THE ROAD CREW DIGGING UP THE STREET A HUNDRED yards from Babylon’s hilltop mansion was making a hell of a mess. At least the locals thought so. What with all the bulldozers, backhoes, dump trucks, and things with claws that no one had ever seen before but people were sure that, like the road, had been paid for with their precious tax dollars, the workers should really obey their commands, starting with “Get the hell out of the way.”

The crew had the road down to a single lane, and whoever was directing traffic didn’t seem to know or care what he was doing. Plus the hole they’d dug, you could lose a Hummer, an Escalade, and one of those demented stretch limos made from Mini Coopers down there and no one would ever know. None of the drivers suspected that that was exactly the idea.

Nelson hated this evening with a furious passion. Standing on the road in a stupid orange vest wearing a stupid hard hat, directing stupid people around the stupid goddamn hole the crew had dug for Coop. He was sure the whole thing was a put-up job. That Coop’s plan was either a crooked gambit to escape or part of his conspiracy with Giselle and Bayliss to waste the DOPS’s time, and his in particular.

They’d been working on the road since six, getting the hole into the local sewer system wide enough to hold the Stink Missile. That part at least delighted Nelson. Coop sailing through a tidal wave of shit and hopefully meeting a colorful and agonizingly awful fate at the other end. When traffic let up for a minute, Nelson pulled out his flask and had a drink. That part also delighted Nelson. It was almost time. The hole was wide enough and the flatbed with the Missile was ready to go. Nelson signaled for other DOPS agents disguised as road workers to hold traffic below the crest of the hills in both directions.

“You’re up, hotshot,” said Nelson into his vest mic.

“I just got a pep talk from Salzman. I don’t need another from you.”

“But I’ve got a load of sweet nothings to whisper in your ear.”

“Did I tell you you look great in that vest? Orange is really your color,” said Coop.

One of the men on the flatbed truck made a circular motion in the air and Nelson nodded.

“Get ready to get flushed, genius. Oh yeah, did anyone mention that there’s a bomb on board the Stink Missile? If you’re not back in two hours, chunks of you are going to be flowing to the Pacific with the organic lentils these canyon fruit bats flush down their solid-gold toilets.”

“Nelson, if I can’t finish the job in two hours, I’m tunneling right under your ass and you can join me in shit Valhalla.”