When night came, they were drifting on open water, city lights vague through a layer of low clouds over to the west. Weecho was sitting on the fish box, talking to Emer Lynch on his cell. 

“The only way it can happen is we create a standoff that works for both of us. You have to be able to see you’re getting the DVD, I have to see that Juna is okay.” 

Shongut had given him Lynch’s cell number, had it in a dog-eared little address book he carried in his camos. 

Weecho saying to Lynch, “We each bring one other person for cover. No more.” 

Shongut was leaning against the port gunwale, rolling himself a cigarette in the anchor light’s glow. 

“That’s why that place works.” Weecho trying to put some heft in his voice. “We both can see if there’s anybody else. It’s wide open, off by itself.” 

Shongut had actually picked it for him. 

“I know where it is.” Lynch arrogant on the other end, not liking this kid calling any of the shots here. The man’s voice clear, probably coming from out on the water, too. 

Weecho said, “I’ll be there at first light, 5 a.m. That work for you?” 

“It works.” 

“Now let me speak to Juna.” 

After some shuffling and talk in the background, Juna came on sounding weak and out of it. 

“Weech?” 

“Hey, how you doing?” 

“I’ve been better,” she said. 

“This’ll be over soon.” 

“Where are you?” 

“Getting ready to get you back.” 

“I hope so. Don’t be long.” 

Then Lynch came back on. “One more thing.” 

“What?” 

“Don’t be late.” 

He clicked off. Weecho disconnected and looked at Shongut. 

“It set?” Shongut licking the rolling paper and sealing in the tobacco. 

“As much as can be.” 

“What’d she sound like?” 

“Not good. I think he’s got her on something.” 

Shongut grunted, flicked his old Zippo and lit the cigarette. Took a deep drag and blew smoke out over the dark water. 

“You gotta be ready for anything tomorrow.” 

Weecho not answering, didn’t have to be told. 

Shongut reached down next to the portable DVD player, dug in the tote bag Dara had brought, took out the pistol she’d said was in there. Looked it over, handed it to Weecho. 

“Nice,” Shongut said. “You know how to use it?” 

“Pretty much.” 

Beretta .380 Cheetah, weapon of choice for close-in work, take-downs, whatever. Dara filling him in when they practiced in Alexey’s basement, her showing him how to clear the weapon quick, aim focusing on the front sight, squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk. Weecho sniffed the gun, smelled the oil, knew it was clean and ready to go. 

Shongut smoked his cigarette down to a stub, flicked it and watched it fizz in the water.  

“We should eat,” he said, and dug back into Dara’s tote. “She packed enough here to get us to Greenland.” 

Took out two sandwiches and handed one to Weecho, who had to smile when he unwrapped the wax paper – smoked salmon, forty-plus bucks a pound. Alexey might be on the brink of ruin, but he kept a classy fridge. 

Shongut reached into the console locker and took out a pint of whiskey. Twisted the cap, breaking the seal, and put the bottle to his lips. Was about to tip it back when his eyes met Weecho’s. He held the bottle still for a second – then lowered it. Twisted the cap back on and stuck the bottle back in the locker. 

They chewed their sandwiches, looking across at the city lights, clearer now, clouds lifting a little. 

“Question,” Shongut said between bites. 

“What’s that?” 

“Those pictures you took, me and that falcon – that was bullshit, wasn’t it.” 

Weecho licked some cream cheese off his finger. “I can’t even remember what I did with them.” 

Shongut gave a nod and finished his sandwich. Brushed his hands together, went back and knelt by the locker. Rummaged around and pulled out a first aid kit. 

“Let’s look at that shoulder.”  

                                                #          #          # 

The plan was to spend the night on the boat, hopefully out of everybody’s reach. Weecho had set his iPhone alarm for 4 a.m., plenty of time to get themselves ready for Lynch. He sat on the deck and leaned back against the fish box, watching the night jets go in and out of JFK. Shongut was stretched out a few feet away, snoring. He’d done a nice job cleaning out the wound, patching it back up. Turned out he’d been a corpsman, a combat medic in Viet Nam. You look at some people and you just don’t know. 

Weecho was dozing off himself when his phone rang. He looked at the caller i.d. Private Number. 

“Hello?” 

“Weecho, it’s Alex.” 

“Hi. How’d it go with the bank? Dara told me.” 

Alexey still getting used to Weecho being privy to such. “Not that well. I’m sorry I couldn’t get out there with her. How’s the shoulder?” 

“I’m in good hands. So tell me.” 

“These phones might be hacked,” Alexey said. 

“Yours is secure.” 

“Yours isn’t.” 

“I’ll waffle.” 

Weecho could picture Alexey in the library thinking about how his one longshot hope on this whole deal was floating Christ knows where out there, with one useful arm and probably a federal retainer out on him.       

“Our political friend is pressing my bankers to call in their paper.” 

“And the B person?” Weecho-waffle for Bigsby. And banker, come to think of it.    

“I’d say so.” 

“The enforcer. For candid camera.”  

“Exactly.” 

It came down to getting the real DVD back. Getting Juna back. Get the balance tipped their way again. Only Juna knew where the real thing was. 

“I get the picture,” Weecho said. “I’m signing off.” 

“They could be GPS-ing your phone. As a matter of fact, that could be how Lynch tracked Juna.” 

He was right. Lynch had asked for Juna’s cell number one time, in case he had to reach her for work. And of course Juna had to give it. 

Which, come to think of it, was how Lynch could be so confident to Gatchel that he’d get the original DVD back. 

Weecho said, “I’ll take care of it,” and disconnected from Alexey. 

He wasn’t sure what part of his iPhone they could beam in on, couldn’t take it apart, it being one piece. So he shut it off completely and flung the whole thing overboard (there was a new model coming out he wanted anyway). Shongut had a phone they could use in the morning that hopefully nobody was tracking. But when Weecho heard the iPhone splash off the stern, he realized there went his alarm clock. He’d have to keep himself awake for the rest of the night. 

Not that he’d be sleeping much anyhow. Kept coming back to how Alexey’s whole operation and maybe Juna’s life hung on his pulling this thing off – to how his only ally was that old guy snoring over there in his camos.  

But that old guy had gotten himself through Viet Nam. In one piece. Something to be said for that.