Free Fire - C. J. Box [132]
Joe thought, The bad guys don’t have a chance in hell to get out of this one.
He looked over to see Olig glaring at McCann with naked hatred. McCann seemed oblivious to it. He looked bulky and nonthreatening in his parka. They’d both been briefed; both had agreed to perform their roles.
As if finally feeling the intensity of Olig’s death stare, McCannturned to him, asked, “You must be Bob Olig.”
“The only one you didn’t kill that day,” Olig said.
McCann shrugged. “It wasn’t anything personal.”
Olig started to reach for McCann but was stopped by Ashby. “Later,” Ashby said.
Portenson said to McCann, “Don’t fuck this up or I’ll do more than rip your ear off.”
Again, McCann shrugged. Joe watched him carefully. If anything, McCann looked calm, which unnerved Joe. Was the lawyer planning something, trying once again to stay ahead of everyone around him?
McIlvaine’s voice came over the radio: “Everybody ready? My guy in the woods says they’re getting out of the vehicle. He counts four men.”
McCann smiled at Olig. “Showtime,” he said.
With that, the lawyer sauntered across the lobby toward the blazing fireplace. Olig walked stiff-legged behind him. Joe guessed Olig was scared out of his mind, as Joe would be in the same circumstances.
The lawyer turned one of the big rocking chairs around and sat down, his back to the fire, framed by it. Olig stood nervouslyoff to the side where, if necessary, he could duck and hide behind a stone column.
Joe felt his heart race and tried to keep his breathing steady. He flicked his eyes from the monitor to the lobby outside the window, as if trying to decide whether to watch what was about to happen for real or on TV.
The heavy front door squeaked as it opened a few inches. A curl of snow blew in.
“Come on in,” McCann called. “It’s warmer in here.”
The brain trust of EnerDyne Corporation entered the Old Faithful Inn.
Layborn was first, slipping through the door rapidly and flatteninghimself against the wall near the door, weapon drawn and aimed at McCann with two hands. The ranger flicked his eyes around the room, trying to see if anyone else was there. As planned, he could see no one else in the dark.
“Clear,” Layborn barked. James Langston, Layton Barron, and Chuck Ward followed. All wore heavy winter suits. All glanced around suspiciously. When Langston recognized Bob Olig standing near the fireplace, he cursed.
“Yeah,” Olig said, “I’m still here.”
“So,” McCann said, “did you finally bring my money?”
Barron said yes at the exact same time Ward said no. Joe cringed at their lack of coordination.
“What was that?” McCann said.
“We brought it,” Barron lied, as Ward deferred. “Does this mean you haven’t contacted the FBI?”
“Oh, I contacted them,” McCann said. “They’re on their way. I was hoping we could come to terms before they get here.”
The FBI microphones were good, Joe thought. These guys were good at this kind of technical stuff. He could even hear Langston mumble to Ward out of McCann’s earshot, “Not in this storm they aren’t.”
“It can all still work, gentlemen,” McCann said cheerfully. “It’s not too late to come to terms.”
“What do you mean?” Ward asked. Ward looked anxious, scared, looking for a way out, something he could grasp. Joe stared at him with morbid fascination. It seemed so odd to see him in this light.
“You pay me what you owe me and let me run the operation from here on out,” McCann said. “You guys have really screwed everything up with your endless plotting and meetings. You’re like the worst kind of mid-level managers trying to launch some crappy brand of soap. You overthink everything and make poor decisions, like isolating me. I’m your best asset, and always have been. That you couldn’t see that shows you’re a bunch of amateurs, that you’re out of your league in a game played for keeps. None of you has ever faced a jury or a judge when it’s just you, naked, standing there. None of you knows how to think on your feet.”
The four of them were momentarily entranced by him. Joe was too. McCann had decided