Chapter 18
“WELL DONE, MR. Hernandez,” Cobb said to the killer as he stripped off the No Prisoners disguise inside the rear of one of the white panel vans.
“Why didn’t I take her?” Hernandez grunted.
“Because by our letting her live, the terror will rise. It has a face now, a voice.”
“Could have been her and the kid lying there and not talking,” agreed Johnson, who was up front, driving them east toward the City of Commerce.
“Could have been anyone,” Hernandez said, humming again.
“People don’t like change, gentlemen,” Cobb observed. “I don’t care if you’re a Taliban in East-Jesus-Stan or a mom in Litchfield, Connecticut. People like their routines, their habits. When you threaten their habits and routines, they get upset, lash out, and do all sorts of things they would not normally do.”
“Like take sharp terms in a negotiation, Mr. Cobb?” Johnson asked, grinning in the rearview mirror.
“That too, Mr. Johnson,” Cobb agreed, allowing a rare smile that only deepened the lines of the spiderweb scar on the left side of his face.
“And now?” Hernandez asked.
Cobb’s smile disappeared. “We let Mr. Kelleher and Mr. Watson continue to execute their end of the plan. And we wait for contact.”
“You sure they’ll try now?” Johnson asked.
“Dead sure,” Cobb said. “Worms just can’t help themselves when they feel the soil all around them getting prickly and hot.”