl of regret mixed with guilt. What if I never took Cap to Atlanta? What if we skipped the morning run like he had wanted? What if my grip had held? What if I had fallen instead of him…?

“I wish it was my leg, buddy,” Lou said to the sea. “I wish it was me in that hospital bed, and not you. I wish it could have been different.”

From inside the Great Room a triumphant cheer erupted, followed by a steady round of applause. Not long after, McCall approached, with his hands stuffed inside his jacket pockets.

“Chopper’s ready when you are.”

“Thanks. That cheering mean what I think it means?”

“All the mice are alive,” McCall said. “Every single last one of those sweet, fury little buggers.”

Lou strained a smile.

“That’s great news. I knew Humphrey could do it.”

“Not just Humphrey,” McCall said. “You, too, Lou. You deserve as much credit as he does.”

“I guess.”

McCall patted him on his good shoulder.

“Let it hurt, pal. That’s all you can do right now. Just let it hurt. That’s what I’m doing about Tim. And the moment you get near that beautiful kid of yours, hug her as long and as hard as she can stand it. I know I’m rambling, but I really owe you, Lou, and I really like you. And as for your friend back there in Atlanta, in a strange way, he helped save the lives of thousands of people—maybe much more than that.”

“So how come I don’t feel so great?” Lou asked.

“Because you’re not supposed to, that’s why. Time’ll take care of a lot of the pain, but never all of it. Just don’t forget that because of Cap, and you, and Tim, our government won’t be held hostage by a bunch of wacko terrorists with twisted ideals. And thanks to you, that creep Bacon is in custody and being questioned by people who are ten times as good at their job as me and ol’ Vaill.”

He punctuated that remark with a grin.

Lou felt a little better.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other in Atlanta,” he said.

“Well, I certainly hope so. I’m gonna be there for a hundred years trying to bail myself out of the frigging report mess you’ve left me. The beer’s gonna be on you.”

“So long as it isn’t at the Blue Ox. Thanks for the help getting me out of here, Chuck, and for the talk, too.”