My eye twitches when I'm nervous. Just slightly, a slight flutter, but it's intense enough to confirm that my body is completely unhinged. Most of the time I manage to control it by humming the theme song from Market Wrap or reciting the alphabet backwards, but as I find myself at the back of the line at Newark International Airport, I'm all too aware of everything around me: the impatient brown-haired woman in front of me, the fifteen people in front of her, and most importantly, the metal detectors at the head of the queue and the half-dozen security officers I'll be bumping into in thirty seconds.
If the Service has spread the word, this will be the shortest trip we've ever taken, but as the queue slowly creeps along, nothing seems to be out of... Shit.
At first she hadn't even noticed him. Beyond the conveyor belt. The broad-shouldered guy in the airport security uniform. He's carrying a metal detector in his hand, but the way he's holding it—as if it were a baseball bat—gives away that he's never held one of those detectors in his hands before. His posture... only Service members are that great.
When he looks my way, I lower my head to avoid eye contact. Ten people ahead of me, Charlie turns his head in all directions, eager to connect with someone.
"Long day, huh?" He—he tells the woman who runs the X-ray machine.
"It never ends," she replies with a grateful smile.
On a normal day, I would have said it was just the kind of small talk that Charlie is so fond of. But today... Maybe he's having a superficial chat with that woman, but I see where he's looking. Straight to the broad-shouldered guy with the metal detector in hand. And the way Charlie rocks back on his heels... it's just like the twitches in my eye. We both know what will happen if we get caught.
"Don't you have luggage?" the woman asks as Charlie approaches the machine.
"Invoiced," she says, holding up the bill and pointing to the receipt.
In Hoboken, we made a quick stop at an Army store to buy a blue gym bag, underwear, shirts, and a few toiletries. We also bought a small lead-lined box that, hidden in the bottom of the bag, became the ideal hiding place for Gallo's gun.
It's definitely a bad idea—the last thing we need is to be caught with the murder weapon in our possession—but as Charlie pointed out, these guys are going to jump on our throats. Unless we want to end up like Shep, we need protection.
"Don't stop," a black guard says, motioning Charlie through the detector.
I hold my breath and lower my head again. Nothing to worry about... nothing to worry about... Two seconds later a high-pitched beep pierces the air. Oh no. I look up just as Charlie forces a smile.
—It must be those screws that I ate this morning...
Please, my God, don't let me spoil everything...
"Whoa, I hated those bolts for breakfast," the guard says, laughing and running a handheld detector over Charlie's chest and shoulders. I couldn't build anything with them.
In the background, the broad-shouldered guard turns slowly in our direction.
"That's why Lego is better," Charlie adds, unable to stop himself. Spreading his arms, he greets the broad-shouldered guard. The guard jerks his head awkwardly and looks away. He's looking for two brown-haired brothers, not an eccentric blond boy traveling alone.
Finding nothing, the blackguard lowers his detector.
"Have a safe trip," he tells Charlie.
"You too," Charlie says. It's a great performance, but not a drop of color remains on his face. Staggering forward, Charlie manages to move his feet away from there.
One by one, the rest of the queue takes its place. As he passed the detector, Charlie turns and takes a look. Just to make sure everything is in order. He walked past the two guards without saying a word. And, thus, we are inside. Nowhere else to go but south. Non-stop to Miami.
Staring at the thick nape of Gallo's neck, Joey watched him walk across the street, back to the apartment building. Halfway there, he waved to his companions inside the van, who flashed their lights at him. With a quick movement, the van pulled away from the curb and passed Joey's car.
"I'm glad to see you!" the driver yelled at Joey.
She forced a smile, pretending it didn't matter. Typical loser technicians, Joey thought as the van disappeared up the street. A few seconds later the guys from the Service had left the place. And when Gallo entered the apartment building, so did Joey's biggest obstacle.
"What was all that about?" Noreen asked in her ear.
"Nothing," Joey replied. He flung open the door and headed for the trunk.
"Maybe you should call the boss, he knows some guys in the Service."
"Noreen, not now," Joey said, his voice echoing as he leaned into the trunk. He pulled out a shiny metal briefcase and balanced it on the edge of the trunk. The locks clicked open. The interior resembled a high-tech tackle box, with several stackable retractable trays filled with cables, microphones, and small metal gizmos that looked like miniature mobiles. At the bottom of the box was a bulky radio receiver and a set of folding headphones.
-What are you doing? Noreen asked anxiously. Where are you now?
Joey didn't answer. He stuffed everything he needed into his pockets and crossed the street.
"You're not going to go back to the apartment, are you?"
"No," Joey said, quickening his pace.
—I heard you were rummaging through the box with the equipment, tell me what you're doing.
Joey pulled up in front of Gallo and DeSanctis's car.
"They've removed all my equipment, Noreen, and you know what it means to come back while they're listening…"
"Wait a minute... you won't be..." The noise of a car door closing cut off the communication momentarily. Joey, please tell me you're not in the secret service car.
"Okay, I'm not in your car.
Joey looked at his watch. He didn't have much time. It might look like they were helping Maggie up the stairs, but it was probably just Gallo's way of getting another look at the apartment. Joey looked over his shoulder at the building. Two minutes maximum.
Joey reached for the overhead light that illuminated the interior of the car, removed the plastic cover and the two rings that held the tiny bulb.
"They started it, Noreen.
"Did they start?" You're bugging the United States Secret Service! That car is federal property!
"It's also the one place those bastards won't think to look," Joey pointed out. Damn, they're so sure of themselves, they've even left the doors open.
He connected the tiny microphone to the red wire that was attached to the bulb. It was a trick he had learned years ago. A vehicle's overhead light was one of the few places that always had power, even when the car was not running. With the bug placed there, you could spy on someone for months. Only a small risk was required.
"Joey, please, they'll be back any minute..."
"I'm almost done..." He snapped the plastic cover back into place, moved to the rear, and crouched under the driver's seat. That was another of the easy-to-reach places that always had power. And thanks to an improvement in law enforcement vehicles, Gallo's car was equipped with power seats.
He felt around for the wiring coming out of the floor, clamped a red wire together, and connected the other end to a black box that looked like an old-fashioned cell phone, but with no keypad.
"Joey, they won't hesitate to put you in jail...