Steal the Lightning: A Field Ops Novel (Field Ops #3)(27)

“Well—not in Mexico, I bet.”

And that was when the limo pulled up, right by our motel.

“Posh neighbors,” I said.

“If they’re staying here, this really is a one-horse town.” She gestured to the meal. “Good, huh?”

“Not bad. Weird texture . . . like, pre-digested . . .”

“Hey. Food of the gods.” She stopped herself. “I’m going to have to stop saying shit like that, aren’t I?”

A man got out of the limo, and went into the motel.

Then she said, “We can do this, Chris. You know that, don’t you?”

I grunted.

“You’d do it. You’d try, for sure. All the tales you told me.”

“I wanted to impress you. I was trying to chat you up.”

“You were bullshitting, you mean.” She smiled over her coffee cup.

“Let’s say . . . exaggerating for dramatic effect.”

“What happened in Iraq, then. You ‘exaggerated’ that, then?”

“Iraq was different. There was this Russian guy. It was sort of personal.”

“And this one’s personal. Because it’s me, right?” She saved me the embarrassment of lying by going straight on. “And that’s touching, you know? It really is. Even all that BS you were coming out with last night. Shit, I’m glad you’re protective. I’d be pissed if you weren’t. But I’m supposed to be learning here! How’m I gonna learn if I don’t get to do it?”

I took a sip of coffee.

“Look.” She put her hand on mine. “Say I qualify. I’m out on my own. I get a job like this. What do I do? See what I’m saying?”

“That’s . . . blackmail.”

“It’s graymail, maybe. But it’s right, and you know it’s right.”

The guy came out of the motel. He was stocky, broad, dressed all in blue, and had an easy, rolling kind of walk, like nothing in the world could make him hurry. I watched as he got back into the car, and I watched as the car just idled there, and then I said, “You might be right. But, even so . . .”

“So?”

The limo started up. It pulled out, paused a moment by the exit, like a predatory eel checking out the swarms of fish. Then it slid out into traffic, slipped into the current and was gone.

I said, “We’ve got the revival thing, for a start. They’re not exactly going to let us walk off with their star attraction, are they? Plus, it’s a water retrieval. I keep saying that, but, you know—we’d be working blind. As good as. They’re tricky. And I’ve never done one.”

“Ah! Now we get to it!”

“No, I’m serious here.”

“So, Mr. Expert.” She put her head on one side, trying to keep the grin off her face. “I thought you’d been everywhere, done everything. Am I wrong?”

“I know the theory. And I know people who’ve done it. I’ve just never had to do one myself. They take preparation. It’s not running water, at least, so that’s a good thing, but it’s all that is. And if we have to do it undercover, too . . .”

“And avoid the guy you kneecapped.”

“I did not!”

She raised her brows.

“OK,” I said. “Sometimes I lack subtlety.”

“One way of putting it, I guess. Hey,” she said, pointing to the window with a plastic fork. “Is that that car again?”

It was the same limo, and it rolled past, just casually taking in the scenery . . .

I poured another coffee.

My head still ached.





Chapter 25

The Archivist




Silverman had a big white van, parked off the road. I hammered on the back of it. I called his name. It took a while but eventually the door cracked open. I got a whiff of stale air, and something vaguely human squinted at me through the opening.

“You dressed?” I said. “There’s ladies present.”

“Uh, dressed, yeah. What time is it?”

The little tongue of hair he wore over his forehead stuck up like a Mohawk. Half his face was red and pleated from whatever he’d been using as a pillow, and he was dressed, I guessed, for one good reason: because he hadn’t undressed the night before. The van was stuffed with gear. There were shelves to either side, piled high with cameras, lights and other equipment. A big monitor screen was held in place with thick black straps, and cushioned against jolting. On the floor, between all this, lay a rumpled sleeping bag and a thin foam mattress.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ll get you breakfast.”

It was a strange thing: as we headed for the car, I saw that same limo glide by, serene as a shark’s fin in a tropical lagoon.

Angel said, “Cleary’s guys?”

“Who else?”



In every town, you’ll find a Starbucks, and every Starbucks doubles as an office. Students sit, picking at their laptops, older types make deals and draw up plans, or grumble over last night’s game.

We got the corner table. Silverman took out his laptop.

“I want you to see this,” he said. “I thought about it after I got back last night. Took about an hour to find. Maybe you could, you know, see it as kind of my repayment to you. Yes?”