Two AR-15s, a Benelli pump, and a ten-gauge Mossberg on the rack, the four of them clipped vertically above a shelved row of pistols—two Sigs and two Berettas. Last time he’d seen a Mossberg was in Pakistan, the night of the helicopter crash: Abu al-Bakari’s compound in Abbottabad. Flying in at three am and the choppers hovering at thirty feet, Vincent’s team rappelling in through a storm of rotor dust. They’d used a Mossberg on the door, gone in and found al-Bakari in the living room, nude under his bathrobe. A woman on each arm and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the coffee table.

He said to Freeman, ‘I think we can skip it. I know how they work.’

He thought Freeman was going to argue, but he just said, ‘We have a weekly maintenance schedule.’

Vincent nodded, still seeing al-Bakari in his mind, a nine-mil hole in his forehead. They took his body with them, and his wives and children chased them screaming through the house, bright green figures in the night-vision goggles. He would never forget that. Looking down as the helicopter banked away and the kids looking up through the dust. Some kind of omen, if such a thing existed. Then twenty minutes later the helicopter went down.

Vincent said, ‘I’m not interested in playing with the guns. But thank you very much for showing me where they are.’

That was a bit much for Freeman. He stepped up to where Vincent was still leaning in the door and said, ‘It was my position that extra security was unnecessary.’

‘Right.’

‘And if your attitude is going to be a problem, I’m going to reiterate my position to Eugene until it’s his position, too. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah, I think so.’ He nodded at the rack of guns and said, ‘I imagine if someone breaks in, it’d be quite hard actually getting a weapon in time. You know, given you have to make it down the hallway, put the code in, load something … At the very least, set the lock to silent so no one hears the beeping.’

Freeman didn’t answer.

Vincent said, ‘And I take it so far this place is all for show?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well. Have you ever had to rush in here and grab something? Other than soup?’

Freeman shrugged. ‘You’d have to ask Mr Lamar.’

‘What’s in the safe?’

Freeman smiled. ‘More soup.’

Vincent nodded. He looked at the AR-15s again, noticed they were still fitted with the standard quick release on the magazine. The mags themselves were on the adjacent shelf, and would take thirty rounds. Assault weapons, by California standards—good for two counts of felony possession.

He said, ‘Have a good night.’

‘Don’t forget to give me your number. Correct records are imperative.’

‘Yeah, absolutely.’