Curt liked the troops to call him “captain”; it was appropriately respectful, and it promoted discipline. He squeezed into the booth and eyed his squadron. Carl was sitting directly opposite. Next to him was the redhead, Kevin Smith. Then there was the diminutive Clark Ebersol, followed by Mike Compisano. Steve was to Curt’s immediate right. Everyone was in T-shirts with their tattoos visible, except for Curt, who was still in his class B fireman’s uniform. The table was littered with a forest of beer bottles.

“Let’s slow up on the drinking,” Curt said.

“Hey, what else is there to do in a bar?” Kevin said. “We’ve been here for a good half hour.”

“I didn’t want to be late,” Steve explained.

“Is that the van out front?” Curt asked.

“Yup,” Steve said. “Thanks to Clark.”

“What about the ordnance?” Curt questioned.

Steve leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There’s three Kalashnikovs and two Glocks in the truck. I figured that would be more than enough. Hell, if the guy is on a bicycle, all we have to do is run over him.”

“But then we shoot him just to be sure,” Curt said.

“Well, we certainly have more than enough firepower,” Steve said.

“Where’s Yuri?” Curt asked. It was the first moment Curt realized the Russian wasn’t there.

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “Maybe he got hung up in the traffic.”

Curt looked at his watch. “We told the bastard to be here at five.”

“Why don’t we use the time to set up tomorrow morning?” Steve suggested. “I mentioned to Mike we might need him for a quick mission.” Mike was the least enamored of the skinhead style and the most responsive to Curt’s urging to tame its outlandishness. Now that his blond hair had begun to grow out, compared to his fellow militiamen he could almost pass for normal.

“Good idea,” Curt said, but before he could elaborate the waiter appeared to take his order. Curt ordered a Bud Light.

“Listen up,” Curt said to Mike after Curt’s beer had arrived. He leaned forward. “We want you to put on business clothes in the morning: jacket, tie, the works. It’s got to be early because we want you in front of the Jacob Javits Federal Building on Worth Street no later than nine-fifteen.”

“I’ll have to take off from work,” Mike said.

Curt rolled his eyes. He reminded himself he needed patience when he talked to his troops. “Whatever,” he said with a wave of his hands. “The important thing is that you are there at nine-fifteen. This operation has to go like clockwork.”

“So what do I do, just stand there?” Mike questioned.