“I’m not finished. I need seven hundred fifty thousand dollars, and I’ll need it in a few hours. Darko promised to front the cash, but he may or may not deliver. If he doesn’t, I can still make the play on Jakovich, but he needs to see cash.”

“Jesus. Three-quarters of a million dollars?”

“If I can’t show Jakovich the cash, he won’t show me the guns.”

She nodded, slowly.

“Okay. I understand. I think I can make it happen.”

“One more thing. I get the boy. You’re going to supply him with a U.S. birth certificate and full citizenship, so I can place him with a family of my choosing. This placement will not be a matter of state or federal record. No record will exist that his biological family can use to find him.”

Walsh was silent on this point even longer than when he asked for a pass on the killings. She finally shook her head.

“I don’t know if that’s possible. I mean, even if I wanted to, I don’t know if it’s legal.”

“I don’t care if it’s legal. I just want it done.”

Walsh let out a long sigh. Her fingernail ticked on the console between them, as precise as a metronome. She finally nodded.

“I’d better get started.”

Pike returned to his Jeep and drove back to Cole’s. Cole, Stone, and Pike spent the rest of the morning getting together their gear. When it happened, it would happen fast, and it started at ten minutes before noon.

Pike’s cell vibrated, and now it was Jakovich.

He said, “You have this money?”

“I can get it in four hours.”

“Cash.”

“Yes. Cash.”

“And Michael. I will want Michael.”

“If I get the guns, Michael is yours.”

“Yes, he is mine.”

“Where do I meet you?”

“Here. On the boat. I will be here.”

They agreed on a time, then Pike hung up and immediately called Kelly Walsh.

“It’s on.”

Chapter 42

42

WALSH AND FOUR AGENTS from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms arrived at Cole’s house an hour later. Two stayed with their cars, but two male agents came in with Walsh—a tough-looking Latin guy named Paul Rodriguez and a tall lanky guy named Steve Hurwitz. Hurwitz was wearing an olive green Special Response Team jumpsuit. SRT was the ATF’s version of SWAT. They spread through Cole’s living room with an air of watchful suspicion, as if someone might jump out of a closet. Jon Stone had brought in a large box of his surveillance gear, and Cole was helping him set up. Cole was shirtless, but had strapped on a bullet-resistant vest. Pike couldn’t blame them for being wary, especially with the cash.

Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars in cash didn’t take up much room. It could be packed in four shoe boxes, and fit in a single grocery bag.