“We’re almost out of beer,” Nat said to Curt as he leaned into a urinal. “Can we make a detour at the next town to stock up?”

“No more beer until the mission is over,” Curt shot back.

The second part of the trip went considerably faster than the first as the traffic dropped off dramatically. The congestion of the city and the surrounding metropolitan area had been replaced by the tranquillity of small towns, farms, and palatial, seasonal estates.

It was well past midnight when they drove into Sagamaunatuck, a thriving summertime town that served as a commercial hub for that section of the island. Slowing deliberately to less than the posted speed limit, Curt advanced down Main Street. Most of the shops had been long since shut for the night. The only activity emanated from two local bars that sat opposite each other across the main drag. Their doors were ajar to the mild mid-October night. Each had a handful of patrons. A bit of competing, low-volume music spilled out into the street.

“A nice quiet town,” Steve commented.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Curt said.

“Hey, there’s a kosher Jewish delicatessen!” Carl said excitedly from the back seat. He pointed to the dark store. “Look at all that stupid foreign writing on the window.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Curt said. “We’re here for one reason only.”

Curt and Steve had reconnoitered the place a month earlier and knew where they were going. The pest control company was on the next street over running parallel with Main Street.

Curt turned left at the next corner onto Banks Street and then left again onto Hancock. Wouton’s Pest Control was on the right in a one-story cinderblock building. A large sign advertised that their expertise ranged from residential to agricultural and other commercial applications. To the right of the building was a parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence with a gate secured by a padlock. Three vehicles featuring the Wouton logo of a cartoon wasp were nosed in at the side of the building. Two were vans. The other was a pickup with a load in its bed covered by a mounded vinyl tarp.

Curt pulled to the curb. He cut his engine, turned out his lights, and motioned for Nat to come alongside. Windows were lowered.

“How many communicators do you have?” Curt asked. In order to coordinate on missions, Curt had purchased an inexpensive radio system that worked within a radius of several city blocks.

“Two,” Kevin said. He was sitting in the front passenger seat of Nat’s truck.