“So you guys are figuring Panikos has given you both the same warning—to get off the case because he’s got you in his sights?”
“Something like that,” said Gurney.
“Well, let me ask the big question. How long before he moves from shooting your chickens to …?” She let her voice trail off meaningfully.
“If he really wants us to back off, then our backing off might prevent any further action. If we don’t back off, then further action might come quickly.”
She took a couple of seconds to absorb this. “Okay. What do we do? Or not do?”
“We proceed.” Had Gurney been expressing his intention to refill the saltshaker, his tone could not have been more matter of fact. “We proceed by giving him a compelling reason to kill me. Plus an urgent deadline. We don’t have to pick a location—he’s already picked it.”
“You mean … here, at your house?”
“Yes.”
“How do you imagine he would …?”
“There are lots of possibilities. Best guess? He’ll try to set fire to the house, with me in it. Probably with a remotely detonated incendiary device, like the ones he used at Cooperstown. Then shoot me when I come out.”
She was getting wide-eyed again. “How do you know he’ll go after you first and not Jack? Or even me?”
“With the help of Brian Bork, we can point him in the right direction.”
As Gurney expected, Hardwick objected—reiterating his argument that he’d already established himself as a threat to Panikos, so it would be easy to set himself up as a credible target—but the argument now seemed to lack both foundation and conviction.
The rooster, it seemed, had tilted the game toward Gurney.
All that remained to be discussed were details, responsibilities, and logistics.
An hour later, with a mix of determination and misgiving, they’d agreed on a plan.
Esti, who’d been jotting down notes during the discussion, appeared the least comfortable at its conclusion. When Gurney asked about her concerns, she hesitated. “Maybe … you could just run through the thing one more time? If you wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind, hell,” growled Hardwick. “Sherlock loves this strategic shit.” He stood up from the table. “While you’re running through it one more time, I’ll be doing something useful, like making the necessary phone calls. We need to get Bork on board ASAP, and we need to make sure SSS has the stuff we need in stock.”
Scranton Surveillance Survival was a kind of technology and weaponry supermarket catering to a mixed clientele of security firms, survivalists, serious militia guys, and garden-variety gun lovers. Its “SSS” logo was composed of three rattlesnakes, fangs bared. The sales-clerks wore commando-style berets and fatigues. Gurney had visited the place once out of curiosity and gotten an uncomfortable feeling about it. It was, however, the most convenient source for the kind of electronic equipment they needed.
Hardwick had volunteered to make the trip. But first he wanted to make sure the stuff was in stock. He turned to Gurney. “Where do you get your strongest cell signal up here?”
After directing him out the side door to the far edge of the patio, Gurney returned to Esti, who was still sitting at the table, looking uneasy.
He sat across from her and recounted the plan they’d spent the previous hour putting together. “The objective is to give Panikos the impression that I’ll be appearing on the Monday evening segment of Criminal Conflict, where I’ll be revealing everything I’ve discovered about the Spalter murder, including the explosive secret Panikos has been trying to keep hidden. Jack is sure he can persuade Brian Bork and RAM-TV to run announcements promoting this revelation all day Sunday.”
“But what do you do Monday, when you’re supposed to appear on the show? What are you actually going to reveal?”
Gurney evaded the question. “If we’re lucky, the game will be over by then and we won’t have to deal with the actual show. The whole point is the promotion of our supposed revelation and the threat Panikos will feel—the deadline pressure he’ll feel to silence me before showtime on Monday.”
Esti did not look reassured. “What are these promotion ads actually going to say?”
“We’ll work out the wording later, but the key will be making Panikos believe that I know something big about the Spalter case that no one else knows.”
“Won’t he assume that you’d have shared whatever you discovered with Jack and me?”
“He probably would assume that.” Gurney smiled. “That’s why I’m thinking that you and Jack might need to be killed in an auto accident. Bork’ll love making that part of the promotion. Tragedy, controversy, drama—all magic words at RAM-TV.”
“Auto accident? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I just made it up. But I like it. And it definitely narrows Panikos’s target possibilities.”
She gave him a long skeptical look. “To me, that sounds way over the top. You’re sure the people at RAM-TV will go along with that kind of bullshit?”
“Like flies on that very substance. You’re forgetting that RAM-TV thrives on bullshit. Bullshit boosts ratings. Bullshit is their business.”
She nodded. “So all this is like a funnel. Everything is designed to channel Panikos toward one decision, one person, one location.”
“Exactly.”
“But it’s a pretty shaky funnel. And the container the funnel goes into—maybe it’s got holes in it?”
“What holes?”
“Let’s say your funnel works: Panikos hears the promotion ads on Sunday, believes the bullshit, believes you know his secret, believes Jack and I are out of the picture—auto accident or whatever—believes it would be a good idea to eliminate you, comes here to do it … when? Sunday night? Monday morning?”
“My bet would be on Sunday night.”
“Okay. Let’s say he comes after you Sunday night. Maybe sneaking through the woods on foot, maybe on an ATV. Maybe with firebombs, maybe with a gun, maybe both. You with me?”
Gurney nodded.
“And our defense against this is what? Cameras in the fields? Cameras in the woods? Transmitters sending images back here to the house? Jack with a Glock, me with a SIG, you with that little Beretta of yours? Am I getting this right?”
He nodded again.
“I haven’t left out anything?”
“Like what?”
“Like calling in the cavalry to save our asses! Have you and Jack forgotten what happened in Cooperstown? Three huge houses incinerated, seven people dead, one head missing. You have amnesia?”
“No need for the cavalry, babe,” interrupted Hardwick, coming back in from the patio, grinning. “Just a good positive attitude and the best infrared surveillance equipment on the market. I just got us a short-term rental contract on everything we need. Plus total cooperation from our buddies at RAM-TV. So Davey boy’s batshit plan to sucker the leopard into attacking the lamb might actually work.”
She was looking at him like he was crazy.
He turned to Gurney and went on, as though he’d been asked to elaborate. “Scranton Surveillance and Survival will have everything ready for pickup tomorrow afternoon at four.”
“Meaning you’ll be getting back here around the time it’s getting dark,” said Gurney. “Not a great time to be setting stuff up in the woods.”
“No matter. We’ll have early Sunday morning to deploy everything. And then get ourselves in position. Bork’s producer told me they’ll start running the promos during the Sunday-morning talk shows, then all day, right into the late-night news.”