John Miller - Inside Out

Johnny shrugged. “You know what's best.”

Manelli locked his hands behind his thick neck and studied Russo. “I'm puzzled about why that bird Dylan pulled this crap in the first place. It never did make sense. It's like that thing about an iceberg being mostly where you can't see it, but you still know it's down there.”

“What can I say I haven't said a million times? Devlin fooled everybody. He totally checked out. I should know.”

“Yeah,” Sam started, seemingly puzzled, “you checked him out personal and you gave him a clean bill. And always before that, you was so good at sniffin' out rats.”

“I knew how important it was that he was the real deal, Sam. I want this straightened out as much as you do.”

Under his shirt, sweat streamed down Russo's back. This was the suspicious Sam before him. Until he acted, it was impossible to know what was on his mind. Usually, the people that Sam decided were betraying him first learned of his suspicion in their last moments. Sometimes, depending on his mood, those last moments had been known to be hours. Age had only hardened the brickbat that served as his heart.

“Well, at least take the radio Herman gave you with the fed frequencies on it.”

Sam rose suddenly and Russo winced, thinking Sam was going to grab a steel pinball machine leg from a stack near the desk and pulverize him with it. Johnny had seen Sam do just that in this very room. Sam left without saying anything. Johnny's smile withered. He figured that, unless Herman's cutouts did this thing right, crabs could be dining on his eyes before dawn.

A figure blocked the doorway and Russo flinched, afraid for a second that it was Sam back to finish him off. “Boss?” Spiro said.

Relief filled Russo. “Spiro, Sam's gone?”

“Yeah. They all gone. Everything cool?”

“Close the door a minute.” Johnny lifted his cell phone and pressed the digits. There was a strange clicking sound which was the encrypting device on the other end, which scrambled the signal on both ends.

“Johnny,” the familiar cutout's voice said. “Is everything clipping along?”

“You were right, Lewis. She's here now,” Russo said, fighting the panic he felt. “He's picking her up in a hour.”

“Good. Sam has the radio?”

“Yeah. What should I do?”

“Do exactly what you'd normally do. We're on top of this, like I told you.”

“Sam figured the FBI is using her to get him. It's like he's psychic. I don't like it.”

“Of course he did. Sam's a genius, Johnny. He'll get her and we'll get him and the FBI will clean it all up. That's all settled.”

“If your guys had done what they were supposed to do, she would be history and we'd all be winners already.”

“What's Sam's plan?”

“All I know is he wants me at his lodge in like ninety minutes. You know where it is, right?”

“We'll be there. Don't worry about it.”

“You just make sure this time.”

“Trust me on this.”

“‘Trust me' is what Herman said. I still don't know why he didn't tell me Sean was alive. I found that out when she called me out of the blue. So if we're going to work together in the future, I got a bone to pick with him. Because there's not going to be anybody but me for you people to work with. Right?”

“Herman has been retired because this didn't go as he'd planned. He messed up, not me.”

Russo wanted to scream. Just as he was starting to relax, the world tilts off its axis. “Who's taking his place?” Russo was already thinking about an alliance with Herman's replacement, hoping for somebody younger, sharper. “I think him and me should meet after this is over.”

“You'll love his replacement, Johnny.”

“Just remember, Lewis. If you don't get this right, I'm dead. If the men think I might fail, they see any weakness, they'll turn on me like jackals.”

“I'll see you in a little while. By the way, you might want to keep your head down when we come in. You make sure your guys don't start shooting at us, or we'll respond and you'll be recruiting their replacements for the next six months.”

“Remember, none of my guys get whacked accidentally.”

“We'll be completely surgical. It's what we do.”

Johnny felt better. Lewis was an amazing individual, and Johnny had no choice but to trust him as he had before. What Sam didn't know was that his bodyguards understood that their futures lay with Johnny-that Sam's rule was done. Sam was dying but, as strong as Sam was, that could take another couple of years, and Johnny wasn't nearly as patient a man as Sam was.

A chilled, steady rain kept pedestrians on both sides of Decatur Street moving rapidly and the vehicles rolling slowly. Jax had been a long-closed brewery complex when it was turned into a fanciful tourist mall-reminiscent of a medieval castle with flags flying from its sheltered parapets-with views of the Mississippi River and the French Quarter.

Three FBI vehicles were parked facing the levee at the rear of the vast lot beside the complex. Archer's assault-suited FBI SWAT team sat in the step van waiting patiently, while the surveillance techs sat at portable consoles, anxious to field test their equipment.

Archer, occupying the passenger seat of the black Crown Victoria, strummed his fingers nervously on the armrest. He had good reason to be nervous. Special Agent Finch sat stiffly behind the wheel. Every seven seconds the wipers would cycle, clearing their view of a concrete wall three feet from the grill. Like a sullen teenager, Sean Devlin sat slumped in the backseat with her arms locked across her chest. An unoccupied purple Dodge convertible waited next to the Ford. Finch jumped when Archer's radio squawked to life.

“Big Chief, this is Eyes One. The covered wagon has left the barn, headed toward the lower forty. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

“Roger that,” Archer said. “Okay, all teams, prepare to roll when the covered wagon starts back to the barn.”

In a low voice, Finch translated the radio lingo for Sean. “The team watching Manelli's estate just told us that Manelli's car is on the way from there.”

“Okay, Mrs. Devlin. Get ready. I have a team covering the garage. Manelli's driver is on his way, alone. Soon as you get in, make sure you keep noise coming so we always know. Remember that we are running tape.” Archer tilted the ball cap toward his mouth and whispered, “Ears, you getting this?”

“That's a roger,” a voice said. “The signal is ten-ten.”

Archer handed the cap to Sean. “Remember, you just get Manelli to admit being behind the hit on your husband. We need him to admit he ordered it-financed it. Conspired with others. That is all we need.”

“I hope he's thoughtful enough to incriminate himself before he kills me.”

“We will never be more than seconds away. Just get in your car and go. We'll be with you the whole time.”

Finch said, “This will be over before you know it.”

“I just hope it isn't over before you know it.” Sean straightened, and when she did she felt suddenly queasy.

“I can't do it,” she said. “Not now.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Archer growled.

“I'm getting a headache,” she said, alarmed.

“Don't you dare try and pull anything,” Archer threatened. “We're not changing the plan. I have people on you and if you try to make a run for it, they'll shoot you as a fleeing felon.”

“Seriously, I'm getting a migraine,” she said. “Would that surprise you?”

“Finch,” Archer snapped, “go into the van and get some aspirin over here, now!”

“Aspirin?” Sean said. “I need something a lot stronger than that.”

Archer snapped at her, “You'll take the aspirin and you will not get a headache! Do you understand me?”