The Worm, watching him through every window on every street. The Worm, getting closer and closer.

He thought about the Wife and the Friend, he thought about the job, about how many bullets he had left, about whether the targets would be wearing body armor, what range he would shoot from, whether this time he should use a suppressor or not.

But these were automatic thoughts. He didn’t control them any more than he controlled his breathing or heartbeat or the speed of the blood coursing through his body.

What his conscious thoughts were consumed with was Jodie.

What was there about him that was so fascinating?

Stephen couldn’t say for certain. Maybe it was the way he lived by himself and didn’t seem to be lonely. Maybe the way he carried that little self-help book around with him and truly wanted to crawl out of the hole he was in. Or the way he hadn’t balked when Stephen told him to stand in the doorway and risk getting shot.

Stephen felt funny. He—

You feel what, Soldier?

Sir, I—

Funny, Soldier? What the fuck does “funny” mean? You going soft on me?

No sir, I am not.

It wasn’t too late to change the plans. There were still alternatives. Plenty of alternatives.

Thinking about Jodie. About what he’d said to Stephen. Hell, maybe they could get coffee after the job was over.

They could go to Starbucks. It would be like when he was talking to Sheila, only this would be real. And he wouldn’t have to drink that pissy little tea but he’d have real coffee, double strong like the kind Stephen’s mother made in the morning for his stepfather, water at a rolling boil for exactly sixty seconds, exactly two and three-quarters level tablespoons per cup, not a single black ground spilled anywhere.

And was fishing or hunting totally out of the question?

Or the campfire . . .

He could tell Jodie to abort the mission. He could take the Wife and the Friend on his own.

Abort, Soldier? What’re you talking about?

Sir, nothing, sir. I am considering all eventualities regarding the assault, as I have been instructed, sir.

Stephen climbed off the bus and slipped into the alley behind the fire station on Lexington. He rested the book bag behind a Dumpster, slipped his knife from the sheath under his jacket.

Jodie. Joe D . . . .

He pictured the thin arms again, the way the man had looked at him.

I’m glad I met you too, partner.

Then Stephen shivered suddenly. Like the time in Bosnia when he’d had to jump into a stream to avoid being caught by guerrillas. The month was March and the water just above freezing.

He closed his eyes and pressed up against the brick wall, smelled the wet stone.

Jodie was—

Soldier, what the fuck is going on there?

Sir, I—

What?

Sir, uhm . . .

Spit it out. Now, Soldier!

Sir, I have ascertained that the enemy was trying psychological warfare. His attempts have proved unsuccessful, sir. I am ready to proceed as planned.