Page 43 of No Safe Place

“Gentlemen,” Shaw said in his booming marine voice. “What I am about to reveal to you doesn’t leave this room. As you may know, this area of Connecticut has many defense companies. These two women we are looking for worked at one of them and are involved in the theft of something that is so vital to our national security I cannot even disclose what it is.”

Shaw looked at the cops, not one set of rolling eyes. They were mesmerized. He had them in the palm of his hand.

Shaw tented his hands together dramatically.

“We have already cut off communication in and out of the area so that the data is contained. Now in a few minutes, an evacuation of this section of town is going to be called. We are going to let it be known to the media that a truck crash of a highly toxic chemical has happened nearby and that everyone must leave.

“At the same time, in order to search for and neutralize our targets, the power will be cut. I and my highly trained team will go in and clear our first primary targets, these three public buildings. And if we do not locate our target there, we will then start doing follow-ons by going door-to-door.

“As we proceed with the mission, no matter what happens, please remember the importance of maintaining secrecy at all times. You cannot disclose what is happening. Not even to your girlfriends or wives.”

Shaw took in the cops’ faces, rapt, serious-as-cancer, utterly and completely suckered.

38

While we waited for our food to arrive, I slipped out of our booth for a recon of The Forge restaurant. It didn’t take that long as there wasn’t much to recon.

From above, the restaurant would look like a big rectangle with three smaller rectangles at the back of it. The main rectangle was where the dining room and bar were, and the smaller rectangles at the back of it contained a private banquet room on the left, the kitchen behind the bar, and the two restrooms at the back on the right.

I left through the east-facing front door and made a right to the south and walked the perimeter of the place until I came all the way around. I counted eight windows in all. Four on the front and two on each small side. In addition to the front door, there were two more doors, a back one for the kitchen near where I had parked and an emergency exit door in the north side of the building from the dining room.

I walked back behind the restaurant, where there was a small dumpster and some recycling cans, and stood for a moment on the gravel looking at my truck, thinking about things.

No, I don’t need to get that hasty, do I?

“Who am I kidding?” I whispered as I hit the electronic fob in my jacket pocket and pulled open the driver’s door.

I exited the truck after a minute with a large, heavy canvas kit bag that I had removed from a special hidden compartment in my truck’s custom bed. In the kit bag were a variety of things that I had wished I would never have to use on my road trip.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” I said under my breath.

I stopped for a moment and looked at the old brick factory behind the restaurant and at the door of the antique place.

I came in closer and flashed my key chain penlight at the door’s old lock. It looked like a cinch to kick in. There was an alarm on it no doubt, but if things went down enough where we might have to retreat into it, I knew I probably wouldn’t have to worry about that.

When I turned back for the restaurant, I noticed that the back kitchen door was open, so I decided to go for it. The chef inside was a midsize, soft-around-the-middle Hispanic guy of around thirty with a long beard and tats. He didn’t look too happy to see me as I brushed by the fry station carrying my large canvas bag.

“Whoa, what the hell? You can’t come in this way,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, man. My bad. Won’t happen again,” I said, hurrying behind him back into the restaurant.

I walked past the bar and tossed my heavy bag into the booth with a clunk and sat down next to it. None of the old-timers at the bar seemed to have noticed.

Good, I thought, as I began counting bodies.

Two waitresses and the owner and the chef made four plus the five old-timers and five roughnecks was fourteen. Then I counted four other couples. With us three, that made twenty-five.

Twenty-five people on board the SS Forge, I thought.

What did airline pilots call the passengers again? I suddenly thought, looking out at everyone. Souls.

Twenty-five souls aboard, I thought.

I looked over at the roughnecks again. The guy I had dubbed Papa Bear laughed at something the Brooklyn guy said and took a sip from a mug of beer.

I liked Papa Bear. He seemed smart and reasonable and he had some size on him. Not only that, he was older, which gave him some gravitas. People would listen to him.

If what I thought was about to happen happened, he would be the first person I would try to partner up with.

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