Page 88 of S.O.S. Mizzay

Nicely played, Cobble wanted to clap.

“I have the—”

Baskins was interrupted when the door flew open and Chuck walked in. Cobble hadn’t seen his cousin in a number of years, but there was no mistaking the big, gruff man.

“Sawyer,” Chuck boomed loudly, walking in to embrace Cobble. “Damn, it sure is good to see you.”

Cobble felt tears come to his eyes as he gave Chuck a huge hug in return. “You, too, cousin. I wasn’t sure this day would ever come.”

“Wait,” Agent Georgio spoke up. “You two are related?”

Chuck turned with a new sharpness to his face. “Oh. Right. We weren’t allowed to tell anybody in case it jeopardized Cobble’s security, but yeah, we’re blood cousins.”

Cobble noted a grind of the agent’s teeth, but that was the only sign that he was displeased with the revelation. Fleischerman showed nothing.

Cobble was about to let go of Chuck, when his cousin tightened his hold, then leaned in and whispered, “I’m getting close. I can feel it. I haven’t got a name or names for you yet, but I just started working on the third hard-drive, and it looks promising.”

He pulled away, and clapped Cobble on the back. “We’ll need to catch up, once the trial is over,” he stated jovially.

“Yeah,” Cobble agreed. “And maybe you can point me in the direction of a job. I need to figure out what I want to do once I get my life back.” Of course he’d already been offered a position at SOS, but that wasn’t official, and certainly wasn’t for public consumption.

“That shouldn’t be too tough,” Chuck answered. “I understand you’ve been taking classes in just about everything.”

“I have,” Cobble agreed. “Boredom will do that to you.”

He wanted to send a sour look to the two agents, one or both of whom were the asshole who had kept him from normalcy, but he managed to smile at Chuck, instead. “I look forward to hanging out with you again, man, and having a few beers.”

“Beers?” Wiley entered the room with three cups precariously balanced in a paper tray. “I thought you wanted coffee?”

Cobble laughed and judiciously snatched the cup with his name scribbled on it. “Beer is for celebrating when this is all over.”

“Count me in,” Wiley said with a grin, still juggling his load. How much of that fumbling was for show, so the two agents didn’t know how proficient he really was?

“Speaking of which,” Andy interrupted, addressing Baskins, “do we have a trial date yet?” She grabbed her cup from Wiley, and he just managed to save his own from a tumble to the floor as the tray became unbalanced.

Cobble waited for the answer.

Everyone present—and in the know—currently had to act as if Cobble were completely safe, and the next order of business after him becoming settled, was getting to trial and having El-Umar incarcerated for life.

Baskins answered. “We have a preliminary hearing set for tomorrow, but we believe it should go smoothly. In which case the judge says he’ll fast track the actual trial because it falls under a terrorism classification. It will take precedence over most of the cases on his docket. I’m thinking two weeks out, at most,” he speculated.

That sounded good to Cobble.

Two more weeks until freedom.

But they had to get through today, first.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The ride back to the bungalow was done mostly in silence.

Missy, because she was on edge waiting for the attack she knew was inevitable, and Cobble, because his head, Missy understood, had to be one-hundred percent in the same place. Wiley wasn’t a huge talker to begin with, and the two agents, Georgio and Fleischerman, who were not normally chatty, had nothing to say. So…screw them.

Missy kept her attention divided between those in the vehicle, and the road ahead.

The armored SUV that the agency had lent them for the duration was extremely easy to handle, and if the circumstances were different, Missy might have thoroughly enjoyed being able to drive something larger than her normal, compact sedan.

As it was—and as surreptitiously as possible—she’d been testing its capabilities all the way back to the south shore, understanding that she might have to employ her expert maneuvering skills at some point or another.That, of course, depended on what the approaching shit-storm would entail.

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