“I wouldn’t use any word,” Wilcox said. “You’re the one who maintains that such meetings took place. I haven’t conceded that they did. Nor have I said anything about recruits.”

“Come on, Tom. Let’s be straight. You were piecing together, one member at a time, your personal feudal army. You were assembling a clan. No pointy hats or silly costumes, no rallies around bonfires, no chanting, although I wouldn’t rule out a blood oath. But whatever was at the heart of this conclave, you were the high priest, the head honcho who could get men to do your bidding.

“What did you indoctrinate them to? No offbeat religion like Koresh’s. No Aryan nation. What was it? Hmm? Tell me. Confide. Just between us. Kerra’s off the record. The office isn’t bugged.”

“I know. I swept it with a detector.”

“So talk. And let’s leave off with the double-talk and euphemisms. Plain English.”

Wilcox shook his head. “It stays metaphorical.”

“Until after you’ve made your deal with the feds.”

“Which is where you come in.”

“And if I tell you no soap?”

“You’ll forever remain a hero’s son who couldn’t hack it.”

The two men eyed each other, warring silently but with palpable hostility.

Kerra spoke Trapper’s name softly. He turned his head to look at her. “Let him tell it his way,” she said.

Grudgingly he motioned for Wilcox to continue. “But it had better be good.”

Wilcox said, “After years of holding the leadership role in this so-called clan, let’s say the high priest senses grumbling in the ranks and confronts the loudest grumblers. They’re bold in their criticism of him. They accuse him of going soft, of passing up opportunities that should have been seized, of calling for caution and patience when muscle should be flexed.”

Trapper said, “Rumblings of an overthrow of power? I doubt the high priest would stand for that kind of saber rattling. How does he react to this threat of mutiny?”

“He calls their bluff.”

“They call his. They flex muscle.” Kerra could tell the moment it clicked with Trapper. He said, “They kill his pride and joy.”

Wilcox acknowledged it with a nod, then turned to her. “Kerra, about the tragedy that befell your parents, I was glib before. I apologize. I know the excruciating pain of loss.”

She didn’t address that but asked a question. “Does your wife believe that Tiffany was experimenting with drugs?”

“Greta accepted the medical examiner’s ruling that she died of respiratory arrest due to an accidental overdose. But, to this point, it’s been too painful a subject for us to discuss, even privately. She’s been shattered.”

Trapper said, “Like the people who lost loved ones to the Pegasus bombs.” He was eyeing Wilcox with unmitigated contempt. “Kerra may forgive you for the agony you brought about that day. That’s her prerogative. But don’t expect me to.”

“I don’t.”

“You tell a sad story, Wilcox. And I’m not being glib. I mean it. I hope the bastards who did that to your girl are captured, castrated, and then drawn and quartered. It would still be too easy on them. But am I supposed to be so moved by your personal tragedy that I’ll go to the FBI, or whoever, and advocate that they let you off the hook?”

“No, I don’t expect you to do anything for my sake.”

“Then what’s to motivate me?”

“These are the same men who tried their best to kill your father, tried to kill Kerra.”

Trapper and Kerra exchanged another glance, then both of them went back to Wilcox and simultaneously asked, “Who are they?”

But it was Trapper who, when Wilcox didn’t answer, lunged out of his seat, braced his hands on the desk, and shouted into the other man’s face. “Who? Tell me, damn you.”

“No.” Wilcox rolled the desk chair backward and stood up. “You can’t beat it out of me, either. Nor would you try. Because you still need me.”

“Let me get this straight,” Trapper said. “Bottom line. Your bargaining chip for immunity in the case of the Pegasus is to finger the men who tried to kill the hero of it?”

“There’s symmetry in that, don’t you think?”

“What I think is that you’re a piece of shit.”

Before Trapper took a swing at Wilcox, which he seemed on the verge of doing, Kerra nudged him aside and faced Wilcox across the desk. “Why was the attempt made on our lives so soon after the interview?”

“I think you’ve figured that out,” he said, dividing a look between them.

“They’re afraid of my memory?” she asked.

“Should they be?”

Trapper said, “Don’t answer that.”

“He’s right, Kerra,” Wilcox said. “Until these men are arrested, whatever you remember of that day, you should keep to yourself.” He looked between them again, but landed on Trapper. “I want to see the people who killed my daughter brought to justice.”

“Then why didn’t you sic the police on them when it happened? Why sweep it under the rug? Oh, wait. I know. You couldn’t expose them without your own crimes coming to light.”

“Not entirely.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“If I’d implicated them, the backlash would have been unmerciful.”

“You would have been knocked off next? Or your wife?”

“Oh, no. They would’ve punished me on a much grander scale. A school bus full of children would’ve been disintegrated. A nursing home’s heating system would’ve malfunctioned, and everyone in it would’ve been asphyxiated. Those were only two of the possibilities suggested to me.”

“Jesus.”

“Are you serious?”

Kerra and Trapper had spoken at the same time. Wilcox said, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. They’re ruthless. They’ll stop at nothing.”

“They learned from a damn good high priest,” Trapper said.

The other man lowered his head for a moment and exhaled, but he didn’t own up to it.

Trapper tilted his head in puzzlement. “One thing I don’t get. Why haven’t they just popped you?”

Wilcox’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I have an assassination-proof life insurance policy.”

“Bulletproof vest?” Trapper said. “Life preserver? Food taster?”

“Something much surer.”

“What?”

Wilcox smiled. “Not until we’ve made our deal, Mr. Trapper.” Wilcox checked his wristwatch again and stood. “This has gone on too long. You don’t have to give me an answer tonight. But until you do, your life is in jeopardy, along with Kerra’s and The Major’s. You’ve made clear what you think of me. But balance their lives against your enmity toward me, and your decision should become clear. The sooner we strike our deal, the better for all concerned.” He extended his hand. “May I have my pistol back, please? You may keep the bullets, but the gun is a valuable artifact.”

Trapper regarded him closely, then reached around to the small of his back, pulled the revolver from his waistband, and handed it over. Wilcox thanked him and dropped the pistol into the pocket of his overcoat.

“I’ll leave first,” he told them. As he moved past Kerra, he paused and looked at her as though he would say something more, then he went out without further comment, the broken door glass crunching beneath his shoes.

They heard the whirr of the elevator. “Isn’t the entrance kept locked?” Kerra asked. “How will he get out?”

“If he managed to get in …” Trapper said. He went over to the window and peered through the blinds.

“Is he leaving?”

“With the musketeers flanking him.” He continued watching for a time, then whispered, “Son of a bitch.”

“What?”

“There was a fifth. He just came out of the building across the street, carrying a rifle case. They’re going, him and his armed escorts.” When he came back around to her, he said, “Or those guys could be his Tuesday night poker group, and he’s just telling us bogeyman stories to throw us off.”