The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [115]
“Yeah,” I said, “tomorrow. Don’t make me sorry I told you …”
“No, no. But that’s the little bank just up the street from the Beauregard, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Fantastic,” said Nancy. “You can see it from the boat. We’ll be able to do a phony shoot from the boat, and pick up the bank really good …”
“How far to the bank?” said Shamrock.
“Eight hundred feet? Right, Carl?”
“About.”
“Great! I’ve got a five hundred millimeter Schmitt-Cass in the car …” Shamrock, I thought, was going to be happy with this arrangement. Good. I didn’t want either of them getting in close.
“What time?” asked Nancy.
“For the hit? Don’t know. Sunday is all I have.”
“You trying to tell me that you guys are going to set up on it, full force, for twenty-four hours?”
“Yeah.”
“Good Lord, Carl,” she said. “You really like these marathon things, or you just have bad intel?”
“I’m just in this for the food. You decide.” I smiled. “Look, if you two get any more, let me know. But for Christ’s sake, don’t breathe a word of this to anybody else.”
“You mean, like, the competition? Get real.” Shamrock had that eager look about her. “They can buy my frames, man. Big bucks. Big, big bucks.”
“Take a deep breath, dear,” said Nancy.
Shamrock stuck out her hand. “Thank you, Carl. I mean it.”
I shook her hand, a little surprised. “Hey, it’s nothing definite. Just a chance, here.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “That dude Terry really wanted it, last night. He didn’t lie.”
“We’ll talk about evaluation as we get ready,” said Nancy. “Lust makes guys stupid, but it doesn’t make ’em tell the truth.” She laughed. “He was just stupid enough to let it slip.”
Because we were to be on duty for twenty-four hours straight, I tried to catnap after Nancy and Shamrock left. Right. Like I could just go to sleep. I did try. Sat there, watching TV. Dozed once, I think. Not for more than forty-five minutes.
I kept the Weather Channel on and saw that my favorite blue and pink segmented worm of a jet stream was making progress. Tomorrow would be much warmer. A real, sudden “January thaw,” in all its glory.
That was Iowa, for you. In eighteen hours, the temperature could change fifty degrees or better. Much better, in this case. It looked like we’d hit thirty degrees by 3 A.M., and go up from there.
God bless warm fronts. If we were going to have to be outside for any period of time, warm was so much better …
When I got back to the office a little after 2200, they gave me everything I’d requested on Terry Waterman. I would have liked to haul him in, but good sense prevailed. After Sunday, either way, Terry would pay us a visit. Beforehand would just tip people off. With his inadvertent contribution, however, the estimates on Sunday actually happening went nicely past the fifty-fifty level.
The main control point was designated as Hester’s DCI office at the General Beauregard pavilion, in Frieberg. It was just about on top of the main target bank, it was well equipped with communications devices, it had its own teletype and fax, and it was warm and comfortable with many creature comforts. I came drifting in about 2230, having picked up Sally at Volont’s request. He wanted a top-notch dispatcher with us. Hard to argue.
When we arrived, we established Sally with the radios, and a good land line to the Nation County Sheriff’s Department, and to the Conception County Sheriff’s Department across the river. Both were to be contacted on special phone numbers which were not to be used for routine calls until further notification.
She had the base station portion of the FBI scrambled radios, and a small base set with local police, fire, and ambulance frequencies. She was all set.
I picked up the scrambled walkie-talkie I’d been given. FBI issue. Looked a bit older than I’d expected. Almost as old as my new one for the Sheriff’s Department. “What’s the range on these?”
“Couple of miles, line of sight,” said