"If he did, then he'd blow you wide open. Why betray his master? It doesn't make sense. What's in it for Fargo? Do you think he really likes you?"
"He hates me."
"Who?"
"His wife. His wife's nurse. His daughter. Thurmond or Laura Messinger. One of the Holt Men who works closely with him. Holt himself. Maybe he's broken down, needs to confess."
John tried to think through the possibilities, but they all sounded wrong. "Joshua, you don't have a clue about what's going on out here. Do you?"
"John, I don't give a damn what's going on out there. We've got five days. We're being fed evidence and I'm going to take it. If it comes from an unexpected source, fine. I'll use any bit of rope I need. When Holt's in lockup we'll sort through the program and identify the players. But as long as it's going like this, then in the name of God in heaven
John listened to Weinstein's clear baritone. He imagined his Adam's apple doing its little jig; he imagined Joshua's black eyes and pale skin and the unshakable focus of his vengeance. And John realized for the first time that he was utterly expendable here, only a tool for Joshua. He was a conduit, a piece of pipe. And no amount of danger or threat would make Joshua waver in his crusade to ruin Vann Holt. What an odd feeling, he thought, to realize you are only valued for what you can do.
He said nothing for a long moment. Instead he felt the chill of the wind cutting through his coat, all the way to his bones, and the loneliness of his body here on Liberty Ridge. He felt the solitary nakedness that was his. He felt the border between his own skin and the world outside it, and knew that he could only trust what was within. He shivered and felt cold.
"The tape's in the box, Joshua."
"Very good, Owl. We can hope it's good enough for a warrant, but that's up for a judge to decide. Now, has he asked you to meet with Baum?"
"He made it official tonight. I'm supposed set up a meeting somewhere, then bring her back to Liberty Ridge. So they can ... talk."
Joshua was silent. His voice was even lower now, quieter "It is happening, Dear Owl. Good things are happening for us. is coming together.
"As soon as possible."
"The gods are smiling. Call her this morning at 8:30. You find her reluctant to meet, but not suspicious of you. She'll insist that Sunday noon is the soonest, and best she can do."
"You've been busy."
"Always. Once Wayfarer agrees to a time, the clock star ticking. I'll need to know what he's planning, where on the Ridge he might take her,
"And you'll make the arrest while I'm out retrieving her?"
"Ideally. Now, has Holt frisked you since the first day?"
"Holt didn't. Fargo did."
"Well, has Fargo?"
"No."
"Have your things been disturbed?"
"I told you he took my wallet, shotgun and ammo."
"I don't think so."
Josh went quiet again. John heard the wind in the fallen oak leaves, the scratch of needles in darkness.
"Owl, we're down to five days. This, as ordered from mid level deities you don't need to know about. Sunday will be
"Fargo can check the cottage any time he wants."
"It's time to take acceptable risks."
"You've got the whole sad thing on tape, Joshua. Holt's firished."
"Not yet, he isn't. We'll need a warrant for his arrest. Judges frown on information obtained from covert, untrained, unsworn sources."
"I thought you trained me."
"Don't get precious on me, now. It's a little late in the game for that. We're here to flay Wayfarer alive and let the vultures eat his guts. Aren't we?"
"I've got to be alive to enjoy it."
"I'll keep you alive, Owl. You're indispensable to me. You're my secret agenda. My hidden reason. My invisible passion. Just like you were, to—"